We had an early start today, as we began
our trip to Macedonia’s northern neighbour. We packed our remaining belongings
after getting ready, and did a last minute look around the apartment for anything
left behind. We hauled our backpacks on, the heft of which was added to with
the weight of the bottles of Tikves wine I
wanted to take home with me. As instructed, we closed all the windows, turned
the air con off and locked our apartment door, leaving the keys in the hallway
before departing through the main door on to the stairwell. One last trip was
had in the rickety lift, my nerves on edge in case the bottom fell through with
said backpacks. Luckily we survived to the ground floor and made our way out
the communal door and on to the main square. Even for 7am, it was suffocatingly
hot. I hoped and prayed this bus had air con!
With the heat in mind, John suggested that
we take a taxi to the bus station. I was a little relieved he did ask, although
I feigned a little bit of opposition at first (as is my demeanour) before
capitulating and agreeing. I let
John do the talking, to a driver parked adjacent to the Arc de Triomphe. He
helped us with our backpacks, and soon drove us down the familiar 11th
October Street. Smatterings of early risers were heading in the opposite
direction to us, possibly to set up shop for the first day of weekend trading.
Tracing the route we walked two days previous, we were at the train and bus
station in no time.
After paying for our ride, we were met with
the usual humdrum around a station, even at this hour. Bus engines where
whirring in the background as we made our way into the departures hall to find
information for our bus. Although the main boards were in Cyrillic, the front
of the buses had English signs for their destinations. We spotted ours through
the flimsy idea for a ticket gate, where a couple of small families had set up
camp ahead of the driver opening the vehicle to let them on board. We had about
25 minutes, so we went to a kiosk in the hall to purchase some extra treats to
add to our horde. We added sweets and crisps to our stash of water, sandwiches
and beer – well, we were going to be on a bus for 8 hours!
We returned to the departure gate and
showed our tickets to the clerk. Uninterested, he waved us both through, and
over me moved to the front of our bus. We dumped our bags next to those of the
waiting families. We were told two days ago when buying the tickets that a
charge would be levied for the luggage, something we are not used to doing in
the UK as the ticket price normally includes the luggage we bring. Not knowing
how much this charge would be, I ordered John to take a stash of notes out so
that we wouldn’t be one of those couples who searches for change and holds up a
queue. I think John got out about £30 in Denar. When it came around to our
boarding, the charge was a mere £2. Very reasonable, and set the bar for how
much we would be paying on other bus journeys ahead.
We boarded a bus that was definitely a relic
of the late 1980s/90s. Perhaps Communist apparatchiks rode in it themselves!
Anyway, we placed ourselves on our dated purple and white moquette seats half
way up the bus. My thinking was that the toilet would be located down the
emergency exit stairwell opposite, so we would have ease of access. But as we
unpacked our immediate travel necessities – headphones and the like – I noticed
that there was no door either to the left or right, just the emergency door
straight ahead to leave the bus. I turned around to see if there was a cubicle
at the back of the bus. None existed. Shit.
So now I sat contemplating a bus ride for 8
hours without a toilet. Drinking beer was now out of the question. We didn’t
know how many stops there were, where we were stopping, or even if the stops
had toilet facilities. I was thinking how we would have to ration our water intake
but balance it finely with our hydration needs, in order to reduce the need to
go. John at this point darted out of the bus, departing in 10 minutes, to go
for a last minute relief break. I ummed and ahed as to whether I should do the
same, but decided my chance had now gone by the time John returned. I knew I
would now be anxious for the entirety of the journey. The driver fired up the
engine and the air con blew into action. So too did the Wi-Fi. Wouldn’t you
believe it, no bog but there was high speed internet. Incredible!
The at-capacity bus reversed out of its
bay, pulled forward through the barrier emerging from under the train platforms
and on to the side street in the open air. We drove to the dual carriageway,
and headed eastward. The sun was blazing through the windows, but we did have
the use of curtains if we needed them. I quite enjoyed my window seat views as
we swiftly passed from city suburbia to open country. The raised elevation of
the road and coach meant I had a great view of the horizon. Our route would
take us around the edge of the mountain range observed on Mount Vodno, which
blocked our view to Serbia in the east two days ago. Now we would get to see
what lay behind it. John made use of the Wi-Fi capabilities, which kept him
entertained. We merged on to the E75, the road that connects Budapest to
Thessaloniki and undergoing work for an additional east/west junction, to
proceeded north.
