The Brotherhood and Unity Highway - Friday 11th August

So, this was our last morning in Belgrade. By 11 am we had to leave, so we packed up in anticipation, but still left time for a bit of breakfast. Alexandar, our host, led us out of the apartment and down to the garage. John was in the driving seat for this initial leg of the journey. A shaft of light filled the dark and cool basement, and soon we were out and onto the cobbled street above. 

John retraced our entry into the city, but this time amongst noticeably more traffic as we passed the Parliament building and descended down towards the motorway. The one advantage the traffic provided was the time to scrutinise some of the old buildings along this governmental boulevard, and guessing their function.

With an unfamiliar road layout, and a version of the Birmingham ‘Spaghetti Junction’ coming up, together we exited the boulevard and veered right onto the downward slip road onto the main east-west motorway, seamlessly merging in. We glided over the Sava River, past the brutalist New Belgrade community, and were waved off by the Western City Gate, or Genex Tower as its also known. However, nerves began to bubble, as I knew that soon I would have to take over the driving.

Soon enough, we pulled into a service station to fill the tank and grab some road snacks. I was now in control of ‘Sandra the Suzuki’. I got my seat right, and mirrors sorted, and then set off back onto the somewhat quieter road. It took some getting used to, but on a straight and easy road I did not find it too challenging. However, the first stop on the way to Zagreb was going to take us off the ‘beaten track’ and north-east towards a quieter border point and beyond, to the town of Vukovar.

I turned off at the sign for Sid, and we now found ourselves travelling along a busy country road passing through small and narrow villages. Having gone north, as we arrived in Sid we turned left and towards the border about 1-mile further west. As we approached the small border post, a grave yard appeared to our right. Despite it being an ominous symbol of the reason why I wanted to visit Vukovar, I found it odd that a graveyard would sit on the border where no village appeared close by.

The Serbian side of the border was swift. When it was our turn to be checked by the border guard on the Croat side, a rather terse woman asked for papers, which I handed over. She barked ‘papers’ once more because, unbeknownst to us, we needed to give her the documents for the car. John shuffled in the glove box and pulled out a green booklet, which I handed over. A flick through aforementioned documents led to their return, and a barrier being raised. The road ahead was ours. 

I recalled that I had passed through this area before, and have the stamps to prove it, as I had crossed the border here some years ago when I travelled by train from Belgrade to Sarajevo. It’s always nice to have a new perspective on a journey when you are retracing your steps. Certainly, going through the border was quicker by car than by train!

The countryside had more contours now, with winding roads dipping up and down agricultural fields and low hills. We came close to the Danube again, swerving away from it once more until we would see it fully again at Vukovar. We were greeted on our arrival by the destroyed water tower in the east of the town. Meandering through some road works, we then found ourselves on a sort of bypass that went around the main high street, both of which were parallel to the river. We located a car park on the opposite side of the bypass to the market, through which we would have to walk to reach the river. We paid our fee and traipsed over. 

The odd person was spotted, doing their shopping or sat out staffing their stalls. It was a humid day, so perhaps people came out later in the day. We reached a sort of quay where a small river cut through the town to reach the Danube. We walked over the modern bridge which had helpful information on. The west part of the town was in geographical Slavonia - a name and place which has existed for many centuries. The east of the town was in the Srem/Srijem. This area stretches all the way to New Belgrade, bordered to the north by the Danube and to the south by the Sava. We crossed over into Srem/Srijem.

Situated here were older buildings, more turn of the century and rather more ornate. But also, the evidence was there that they were also recently refurbished. It’s difficult to imagine the horrors that took place here, little over two decades ago. One of the familiar clips of video, in my mind, is of a bus, window wipers miserably oscillating, driving through this very high street after forces on the Serbian side had ‘taken’ Vukovar. Rubble was strewn everywhere, and no people could be seen. It really captured the overwhelming destruction that took place at the start of the war, on a town that had only recently become a frontier town, as former internal borders overnight became international ones.

We walked briefly up and down the high street, during which John attempted to exchange denars at a shop (unsuccessfully I may add). The buildings were Austro-Hungarian in style, plastered and whitewashed, or pastel coloured, with minimal ornamentation gracing them, such as dark wooden beams. A notable feature were the arched colonnades you walked through in lieu of pavements, which provided much needed shade. We returned to Slavonia and sat in a café, near a fan with water misters, and had a coffee. We then returned to the boiling hot car, to continue our journey.

