On the road to Belgrade

I've finished as I could my text for Going Digital. Once again, at 3 am, I saw no solution than to come back to Deleuze, the solver of all difficulties. 
The perspective of this new trip makes me feel in a generalized travelling mood, even if I stay only two days after the conference, just to see the botanic garden and the few museums that are open according to my guide. I've visited Serbia in 2013, on the occasion of my Balkan round-trip, yet the country left me with an impression of a singular emptiness. Probably I didn't go to the right places, didn't read enough... Unfortunately, this time I don't have much time to read, either. I would like to read at least my old copy of the Bridge on the Drina, or any other forgotten Serbian book that must exist somewhere in a dusty corner of my dismal library... Is there David Albahari in this room? I'm vaguely under the impression there used to be.
I've always cherished the idea that I travel in search of rare books, that I gather my own private world library. David Damrosch once said, here in Kraków, that after all, in world literature, you are always down to rely on the supplies of the bookshop round the corner. And I cherished the thought that it is like this, perhaps, in Harvard. BUT I TRAVEL IN SEARCH OF MY OWN BOOKS!
Yes I do, but what about the books I brought from the Caucasus last summer? How many times could I open them?... And what the hell do I rely on for my notions in the latest Armenian literature?