We anticipated a slovenly day, what with the heat and an afternoon of travel ahead. So we woke up well after the sun had risen into our room, at a modest 9:30am, and cobbled together the bits we took out of our rather large suitcase. Having repacked, we caught up on the day’s news whilst we had WI-FI.
We took the suitcase down to the car, before returning to the block to pay the hostess our fee. A deaf yet audible conversation of our English and her Serbian took place swiftly, with a lot of nodding heads and smiles. We wanted to explore the city a little more, so we left the car where it was and retraced our walk back to the centre of the old town via the riverside.
The high street was quieter than anticipated, so we easily found a table at café that served coffee and a variety of breakfast options. I had a craving for eggs, so ordered three fried. John is always partial to a ham and cheese toastie, so he ordered that. Although under a parasol, I could feel the heat rising around us. I was thankful for the water that so often comes with coffee as standard in the Balkans. Once fed, we walked back to the central square, where we noticed a tourist map in one of those free-standing advertising boards. On it was marked a synagogue, about a 10-minute walk away. I suggested we visit that, then loop around back to the riverside, and then back to the car.
So, we crossed over the main trunk road that ran through central Novi Sad, skirting the old town, before it went off towards the bridge over the Danube towards Petrovaradin. I lasted about 2 minutes in the heat, before I asked that we walk on the other side of the road under the shade of the trees and taller buildings.
The synagogue was on the shaded side of the street, behind metal fencing with the gates open. We wondered in to get a closer look. It was a large, sandy coloured brick building, with two ‘towers’ on each side of a recessed entrance. Flanked on either side were two similarly sized outbuildings. An information sign indicated that it was built in 1909. It amazed me that it had managed to remain here during the Second World War, given that the area was ceded to Hungary who had far right and then fascist leaders under thumb of the Nazis.
We continued on until we reached the main boulevard that begins at the railway station. There was a bit more life here, as shops lined the kerbside. After turning left, we had arrived at the entrance to a very brutal shopping centre plaza. We continued down another wide boulevard until we reached the riverside. Here, we had lovely views of the fortress across the way, and stopped to look at the memorial sculpture to the victims of fascism.
Having now called time on Novi Sad, John took to the driver’s seat, and we prepared to leave our concrete housing estate. Not before, though, I changed the language on the sat nav to English, so that we could safely make out way to Belgrade and beyond.
However, we had a little hiccup upon our departure with the sat nav. As the road network nearby was all temporary due to the bridge works, coupled with our lack of familiarity with Serbian road signs, we battled with the sat nav to understand where we needed to go. After pausing in the middle of the road debating whether to go left or right, and a little back and forth between John and I, we turned left. This way, we retraced our steps back through the suburbs and onto the motorway.
The journey to the outskirts of Belgrade should only have needed to take 30 minutes, but I was unsure what the traffic would be like in Belgrade itself. I was hesitant to drive, as I wouldn’t be confident driving in a city centre like Belgrade and on the opposite side of the road. John wasn’t bothered. The drive was still accompanied by flat, agricultural land, with the odd hill here and there. We slowly started to descend, soon after a road toll and surrounded by a forest, before approaching a bridge. This was suspended highly above the broad width of the Danube below. We coasted over into the region known as Srem or Syrmia. This piece of land, shared between Serbia and Croatia, is the wedge of land between the Danube and Sava rivers.
As we turned off the north-south motorway, we joined the main arterial east-west road between Belgrade and Zagreb. Once we drove past the airport, the traffic on the motorway became a lot busier, as we hurtled into the outer suburbs of the city. We were welcomed by the Western City Gate, standing in brutal dominance overlooking the motorway. To our right, we passed a Gazprom poster depicting the Serbian and Russian flags joining together highlighting their political and economic union.
As we began to slow into the rhythm of local and long-distance traffic negotiating more numerous junctions, we knew our turn off was the second of two immediate ones straight after we cross the Sava river. One thing to note is that the junction turnoffs are very short and sharp, which can make for dramatic driving. John navigated the mini spaghetti junction with ease, and we were now heading north on the road akin to Whitehall, with all its government and embassy buildings. We then ascended a hill to the main city centre, which flattened adjacent to the park in front of the Parliament building. You always get a different perspective of the landmarks as a road user than you do as a pedestrian. We bared right, and then began to descend. We had to navigate a one-way system around a park opposite our apartment, but finally turned right onto a cobbled street thinking we had reached our destination. We counted the property numbers, and it turned out we were on the upper part of the street, not the lower. John turned around and drove down.
I jumped out and called the proprietor. He came down to meet me, and directed John to the carpark accessed by a side entrance and a steep incline into the basement. He escorted us up to the top floor, and let us in. The one-bedroom apartment was decorated in a modern way but with local twists and additions. The air-con was already on, as he must have been boiling whilst waiting for us. He showed us around, and highlighted the balcony that came with a canopy shade. One he had left, and we had dumped our things, we departed for the city centre.
There was a traditional, Herzegovinian restaurant opposite our building, which acted as a key stone to a hemispherical park that led on to a secondary road into the centre. This was narrower than the wide boulevards and so more shaded, and it led us to a market space at the bottom of the hill where Skadarlija was located. Having visited twice before, it was rather serene in the daytime without the cacophony of diners and lively music. The sun was low in the sky, so it was ideal for some snaps.
We walked up to the now familiar Trg Republike, and down the main shopping street. For ease, we stopped for a beer in the same place we did the previous year. We then ventured around the Kalemegdan and returned to the shopping street, along with many others from the park, and walked to Hotel Moscow. Its white tiles radiated a soft pink as the sun had started to hide behind nearby buildings.
We were here because I noted that there was a gay bar or two in the vicinity. Armed only with a little bit of research I did before we left the flat, and no internet away from WIFI to use, we managed to locate one bar inside an arcade. A closed doorway sat between two windows, one being slightly pulled up. I walked in to the smallest bar I had ever been in. Aside from the barman, there were 4 other patrons. They all looked at us as they became silent. Along the width of each window was a bar shelf with 3 stools at each. The small bar was an ‘L’ shape, and to its right, there was a steep staircase that led on to a low mezzanine level. We ordered two beers, and sat down, which was when conversations were renewed. As the place was smoky, we opted for the stools opposite the open window.
We decided it would be rude if we only stayed for one, so ordered another round. The beers were relatively cheap, and the music in the background allowed us to converse without sparking up curiosity from the others. We drank up, then walked the 3 minutes to the next bar.
This was called XL, and to get to it you had to go into the entrance way of a shopping parade that was of the 1970s/80s style of marble and glass. Up the stairs to the first level and you had a choice. Café bar to the left that overlooked the main shopping street, or a frosted door leading to the back of the building. The latter was our bar. We went in and, despite the darkened lighting, everything was decked out in white. There was a small group and a female couple in already. It was early. I ordered a red, and we sat at a raised bench with a bar table that one could easily lean against when standing up.
We finished our night here after a few more drinks, and staggered back down Despot Stefan to our apartment, and then sleep.
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