We needed to re-join the main highway, and did so in a south-westerly direction. The terrain was very much the same, but the roads passed by more villages than through them. The slower journey on these countryside roads allowed us to take in our surroundings. We circumnavigated the ring road around the only urban centre we would see until Zagreb. This was Vinkovci. Similar to any experience you have of circling a town - a junction, an industrial park, a retail park, some houses adjacent to the road, and topped off by my first roundabout!

At one point, we found ourselves descending into the Sava floodplain, but its backdrop, to the south and ahead of us, were the peaks of mountains in northern Bosnia, beyond the river. Their allure reminded me of our time there the previous year, and a hint of sadness crept in with the knowledge that we would not be there again on this trip. As we continued to the motorway, joining it after paying our toll, we were in the lull of the floodplain and our horizons were now fields or forests, the latter acting as barriers to settlements beyond.

Two hours out of Vukovar, and very much in the western part of Slavonia, we departed the motorway once more for a pre-planned stop. Having studied south-east Europe, and continuing to read an array of books on the region, the place we were going to visit had a sinister past, the traces of which were now long gone, and a memorial built in another era to commemorate that past.

It was a quiet country road that led to the outskirts of the village of Jasenovac, with the Sava, and Bosnia & Herzegovina, only a stone’s throw away. The name, notorious amongst a number of communities in the former Yugoslavia, represents the concentration camp that existed here during the time of the Nazi-puppet regime of the Ustasha. That regime took the destructive intent of the Nazis - murdering Jews, Gypsies and Roma, and political opponents - and added to those the local Serb population, who lived in the newly created, and expanded, Croatian state known as the Independent State of Croatia (NDH). The regimes’ intent was to ‘cleanse’ the territory of Serbs to make an ethnically pure Croatia. The Serbs comprised the largest group of detainees and victims.

The place was still as we arrived. Only a couple of cars were parked up, and the collective hum of crickets were the only background noise. We parked in front of a single storey building, a disconnected ‘L’ shape, the void of which had marble slabs with information on the site and the architecture of the nearby point of interest. The small museum was of interest, but only took 20 minutes to pass through. The photos of the camp were the only way for you to comprehend the space in which the horrors took place, in the vicinity of where we stood. 

We returned to the heat and proceeded to walk up a short embankment, which turned out to be a former railway line branch. An old steam train with animal wagons stood idly on the side, as a reminder of the disturbing role it played in the atrocities. The other reason why I wanted to visit here was to see my first, of what I hope to be many, Tito-era ‘Spomenik’.

The embankment kept the river at bay, but created an almost boggy island between it and the road on which we arrived. The only thing dominating this space was the quadruple winged ‘Flower Monument’. Wooden railway line sleepers formed the causeway to it, with two landscaped pools as sites for reflection, and small circle mounds symbolising where the former camp structures lay.

We had the space to ourselves, and it was peaceful to be here. The concrete structure, despite its beauty, encapsulated the brutal nature of the regime that did its evil work here. Bogdan Bogdanovic was the architect, and he went on to create a vast number of these monuments. One commentator noted that the abstract and non-explicit designs avoided explicit references to death, and instead moved into the sphere of how a monument can create feelings in the observer, feelings of the past, present, and future. Here, I think he captured that sentiment perfectly.

We returned to the car once more and made our way back to the motorway. Within 60 minutes we were at the city limits of Zagreb, and the urban sprawl began to suck us in. Despite my reluctance to drive in cities, I had ensured that the route to get to our accommodation was as simple as possible. It was a right fork off the motorway, now named ‘Slavonska Avenija’ and a left towards the Railway station. As we pulled off into a quiet set of low-rise central European style apartment blocks, hidden behind the Lisinski Concert Hall, I recalled the area as this was where I stayed in 2011. We were met by our host and shown around, given the house rules and what we needed to do before departure, then off they went. We gave ourselves some time to recharge our batteries and shower.

It was dark when we left the apartment, and the area behind the railway station was, as I recalled, a quiet and mildly threatening space you didn’t want to spend any time in. So, we aimed straight for the underpass, stopping for a quick snack from a newsagent, and then appeared out on King Tomislav Square. The series of three squares we were about to walk north through formed part of the late 1800s planned reconstruction of the city, and were the right line of a squared letter ‘U’ of green spaces arching through the city, and were surrounded by grand buildings with ornate facades popular at the time. At the third square, a classical music festival was taking place. We savoured it as we slowly passed, but hunger was very much controlling our movements.