We pulled off the motorway after 30 minutes
or so of travelling, with Kumanovo being our first stop. I could only pass a
fleeting judgment on the city, but I did notice that the ethnic divide was
somewhat lesser here. The odd mosque and church didn’t seem to conform to a
logic that a certain group lived in one part or another. The bus station was a
mere parking lot with an aged administrative building near the entrance. A
number of travellers left us, but they were equally replaced with new people
boarding. We then set off towards the Serbian border.
I wanted to test out this Wi-Fi, so I
decided to FaceTime my mum. I logged on to the Wi-Fi and called her. I had
quite forgotten that it was very early in the morning in the UK, but
nonetheless my mother was awake. It had been just over a week since we left for
Berlin, and although I had messaged her and FaceTimed once, we chatted about
the past couple of days. John’s head would bob in and out of the camera at
prompts to the conversation I was engaged in, but only because he could hear just
my side of it as I had my headphones in. After 5 minutes, we said our goodbyes.
We knew we were approaching the border
because the driver’s aid (or the second driver!?) started walking up the bus
and collecting an assortment of documentation, passports and ID cards etc. We
gave him our passports with the visitation paper. He then waddled back to the
front of the bus prior to our stopping and starting through the slow traffic to
the Macedonian border control. John and I anticipated observing a mass of
migrants at the border, or a sense of chaos following the refugee crisis in the
previous months. But there were only a handful of people at this particular
crossing. I suspect the initial influx of refugees had either made it to Serbia
or they walked alongside the border to a more open spot to cross and continue
their journey. As we waited, I saw that we were now indeed on the other side of
the mountains guarding Skopje, and were situated in an open valley. As I was on
the left-hand side of the bus, I could only see the western hillside where a
settlement nestled halfway up on the Serbian side of the border. If you climbed
up and over that hillside, you would be in Kosovo.
We passed through the Macedonian side with
ease, and the guide handed back our passports but without our visitation paper.
We then progressed to the Serbian checkpoint. We all had to get off the bus and
individually hand in our passport to the guard in a toll-booth like structure
in order to be stamped. The bus may have been checked by a guard or two, I was
unsure, but 10 minutes or so later it pulled up alongside us for us all to get
back on.
We wound our way along the motorway,
pulling off every 50 kilometers or so to drop off/pick up passengers at small
towns along the route. The landscape was still that of wide floodplain
expanses, with the odd hill here and there, or in the distance. At one stop,
John dashed off with a fistful of denars to go to the toilet. He exchanged
words with the driver before getting off. I was anxious in case it was lost in
translation that John said he would only be 5 minutes but the driver would
instead drive off. I was also worried of the reverse that John would dawdle and
be longer than 5 minutes and risk the ire of the driver, who may have chosen to
depart anyway. Luckily neither happened, and John rushed back. His description
of the toilet had me fear for my personal hygiene for when I would be my turn.
The one thing that struck me as we dipped
in and out of these towns were the continuous EU signs on new buildings or
projects. They must be spending a huge sum as part of the initial accession
package ahead of EU membership. This juxtaposed with my earlier assumptions of
Serbia having a dislike of anything EU related. It also just reminded me of the
unfortunate situation we found ourselves in the UK, only weeks before.
Thankfully, thus far, we had avoided any forlorn faces or sympathetic
conversations from locals about our current quagmire.
But then my need for a rest break soon came
about, in-between stops. So I had to concentrate on my need to hold it in,
whilst wishing for a stop to be on the horizon. When it indeed came, I signalled
to the driver before I leapt off with two fingers and mouthed “two minutes”. He
nodded with a sense of further frustration at delaying his intended immediate
departure. I really needed to use the full facilities of the £1 entry toilet
block, but was aghast at the cleanliness and the furniture I found in the
cubicle – a floor level basin. I had neither the time nor inclination to try
and navigate this scenario. After doing as much as I could to ensure a
comfortable onward journey, I jumped back on the bus and off we set.
The last stop before Belgrade was Nis. Located in central southern Serbia, this was its third city. And
it seemed as though it was the forgotten city in that it needed a bit of
tidying up. Buildings looked creaky, and the bus station seemed to look like an
imitation, yet run-down, petrol station from the early 1980s. It did the job I suppose.
John had to dip out for another toilet break, but here we had 10 minutes to
stretch legs. I dashed to the toilet too.
