Around the Balkans in 20 Days – Part 6

I arose in an excited and over zealous mood. Yes, I was partially still drunk from the night before, questioning how I got home alongside why I was awake so soon after having gone to sleep. 5 or so hours were enough for sleep, surely?

Anyway, John, who was not eager to leave the apartment anytime soon, did not receive my mood well at all. He worked around it as best he could. I was very keen to visit Tito’s resting place, given that I missed out on that the last time I was in Belgrade. Through the miracle of washing away the vestiges of last night’s debauchery with a shower, and John now more carried by his need for food, we left the apartment around 11am. We descended the communal staircase, admiring the art deco style windows and peered nosily into the courtyard that was the heart of the square block of buildings. A space of serenity in the middle of the city.

We ventured up to Trg Republika, getting a coffee and a pastry on our way as we found our bearings. I managed to look up the bus route to get to the House of Flowers, the formal name for Tito’s resting place, which said to go to a bus stop near the Federal Parliament. So we crossed to Makedonska, and turned immediately right onto Decanska that led to Trg Nikole Pasica. The municipal buildings that dominated this stretch were built at the turn of the century, and had early Modernist styles with minimal ornamentation. This would have been Serbia’s own attempt at emulating the capitals of Western Europe, and in putting distance between them and their Ottoman heritage. Upon approaching the square, the opulent green dome of the Federal Parliament came into view. You would have imagined the Skupstina to be larger, but in fact it stood out from the buildings that surrounded it by being smaller than they. The dark behemoth that was the main post office loomed behind the pale Skupstina.

We walked in front of the parliament to look at the banners that were laid out in front of it. We deciphered the Serbo-Croatian to understand the thrust of the message was the plight of the Serbs in Kosovo. A denunciation of NATO was also thrown into the mix. However, no people accompanied the banners. They had been put up and left by their owners, and evidently in no way to the annoyance of the parliamentary authorities. We didn’t want to linger in case we looked interested in the subject matter and guilty by association, so continued to our bus stop.

After only a short wait in the sunshine next to a rather busy road, our trolleybus greeted us. John soon perked up at the immanent experience he was about to have on his first trolleybus ride. We boarded at the front, behind two people we presumed were local to the city. Once our turn arrived, I asked the driver for two tickets to the Tito Mausoleum. Not initially catching what I was saying as English, the driver motioned to repeat my request. I changed tack and asked if the bus went to the Tito Mausoleum. He said yes, but by the time I offered him some Denars through the small opening in his driver’s booth, he waved both my money away and the two of us into the bus. I suppose the double complication of having to explain the cost and the evident need to depart meant he would save time and effort just to let us on - perhaps with some knowledge that no ticket inspectors were patrolling today.

We went all the way to the back of the bus, where two seats were located behind the final set of bus doors and presumably perched on top of the engine. Straightaway, we were heading downhill on a long and straight road heading in a southerly direction, which soon flattened out. I had looked up the route to get there; to verify that the bus route went as intended, and indeed to check our bus was corresponding to that. We passed a number of prominent buildings, some smaller but displaying flags of different countries. We assumed this must be the government quarter with a smattering of embassies. We sped over a bridge that passed the intersection of the main motorway on which we arrived to Belgrade on the previous day. We then bared left on to a leafier thoroughfare that ran alongside Hajd Park – yes, eponymous with London’s own city lungs.

Although I knew our stop was close by, prepared by my pressing the bell and standing up, when the bus came to a full stop the driver peered through his window to beckon us off. How very helpful and friendly of him. I disembarked, still fuzzy in my head with the last ebbs of being drunk now merging into a hangover.  This was not how I imagined turning up to the mausoleum that I was always intrigued to visit.

The grand façade of the main building of the complex was upon us as soon as we began the walk uphill from the bus stop. Its large, wing-like expanse was typical of the theme of brutalist architecture we seemed to be pursuing, but was less severe than its contemporaries of the 1960s. This building, the 25 May Museum, was the main complex that was opened in 1962 to house gifts Tito had received up to that date. This was to be the last of the three buildings we were to visit. We approached a small building on the left that contained the ticket office and shop. For a small fee, we could access the aforementioned museum, the House of Flowers, and the Old Museum. We walked up the path, flanked by the odd statue here and there, and came around to the entrance to the House of Flowers, water fountain trickling in the background as we entered.

