My childhood, which was like a fairytale, took place on a ‘salaš’ (farmstead) near Novi Sad. And we also spent our summer holidays on the Danube. It was a custom that once a week, my girlfriends and I were tasked with taking the large laundry to be washed. Meaning sheets, pillows, bedding mostly, and sometimes rag rugs. We hated that. But the advantage, since it was quite a large load, was that we were allowed to ride the horse, under grandpa’s supervision, not astride but sitting sideways, like young ladies sit. The laundry was washed with ecological soaps, homemade. It was rubbed on washboards and beaten with paddles (prakljača). The water in the Danube was crystal clear, and the laundry was then laid on the grass, which was also exceptionally clean. Ticks didn’t exist. We would return home with the already dry laundry, and it was immediately put on the bed. An unforgettable scent from childhood. Lying there with the scent of the Danube, the grass, and wonderful nature. There were also various plants, lemon balm, mint, and so on, which were, of course, wild. And so, that is the first memory that is tied, in fact, to the senses, not to sight. I no longer go to those places I hold in fond memory. Sand is now illegally extracted from the Danube there. The Danube is no longer clean; it is murky, frightening. Plastic rules the banks, discarded, various home appliances, and so on. So I no longer [go] to that place called Kameni Šor.