Soon after we left the city, I started to
nod off. I awoke about 40km outside of Belgrade, and the sleep meant I did not
have to focus on my need for the loo. Outside, the bus meandered uphill through
low, rolling green hills in weather that had now grown overcast. A steady
stream of cars travelling alongside us soon grew in number as we approached the
capital. We then came over the crest of a hill and started our descent into the
city. The taller, modernist structures peered in-between the folds of the
remaining hills obstructing our view, before the suburbs swept alongside us and
our view of the burgeoning city was made clear. The motorway cut right through
the southern part of the city, from east to west, and we departed at a main
junction that sat next to the Sava River. We turned north into the city,
running parallel to the railway tracks. The bus depot was adjacent to the railway
station. We disembarked and collected our backpacks. There was little fanfare
with our arrival, and our co-travellers seemed keen to go
their different ways immediately. No hanging around!
Our new surrounds presented refurbished
Austro-Hungarian architecture sat next to their patiently waiting neighbours.
One building would be completely upgraded and finely pointed, and then the next
would have its pastel coloured plaster partially missing and tired with
pollution. The whole area was next to the Belgrade Riverside development, so
was the natural next step for rehabilitation. We began to walk, crossing the
main road in front of the station, to continue onward to Balkanska.
We walked past a two story covered car
park, inside of which we noticed a gathering of about 70 or more men. It became
apparent that these were all Syrian refugees. I mention men because there were
no children or women present. None. They were huddled under the shade of the
car park roof, amongst possessions that could be carried. So Belgrade was one
of the centres the refugees congressed, waiting opposite the two methods of
onward travel – train and bus.
We walked on and turned left up Balkanska.
I recall the steep hill that this would become, and hated the idea of my backpack
weighing me down. We plateaued next to the Hotel Moscow, and walked onwards to
Trg Republika. We were early to check in, so we walked up Kneza Mihaila, the
main shopping street, and sat down at a café to rest and quench our thirst. I
opted for an elaborate Latte. We surveyed the scene and population. The street
was bustling as shoppers and day-trippers leisurely went about their day. We
were sat under a canopy with fans cooling us off. Where we were sat, at the top
end of the pedestrianised shopping street, the buildings were low level copies
of the pastel coloured ones near the station, some indicating dates of their
construction. After a while, we returned to Trg Republika, and walked back
downhill in the opposite direction into the Skadarlija. John appreciated a
forgotten mode of transport that passed us by - a trolleybus. I appreciated the breeze it gave off to
cool me down.
The Skadarlija is a quarter adjacent to the
popular Skadarska Street, which buzzes with restaurants and bohemian nightlife.
The cobbled street stretches from
the Trg Republika at the top of the hill, down towards a green grocers market
in the direction of the Danube. The end of the street, opposite the market, is
marked with a Sebilj – a water fountain that was a gift of Sarajevo in 1989.
The wider area seemed to be built pre-war, with raised one-storey houses resting
next to tall four-storey apartment blocks formed on a grid basis. They were all
constructed in the same dark grey stone and cement, with the unifying aesthetic
of 1930’s modernism and the added flair of ornate stucco cornices every now and
then; each with a touch of ageing decay.
A trolleybus whizzed by heading towards the
town centre, as I made calls and sent messages on my phone to alert the
homeowner that we were there. After 10 minutes, the cleaner for our apartment
came down to let us in. She couldn’t speak English beyond the odd word or
number. As we got into to our sizeable and modern apartment, on the top floor
of a four-storey block, we had to use the aid of Google Translate. She hadn’t
finished cleaning yet, so asked if we could come back in an hour. We left our
bags and set off with a set of keys and left her to finish.
Although I had visited the foodie street
before, I never really explored the quarter that would be our base for the next
few days. I was excited to show John the confluence of the Sava and Danube
rivers from the Kalemegdan. So we walked through the side streets northwest,
admiring the buildings and appreciating the shade provided by the narrow
streets and tall buildings. On one corner we noticed an Art Deco/modernist
building that seemed to house a cultural centre now, but when built contained
the First Danube Steam Navigation Society, evidence of Belgrade’s key shipping
status in the past.
We continued towards the Kalemegdan,
walking via the Student Park, and entered via the main entrance opposite the
top of Kneza Mihaila. At first, you walk through a small forest of trees before
it opens up to landscaped gardens with monuments of Serbian and Yugoslav
history. People peppered the
gritty pathways and benches as we walked along, the odd person stooping into
the flowing water taps for refreshment. We bared left so we could begin our
180-degree walk from the east to the northwest along the ramparts of the
fortress. The Sava is the first of the two rivers we see, travelling east
towards the city, before turning gradually north as it arrives below us from
the left. It then passes by towards the island created at the initial joining
of the Sava and Danube, which was the furthest north we could see at present.