Whether the interior had been refurbished or not, the décor was very 1970s conservatory chic. Concrete and glass, with magnolia washed walls, meant that the odd pieces of 1970’s Danish furniture stuck out prominently. The marble tomb of the late dictator lay it the centre, sun shining from up on high, but secluded from us periodically by Mediterranean foliage acting as guards. In one wing of the room there were displays of Tito’s personal belongings. In the other there was a hoard of what looked like 1980s darts trophies. It threw me to try and recall why I had not picked up during my studies on Tito that he was a keen darts player. It turns out that they were in fact batons. Originally, these were symbols of youth in Socialist Yugoslavia, that were carried around the country to arrive in Belgrade on Tito’s birthday, which he shared with the Day of Youth national holiday. But then the idea expanded, so that all of the formal socialist and communist organisations – national through to local – would present them to Tito when he visited.

Onwards then to the Old Museum, that contained oddities from Yugoslavia’s past, particularly from the founding of Socialist Yugoslavia in the 1940s. My favourite was a wall mounted geographical relief map of Yugoslavia. I really wanted it. We then visited the final building, but not before my buying a coffee cup and saucer and Yugoslavia tote bag from the gift shop as souvenirs. The last building had less content, and what there was of it was in Serbo-Croatian. However, what I did enjoy was a minimalist map that was painted onto the wall. I bizarrely find fascination in different language scripts, and the names of the major cities on this map I really appreciated. I was mystified what this map could possibly represent. By process of elimination I gathered the names of some of the cities that weren’t capitals, and noted Jasenovac. I also noted that one of the words said ‘Revolution’ – so perhaps it indicated sites of monuments to the revolution that I knew dotted the former Yugoslavia. I took a picture so I could study it later on.

Nearby was the Partisan Football stadium and I suggested we pop by there, knowing John was a football fan, and that his dad may appreciate a visit to something non-politics/history orientated. In the fragile state he was in, and knowing the violent history of the fans of the team based there, he decided we shouldn’t go. Yet we also decided to walk back to the city, despite our sorry state, as we wanted to get a closer look at the buildings we saw on our journey over. It was definitely not the case that we were put off from having to negotiate a bus ride back.

So off we walked towards the motorway intersection. A new railway station was being built to our right, perhaps to replace or complement the old one what will sit next to the newly regenerate riverside development. Over the motorway we returned, and the avenue of the government quarter began with a harsh reminder of recent history. After consultation by John of Wikimapia, the bombed out building before us was the former Ministry of Internal Affairs. It was the target of NATO bombing in 1999 in order to get Milosevic to submit to demands for his regime to withdraw from Kosovo. This placed the somewhat visible resentment towards NATO through graffiti in context, but was not acted out through resentment towards nationals from those countries that made up NATO, as evidenced by our bus driver earlier. It was eerie witnessing my first example of a missile attack and the scale of the destruction that it can cause.

We walked along the traffic-jammed artery towards the Parliament ahead, commenting on the architecture and using our new found friend in Wikimapia to feed us details of buildings that intrigued us. Many of the buildings were built after the Second World War, so were modernist in design and emblazoned with images of communist warriors or socialist stars. As we started to incline again back to the city proper, another bombed out building bookended this segment of the avenue. This time it was the Armed Forces building. A few hundred yards on, we decided to take a left and walk amongst the tight-knit buildings towards the Kalemegdan, as it would provide much needed shade from the sun and not have as steep a walk to get to the main high street. We meandered through blocks of housing and offices, noting a few al fresco-dining establishments for future reference. We then appeared alongside Hotel Moscow again. Its vibrantly coloured and glazed tile façade stood out from the brutalist monotony surrounding it.

Back at the fortress, we took a bit more time to do some exploring. After rounding the fortress wall as before, we wondered within the grounds to look at some of the buildings and monuments. One was a small hexagonal building, topped with terracotta roof tiles, with a plaque in Serbo-Croatian and Arabic above a caged wooden door. It was a mausoleum for a Grand Vizier of the Ottoman Empire and two other muhafiz (Belgrade Governors). It was nice to see one of the few historical reminders that the Ottoman Empire had a presence here. As we continued our walk around, we came across a roof terrace bar built into the ramparts. The negative side of having a tourist attraction is the rampant commercialisation that accompanies it. We avoided it.

After a while, we unconsciously found ourselves heading back to the apartment. Before departing for another late dinner, we played a few games of cards again, drinking the remains of our alcohol. We picked another restaurant on the Skardalija to eat, deciding on a bottle of Tikves white wine to accompany our food. Towards the end of our meal, the house band that was doing the rounds came nearby to serenade the table behind us. They added to the jovial mood that the diners were in, including us. On a roll from last night’s ability to locate a gay bar, we decided to try and find another. However, we were not so lucky this time. We wondered through and around a block of buildings that had the Parliament building, Hotel Moscow and Trg Republika surrounding it. At times I thought we stood out a mile, looking for a place we couldn’t locate but passersby would know our secret mission and destination. After circulating 3 times, we abandoned our search and went home. But not before stopping by a hole in the wall that was a small pizzeria, selling only capricciosa pizza with a handful of choices for toppings. It was delicious.