After hearing it so many times from cab drivers, waiters, and nearly everyone in Eastern Europe, I’m making a t-shirt that says “Not A Problem”.

On my way to the airport, I was short about 80 dinar for a ticket. A guy on the bus paid it for me. Must pay that forward.

Speaking of airports, The Nikola Tesla International Airport is the best name ever. Respect.

I’ve been told that Novi Sad and Dubrovnik are the cities with the most beautiful women in the former Yugoslavia. I find it difficult to argue with this statement.

I’m developing a wicked wristband tan on my left wrist. It also is starting to feel like a colorful cast that is slowly tightening around my skin. Not a metaphor.

I’ve never felt so short in my life. Serbian guys are seven feet tall, built like brick shithouses, are fueled by an endless stream of cigarette smoke, and a have fond disregard for personal space. I learned all of this during Hardwell when I found myself trapped in what felt like a fist pumping cigarette induced forest fire. On the plus side, I accidentally licked the bald sweaty head of a Serbian dude so I can finally mark that off on my bucket list.

Serbian girls are almost as tall as the men and smoke just as much. Yet, when I was in a similar situation of almost being crushed to death, my only thought was “this isn’t such a bad way to go out.”

Karaoke sounds terrible in every country.

My hostel roommate Stephanie from the United States quit her job to travel around the world and write about music festivals. We had a lot to talk to about. Check out her website right here.

My other hostel roomie Susa from Germany: “I spent most of the afternoon trapped in the bathroom.” They had to hire a locksmith to get her out.

There’s a new trend of wearing creepy Guy Fawkes masks to festivals.

The Silent Disco at EXIT featured two songs at once. You flipped between them on your headset so that one channel would be playing Blink 182 and the other would be playing The Prodigy. It only gets stranger from there.

“Go to the Latina Stage. It’s the best place to pick up women,” Pablo from Argentina tells me. “But don’t tell anybody. I don’t need the competition.”

My new friend Christo from Bulgaria asks to borrow my camera when we are at the beach. “I will take some pictures of the atmosphere for your website.” He comes back with nothing but shots of girls in bikinis. Mostly of their asses.

Injury Report: Massive allergy attack during the festival from the dust and neverending cloud of cigarette smoke from the Serbians. Left knee still hurts from jumping into a shallow pool. I should have dove in headfirst and saved myself the hassle.

Gear Report: Lost my sandals for three days. Found them right where I left them in my backpack. First week on the trip that I haven’t lost anything. My backpack is literally coming apart at the seams. My solution has been to pretend that everything is totally fine and that at no point will my shit just come tumbling out onto the street.