Bridges heaving with traffic crossed over to New Belgrade with its brutalist
architecture, hovering in the distance beyond the park opposite us. The old
city loomed on our left, clinging on to the hilly riverside above the train
station and beyond.
We turned right following the Sava
northward along a slim boulevard towards the Danube. The fortress over the
years had been expanded, and the terracotta/stone bricked walls we were walking
alongside belonged to the 19th century. We walked through an entry
gate and climbed up to the older fortress plaza area belonging to the Ottoman
period. We were now opposite the island and could fully take in the awesome
view and power of the Danube swallowing the water of the Sava as it travelled
eastward. In front of us now, to the north, a wall of forests guarded the
Vojvodina, and in past times would have been the Military Frontier to the
Austro-Hungarian Empire beyond. We decided to return to the apartment, so that
we could recharge our batteries (technological and biological) and change for
an evening meal.
I had chilled a bottle of the white wine we
packed in Skopje, and John had done the same with the beer intended for the bus
journey. We drank these as we changed, then settled down for while to play
cards and trawl through social media to look for any gay nightlife. We found a
Facebook page of a night that was located a mere 500 meters away. Google
couldn’t locate it specifically, but we decided to give it a shot anyway. After
getting rather merry whilst doing all this, we decided to head out and eat on
the Skadarska.
Within 5 minutes we were there, so we
walked up and down the cobbled street, looking at menus and agreeing at how
reasonably priced it all seemed given the posh appearance of the restaurants.
We decided on Dva Jelena – Two Deers. We had bread upon arrival and ordered a
bottle of white. Our mains were rich and flavoursome, thankfully soaking up the
equivalent of a bottle of wine we drank each by the dinners end. As we settled
the bill of around £20, it was approaching midnight. We decided that rather
than go to a bar for another, we would try and locate this club.
According to Google and other notable
mapping websites, the building number for the club on this street did not
exist. So we decided to trust street signs and instinct. We got to Dunavska and
looked for the number, but we could only find a building that was two numbers
before it, which ended at a crossroads.
In the low-lit street lighting characteristic of Europe, we were anxious
not to be looking for a gay venue, in case haters were waiting for prey. So we
circled a block of buildings to see if we could find a hidden set of numbers to
mask the real location of the venue. We even tried to listen for the bass
thumping sounds of music to guide us, but nothing gave away its location. We
returned to the crossroads.
It was then that we spotted three men who
we decided were heading for the club too. We hung around for 30 seconds so they
were a good 200 meters ahead before following them. They took the road off the
crossroads that was lined with wired fences separating the road from grassed
over ex-industrial land, was hardly lit, and seemed to head towards an
industrial park. Things became worrying when we had to cross a railway line.
Relief came over us as we began to hear those bassy sounds. As we turned the corner
of a building that reminded me more of a guardhouse, I noticed a police van
parked across the way. Three people were on the door to the club, one in semi
drag, and began to speak to us in Serbian as we went over. We gave our
apologies and they then asked in English if we knew that this was a gay club.
We said yes and smiled, showing our relief. They explain the cover charge and
that it included two drinks tickets. Bargain! The officers in the police van
seemed unperturbed.
Whether because the LGBT scene was rather
small, or this was a place for regulars, or that we simply entered; a number of
heads turned as we entered into the inner open-air courtyard of the club. A bar
was opposite us, so we passed groups of friends as I ordered our first free
drinks while John popped to the toilet. The Facebook group mentioned that three
styles of music would be played, but we couldn’t see enough space for there to
be three separate rooms. It later transpired that three DJs with different
tastes of music played at varying times during the evening in the sole club space
inside.
After finishing our first free drink, John
grabbed the next as I set off for the loo. The interior was a small concrete
bunker with graffiti and posters from events gone by plastered all over the
place. It would be at home in east London. Upon my return John got speaking to
two people, soon to be joined by a third. Nemanja was local to Belgrade and his
friend Danilo was visiting family nearby and hailed from Dusseldorf. Voja, who
joined us later, also lived in Belgrade. We got chatting about a whole host of
things whilst in the courtyard, as the placed filled up even more. I asked
about the police outside. Nemanja said that they were there to protect us, not
intimidate us. This put my mind at rest. We stuck with these guys and exchanged
numbers to potentially meet again while we were here. After a number of Vodka
Cokes, we all went indoors for the pop music DJ set. My last memory was calling
out at the top of my lungs, along with Voja, for Cher to be played. Not sure if
the DJ obeyed.
