I left John in bed, and decided to get some food for breakfast and some bits for a planned trip to Ada Ciganlija. It was already a warm and still day as I walked from the apartment onto the main thoroughfare. I had noticed a couple of small convenience stores the day before, so I aimed towards those.
One store I happened upon had a series of customers coming and going, and a bit of a buzz about it, with the branding hinting it was part of a chain of stores. I thought I’d rely on the trust of strangers, them having chosen this store in significant, albeit briefly observed, numbers, to venture in myself.
Easily enough, I gathered grocery items for John and I; Chocolate milk for the hangover, bread and Nutella for the power boost, and picnic items as a motivation that we should go on the planned trip. Upon my return to the apartment, I pulled together selections of cheese and Nutella on toast (though not combined), with coffee to fuel us for the next couple of hours. We sat out on the balcony to eat, which became more of an endurance test than a pleasure. After scoffing our food we returned indoors to the oasis of coolness, got ready then set off from the apartment.
We followed the previous days route for a period, heading west into the city, passing crumbled facades of modernist architecture. We crossed over the main shopping street, down a pedestrian path to an adjoining main road connected to the Brankov Most, then downward towards the riverside. Here, a shop called iBike was based. Housed down a small alley between some of the few remaining small, two floor dockside buildings, it felt like we would be the last people to see it standing – what with the new Belgrade Waterfront development creeping ever closer.
For a mere 2000 denars we had the bikes for 24 hours, but endeavoured to return them after our trip. My being nervous of riding a bike anyway, in addition to traffic being on the opposite side of the road and not knowing any Serbian Highway Code for cyclists, we pushed our bikes to a quiet nearby road that was a mere 100 meters from the waterfront cycle lane. We were very much on the periphery of the development building site stretching a good 2 kilometres upstream along the Sava riverside. The initial section was somewhat complete, but in that prior stage before residents occupied the buildings. The odd curious local or tourist, much like ourselves, ventured along the promenade for a closer inspection. Here, there was no shade to shield us of the sun, so all we had was the breeze to cool us.
Once past the towering and modern Ada Bridge, we had arrived at the tip of our island destination. This area was new to us, and the scene moved from boat houses on the river to functional quays filled with pleasure boats, where regattas could have easily been held. Passing these, we cycled alongside a sizeable throng of people with the same idea as us. We navigated familiar paths and cycle lanes now, but took a turn to head into the forest in the first instance - to get away from the heat for a while, if nothing more.
We zoomed down the gritty path along the spine of the island to its western end. Here, we turned back along the concrete walkway next to the lake, gradually slowing our pace as the number of beachwear clad pedestrians increased. About halfway along we stopped for a beer at a bar where the seating was nestled in the forest. Perhaps not a wise move, as I was harassed by an inquisitive wasp. We pushed our bikes along to another bar, this time on the lakeside. We decided to pitch up here, locking our bikes, and settled down over the course of a couple of beers alternating between reading and people watching. A light breeze brushed off the lake providing needed relief, as did the ice-cold beer. At one point, John sloped off for a dip in the cooling Ada. I refrained.
I paid, so that we could both move away into the sun and sunbathe for a period. I happily snoozed for an hour or so, slightly sedated by the beers and the heat. John made a return trip to the waters of the lake. We then made our return, cycling the same route back, with people still flocking to the Ada to savour the cooler late afternoon sun. We returned our bikes, and went straight back to the apartment. I facetimed my family for a catch-up, and then John and I facetimed our friends Ant and Ash. We decided to eat somewhere on the Skardalija, so returned to the bottom of that street and walked up browsing the offerings of the numerous restaurants.
I opted for the steak with jacket potato, and John had beef layered on top of a ratatouille-like base. A litre of red wine was also ordered. As before, energetic and flamboyant bands started up along the street from one restaurant to the next. The warm evening night making the outdoor setting all the more enjoyable. From there, we returned to a bar we found last time, XL bar. Taking less time to locate than before, we strolled in to a quiet room. It still takes some getting used to, being British, that in Europe the social hour starts a lot later than at home. I continued on the red wine, while John opted for vodka coke.
We utilised the WIFI to search for a new place to visit. Over a second drink, a slow march towards inebriation, we had located a club via Facebook. As ever, the directions to get there were not altogether clear. They resembled more a treasure hunt than a simple geographical marker. Musk was our destination, and it was to be found nearby on Makedonska, a road name that pleased me somehow.
We walked the 5 minutes around the corner to Makedonska, and a few night time revellers and restaurant goers seemed to be heading home. We found the door number for the club, but this was a mere entryway into a pre-war, courtyard centred building. We walked in but no visible signs, nor sounds, of a club could be found. I noticed an open stairwell going up, and suggested that the club could be upstairs. We ventured up the first flight, but only noticed door signs for official businesses or trades. One even hinted at being a private dwelling. Uneasy about the prospect of being questioned by a resident, and having to explain that we were looking for a gay club, we soon sped back down the stairs. It was only at this point, with our eyes more used to the dimly light courtyard, did we see in the back the sign ‘Musk’. Indeed this was a basement club.
We descended the narrow stairs down to a door, and opened it freely. A wave of music and smoke brushed over us, as we tread down a couple more steps into the main bar area of the club. Two or three tall tables were between us and the bar, and the dimly light room was bordered by 3 or 4 small seating booths. Naturally, heads turned at us newcomers but not necessarily because we were unknown, perhaps merely because we had arrived. John ordered two beers as I navigated the warren of small seating areas, a few steps up here, a few steps down there, on my way to the toilet. I returned to find John had sat at one of the periphery seating areas. The music was loud but a conversation could still be had, with songs being played from a Serbian music TV station. Curious customers returned to their own conversations. Another beer followed in quick succession. A couple of people danced, and a new set of arrivals had engaged the bar staff in conversation.
But then something happened that struck alarm in both of us. A couple of uniformed police officers had entered. Yet, none of the other patrons batted an eyelid. In fact, once the officers had approached the bar, and the bar staff seemed to be on friendly terms with them. Rakija was poured, followed by another, and the officers simply looked around the room once or twice during their conversation. They then duly left. When the barman came with another round of beers, curiously we asked about the situation. He said that they routinely do that, and in fact their visits kept the place safe. He said they had a good relationship with them.
We enjoyed the rest of the evening, but kept ourselves to ourselves. By 2am we departed, but not before heading over the road to Bucko Pizza, our favourite from last year, for a snack for the walk home.