We passed through the brightly lit Ban Jelacic Square, and wound around behind it up a bustling lane of cafes and restaurants, and then down a long and narrow street that had single level wooden framed shops, similar to those in the Bascarsija in Sarajevo. There was a lively atmosphere here, with people singing solo or in a duet every so often. John spotted a nice restaurant, where we could sit out and savour the music and warm evening.

Laterna na Dolcu was the name of the restaurant, and we examined the tasteful few options on the menu. We decided to get a bottle of wine too, after all our driving, and so asked the waiter to recommend one for the food we had chosen. He suggested a specific Croatian red, and we obliged. Only after he left did I see the price, and had a mild panic. It was going to be more than the food! John put me at ease, let’s say, and thankfully the wine was both nice and an had the effect of helping me forget its cost. The steak I had with a potato and spinach side was very nice, and we even had pudding. We left satisfied and meandered a little more about the centre of the city. 

A friend of mine from Zagreb recommended going to a small gay club that was near the central square, so John and I headed for there. A glazed door that looked more like the entrance to an office or travel agent was our discreet entrance into this club. We showed our ID and descended to the basement in the now familiar fog of cigarette smoke. It was quiet as we walked in, a couple of patrons on one side and a table of six around a low-level table and sofa. We had some beers and found a spot to perch. We chatted about the day, and often turned towards the door when someone new came in, as that’s how quiet it was. But all of a sudden it had become busy. 

Although we didn’t dance, nor stay too long after it had reached a party atmosphere, someone had spoken to us and, as we got chatting, mentioned that a lot Bosnian’s come here, given that it was the closest friendly city for them with a gay scene. I now noticed an ID card of someone who was getting served at the bar when I was, and this confirmed his observation. Soon after, we called it a night and returned via the green squares, and back to our apartment.

Cycling to Ada - 9th August 2017

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.

Luckily, the cycle lane ran the whole length of the riverside to the Ada. We had to snake around a makeshift part of the route as land was being mechanically cleared away in anticipation of foundations for a new apartment block to be built. We then passed under the railway line that inclined from the railway station behind us to our left, and rose over to our right as it crossed the Sava to New Belgrade. Despite bridges overhead and traffic nearby, a slim wooded area dimmed the noise of the cars, no doubt to the delight of the quaint boat homes that were dotted along this part of the route.

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.

Around the Balkans in 20 Days – Part 5

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 11^th 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 19^th 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.

My Images of SEE – 08:17, Friday 19th August

Liam snoozed and I relaxed whilst waiting for my clothes to dry. I went down and the lady at reception had put them into a basket for me. So I went up, woke Liam, and we got ready to leave. We left the apartment, through the High Street, and down a little maze of side streets to the Brankov Most – the bridge to the ‘New Belgrade’ side of the Sava. The view north was amazing, just a horizon of forest.

We walked over the busy road bridge, which took us 20 minutes, to a park on the other side. Immediately in front of us was a shopping mall. So we hid from the evening heat inside and grabbed a snack. We then walked around the mall and up a blocked off road to a park. 

This was where the Beer Festival was being held. An adjacent road to it was crammed full of people going to it: teenagers, middle-aged men and women, families – the lot. We had a light padding down at the gate and walked down a security alley to the main arena. There were stalls of the different beers all around, the ground messy from a few days of partying. We grabbed a £1.50 beer each and went to the arena. The sun was creeping slowly behind the stage.

A nice folk band were on – 8 members I think and a man in his seventies on lead vocals. Songs lasted about 10 minutes long it seemed, and had an almost ‘Greek’ feel to them, although it was definitely a Serbian set up. 

We happily listened for 30 minutes, grabbing another beer, but then made our way back as dusk was approaching. More people were arriving as we exited. We walked back across the bridge at just the right time. The sun was leaving a glorious day, and we say the city light up on its banks. The fortress just glowed from the forest around it. 

St Sava’s Church the other side of town was a Christian beacon for the city. We walked to Republic Square, which was still busy, and had a couple of cocktails. We then went to the 24-hour convenience store next to our hostel and grabbed snacks for the morning. We watched some shows on my phone then slept.

