New York, 2005
When I landed at JFK Airport, I had no idea what was going to happen or where the spirit of New York would take me.
I came to study – full of energy, curiosity, and a healthy dose of naivety, just as you should be in your twenties, with your head full of ideas. There were no big plans, no backup scenarios. Just a strong feeling that “I want something”, and that this something would probably include a lot of walking, trying, and learning.
The first thing I learned? In New York, you can be anything – but you’ll have to learn to walk fast (read: run) and talk even faster.
Everything moves quickly. People walk fast, make decisions fast, and will let you go even faster if you don’t know what you’re doing. But if you endure, you grow faster than anywhere else.
I got into real estate almost by accident – like many do in New York – through a friend, in a rush, without a clear idea of what I was doing, but with a very clear goal: to succeed.
Even though I came to study, I quickly realized that New York doesn’t forgive passivity. Real estate was one of the rare options that offered both opportunity and flexibility – along with complete chaos. And what chaos it was!
I was renting out apartments all over Manhattan and Brooklyn.
Literally everything: from apartments that smelled like a lifestyle magazine to those that smelled… well, I’m not quite sure what they smelled like, but definitely not like “open house.”
Sometimes I wondered whether agents sprayed perfume on the doorknobs before showings – the number of times the scent fooled me, only for the reality to bring me crashing down.
The most amusing part were the ad descriptions I came across in the beginning—many of which I later wrote myself. Phrases like “sun-drenched,” “cozy,” “charming,” and “exposed brick” had meanings of their own.
In reality, you could maybe see the sun if you stood in the corner and tilted your head at a 82-degree angle at just the right time of day.
“Cozy” meant it was so small that a Murphy bed unfolded from the wall and took up the entire apartment.
And “exposed brick”? That was the wall that looked like the building was peeling from the inside. Promoted as a charming design feature, it was actually brick that was never meant to be seen, but the landlord decided it added “character.”
But that’s the charm of New York – people come from all over the world looking for a story, not just a space.
And we were selling them that story.
We weren’t selling square footage – we were selling the illusion that they were part of something bigger, faster, more exciting – even if that illusion came with a bathroom you couldn’t close while showering.
There were apartments with “original hardwood floors” – which meant the floorboards creaked like a horror movie.
Many came with “vintage bathtubs” – which were actually tiny clawfoot tubs from the 1920s that you could never fully clean, and when you turned on the water, it sounded like a rocket launch from the floor below.
But you know what? Even those places had a buyer.
Because people don’t look for the perfect apartment – they look for a place that means something to them.
And we were helping them find it – or at least believe they had.
In that chaos, with one Nokia phone and one pair of sharp shoes, I spent my days showing apartments, carrying keys, waiting for tenants who were an hour late, and negotiating with landlords who thought their 220-square-foot Brooklyn studio was worth the same as a grand flat in Belgrade’s city center.
I was a psychologist, doorman, courier, PR rep, and translator between landlords from the Bronx and clients from India.
New York teaches you how to talk to five people at once, read two paper maps at the same time (this was pre-Google Maps), and flag down a cab while someone from the office screams at you for being late.
But it was fun.
You learn people. You learn the city.
You learn yourself.
You become part of a living system that never stops – and somehow, you find your rhythm in it.
Belgrade, 2013
I returned to Belgrade, mainly because of my son, who was not yet two years old at the time. He already had an American passport, but he also had grandparents and family waiting to make his childhood more beautiful.
I was happy.
It wasn’t a return in defeat – it was a return in triumph.
I came back because I wanted to build the next chapter here.
I had a feeling Belgrade was beginning to wake up, to change, and I wanted to be part of that. I wanted to work, to contribute, but also to be closer to family, friends, and the people I’d seen only through Skype for years.
And of course – real estate again.
Only this time: commercial. Office and retail space leasing and sales.
If New York taught me how to hustle, Belgrade taught me how to be patient.
Here, there’s no “showing at 3:15 PM sharp” – here it’s “let’s meet around three, give or take.”
I don’t use Excel too much, nor do I love sitting at a computer – that’s for people who like tabs and formulas. I prefer conversations, agreements, and that good old approach: let’s see who wants what, and what we can build together.
In New York, I may have known every building access code and every broker by name.
But here in Belgrade, I know exactly how much the service charge is in the most sought-after business complexes, what the average add-on factor is, and how many parking spaces the top commercial properties have.
I work with landlords who manage top-tier office space, yet keep them off the public radar – relying instead on precise positioning and market knowledge. I also know how to tell the difference between properties with real demand and those just testing the market.
But beyond all that, I also know where to find the best spicy meat stew in town, and how to book a table at a club or restaurant even when they say it’s fully packed.
In Belgrade, deals are still best made in a restaurant – and personal relationships often make all the difference.
My phone is still my main work tool. It’s no longer a Nokia, now it’s an iPhone – but I can finally answer emails while strolling through Belgrade instead of standing frustrated in a Subway car with no signal.
I still love real estate – not because of the square meters, but because of the people.
Because at the end of the day, whether it’s a “cozy apartment with exposed brick” in Brooklyn or an office space in New Belgrade – the real work happens between people.
And I feel like, between New York and Belgrade – I’ve got quite a story.
And an even better perspective.
Author: Nikola Ivković, Business Development Director