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 7

The morning was slightly overcast as we peered out the window to test the sky, needing to judge whether or not we should have a day out and about. We discovered that there was a man-made lake on the outskirts of town, which Belgrade folk frequent. Despite no clear sunshine at the moment, we decided that the heat was enough for us to deserve a trip out to see what was on offer. After a few minutes of translating the Belgrade transit website, we found the details for the bus we would need to get us there. We packed a few essentials – sun cream, snacks that we had about the apartment, towels, books and sunglasses – and departed.

Conveniently, the bus stop was on Trg Republika. So we walked up to the square, and stopped at a kiosk that was adjacent to the bus stop we needed. We wanted to get a good supply of water, as we were unsure of the facilities available at the lake; handily this was also where you had to buy bus tickets. In English, accompanied with gesticulations on par with that of an orchestra conductor, we managed to convey, to the lady hidden amongst the confectionery and magazines, where we wanted to go. A few dinars later, we had our return bus tickets. The wait was not long, but the sun was starting to burn through the clouds, increasing the feeling of warmth somewhat. I was glad my gamble with shorts and a vest was starting to pay off.

Sadly not a trolleybus, rather a modern diesel ‘bendy bus’ came to carry us to our destination; and was quite busy too. I felt that other city dwellers or tourists thought this day might be a good one to head to the lake too. We sat two thirds of the way up, and I did my usual thing of tracking our route to ensure we were going in the right direction. Half an hour later, a bell was pressed ahead of the stop we intended to get off, upon which a sizeable number of people joined us in doing so. We were let off next to a bypass that headed southwest, on towards more suburban parts of the city. With our backs to the road, across from us was a rather unkempt marina for medium-sized leisure boats, and to our right back towards the city stood the newest of the bridges to span the Sava River. We walked left, and then bared right on to a raised dam-cum-road that separated the marina and the leisure lake now on our left. Once we walked over, we were on an island that sat between the lake and marina behind us, and the Sava River, hidden ahead of us by a wood. This was quite dense to our right, but thinned out as we gazed to our left, with leisure structures dotted around in the clearings. It was in this direction we walked.

We meandered along a windy path, intersected by bicycle lanes heading into the wood, as we approached a small collection of one and two storey concrete buildings housing a café, a non-descript indoor leisure hall, and a couple of stand alone kiosks selling food. There was a handful of uniformed staff amongst them, joined by an equal number of customers who seemed to be on friendly terms with them. The path turned towards the lake as we walked by these conveniences, and then curved back to run alongside the lake next to a 4 storey boating tower. The long and slim shape of the lake either proved coincidentally ideal for boat races or was built specifically for this purpose. We continued along this concrete walkway for a good mile and a half. Every 200 meters or so there would be a shack or small bungalow to our right, acting as a café or restaurant. The staff would cross over the path to customers sitting at the café’s tables hidden under a dozen or so parasols, on the pebble beach that sloped down at a fair gradient to the waters edge. Every now and again there would be a base for a functioning activity – a zip wire across the lake, pedalloes etc – and one or two that had been long forgotten. There was a mixture of activity going on along the lakeside; people paddling or swimming, many sunbathing, most lazily drinking pivo in the shade and conversing loudly. At some point we turned right into the wood to get some shade, and walked back on ourselves. We then rejoined the path and stopped for a soft drink to quench our thirst.

Not necessarily endeared towards the café’s we walked past, we decided to go around to the other side of the lake. We retraced our steps and returned to near the bus stop, and then took the path that ran between the bypass and the lake. The noise of the road soon faded as at first a car park, then another wood, emerged to our left pushing the road off into the distance. The bars on this side were a lot livelier; the clientele were a lot younger and mostly in groups. Evidently they were university kids who had returned and were catching up with their childhood friends. We perched near them and ordered some beers so that we could enjoy the camaraderie going on around us and indulge our pastime of people watching. We had now reached mid-afternoon.

We drank a couple more beers before we finally decided to walk back to the other side of the lake and see if the café’s there had a change in their clientele. A mixture of the beer and slight dehydration made us a bit giddy and woozy as we walked around in the early evening heat. I think we only had some crisps and a sandwich as a snack. We sat down at a generic café and ordered some more beers. In-between reading our books, we chatted and commented on passersby, many of whom were scantily clad whilst cycling or rollerblading. The background music pumping from the café across the path had now stepped up a gear, and was playing some terrible generic dance music. Our fellow patrons were somewhat older than us, and I am sure this was not their cup of tea either. To mix it up, we decided to walk to another café, and settled on one 300 meters closer to the start of the lake in the direction of the bus stop home.

We sat at a table by the waters edge. There was a small group of people in their late teens, which the waitress seemed to be familiar with. After our beers came, we continued our chatter and drew the attention of an older man in his 40’s who seemed to manage the bar. He started to talk to us about football. A strong point of conversation for John that could deflect away from why we were visiting and how we knew each other. However, the team that he began to talk about, according to John, had links to crooks and killers. The longer the conversation went on, and with no escape as we were at the waters edge, the more I felt uncomfortable. He soon had to attend to other patrons. We finished up, and made our escape.

The next few hours were rather a haze. We managed to locate the bus stop back into town, mostly by following other people over a footbridge and waiting alongside them at a busy section of the road. The bus we boarded was packed, and had a certain drunken and friendly atmosphere as the bus swayed knocking people into each other. Unfocussed glances and half–smiles were the language of this bus ride. We arrived back at the apartment and showered and changed. We had arranged to meet Nemanja and Danilo at a bar around the corner from where we were staying. We had still only snacked by this point in the late evening. The bar was called Blaznavac and it was a 90 second walk away. It sat in the middle of the block, with an iron gate guarding its open courtyard, the main bar being some 30 feet back from the road. It had a mass of memorabilia and other trinkets scattered through out it. We saw Nemanja and Danilo perched on stools, on one half of an 8-seater table, straddled between the courtyard and the sheltered bar within.

After exchanging pleasantries John ordered a round of drinks and we continued our conversation of introductions from the other night. The way we were sat meant that Nemanja and I began to chat to each other separately, as did Danilo and John. We discussed a lot about the city, about its LGBT scene, and recent history – the latter only fleetingly. After an hour or so Danilo said he had to head off and catch his train. He was staying with family who lived in Nova Pazova, just outside the city but could only be reached by the last train at around 23:15. Nemanja accompanied him, so we said our goodbyes and off they went. We stayed for another round of drinks. After this, we returned to Bucko pizza from the previous night and ordered a whole one. We ate some of it whilst staggering back to the apartment and taking pictures of each other. We crashed into bed, leaning over its edge, feeding off the last of the pizza from the floor.