We woke at 06:45. We showered and finally packed before living the hostel at 07:20. We walked the last time through the High Street, then down Balkanska to the train station. It was hot already. My train was at platform 4, and we confirmed Liam’s. We sat opposite the train for 10 minutes then said our goodbye’s. I was now on my own.

The train hardly filled up whilst I waited until the 08:15 departure. I had a young lad and girl for company as I departed Belgrade over the river Sava.

My Images of SEE - 08:44, Thursday 18th August

The cabin was hot, so we opened the window. But the noise from the train was loud as it was the next thing to our carriage. We took in the dusk, then played some card games. We then went on to our separate bunks. Still being hot, but with the shutter being down to save the morning night pouring in, I put a loo roll between it and the window ledge. That gave me some respite from the heat. At 05:00 we were awoken by Romanian border control. Passport then customs questions. 30 minutes later we had the same on the Serbian side. We then drifted off again. Prior to this, at one station (presumably Timisoara) we heard LeAnn Rimes play into the night – odd.

We woke properly at 08:00, but, as guessed, the train wouldn’t arrive at its scheduled time. However, the Vojvodina was beautiful. Severely flat, covered in corn crops or sunflowers, it was a rural idyll. We travelled along at a leisurely pace until Belgrade was in the distance. We passed over the mighty Danube (or Dunav), which was a good 400-500 meters wide. Forest on one side, and urbania on the other. At a snail’s pace we meandered through the city to our station. Another glorious day to welcome us to a new city.

We departed our train then went to reservations. We needed information on our separate train journeys on Friday. The lady there, speaking great English, said that there was a straight through train to Sarajevo. That was for 08:15. For the Ljubljana train too, it was straight through at 10:20. Neither needed a reservation.We left the Austro-Hungarian inspired building of canary yellow and walked uphill to the centre. 

The geography of the city does explain why it was a favoured bastion for all past empires and nations. Before we reached the main shopping street, we turned back and could see New Belgrade across the Sava. New bridges connecting to something akin to a financial centre. Around us were the odd Soviet block, but they were dominated by their Austro-Hungarian counterparts. We walked up the shopping street, very similar to Cardiff on a sunny afternoon, and left it by one block to reach our hostel.

We climbed the five flights of stairs to it and were warmly received. Our room was just being prepared, so we were told to wait. We checked up on the Internet, whilst the hostess took our passports. 15 minutes later we were in our room. It was a double, but small yet comfortable. We showered then went exploring. We continued our walk up the modern shopping street, with table and chairs scattered everywhere for all the cafés and restaurants. At the end we crossed the road in to the park that contained the Kalegdan Fortress. We wondered through the trees and souvenir stalls to reach the western part of the outer wall. The views were exceptional. High walls meant you could see down, as well as across. New Belgrade was on a hill too; in the distance, Zemun. Just before the Sava linked up to the Danube proper, a part of the Danube seeps in a kilometer beforehand creating an island – War Island to be exact. A massive forest engulfing the island at the confluence of the two rivers. The Sava a tad greener than the Danube, a duller green/grey.

We walked clockwise around the walls, we passed Ali Pasha’s tomb in the grounds, an Austro-Hungarian wooden house, then a church. The fortifications were robust, especially its buttresses. We found a café in the walls so stopped for a beer. The views behind us were awe inspiring. 

As the heat progressed, we walked back into town, via the purchasing of souvenirs, then found a café to eat in. Service was slow but my savoury pancake was to die for. We then went shopping for the first time on our trip. Liam bought a nice top, and I saw some English books on the area’s history. After a walkabout, we returned to our hostel.

After a refreshing sleep we then went out for dinner. This was on Liam as a thank you. We walked past Republic Square on to the Skardarijia. This was a cobbled street on a low rise hill that was dimly lit. It has about 15 restaurants on and was pleasant in the evening sun. We went to one on the corner that had a band playing. The waiter took our drinks order and offered us a starter. This is where the feeling of Skopje began to return. He brought over some toast and hummus, then took our main meal order. We both ordered steak. Our candle was lit, and we were sat on homemade log benches and table. It was lovely appreciating the hustle and bustle.

Then our true starter arrived, a massive portion on prosciutto, cream cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, butter/cream and starch muffins. We ate a quarter of it. Then our beef came. It was massive and lovely, but we ordered a salad too. We didn’t touch that. We declined dessert.

We left then walked down the leafy street and turned left. We reached a bar with an outside area and had some cocktails whilst chatting. We left at 22:00 and slept.