When she arrived for work, I asked Ana-Marija about the name ‘Manga Hostel’ , and she confirmed that yes, she was a fan of the Japanese comic books. But broken pipes must be prioritised over art. Nevertheless, I thought it a really smart, bright, and well-run place.
Ditching my bags, I took the unladen bike for a ride around town. Nearby streets were blocked by a movie set, a Chinese-Serbian love story apparently. I sailed through and onto the main street – Bulevar Kralja (King) Alexandra. I tried my hand at swerving around buses but it all became a bit heavy, so I dismounted and walked back towards St Marks church. There there was a protest on the steps, calling for justice for the victims of Operation Storm – the final battle of the Croatian War of Independence. Nearly all Croatian Serbs were displaced from their homes in Croatia. The resulting refugee crisis brought claims of ethnic cleansing and atrocities against civilians by the Croatian troops.
Idiot me, I first thought it might be part of the movie set. Well, it was all very dramatic, there were white caravans around, and lots of cameras! But I quickly learned otherwise, and the cameras were in fact those of the entire Serbian Press corps, whose lenses I had sailed past, half-mounted and oblivious.
The streets smelled good! Delicious aromas from bakeries and cafes tempted me as I pushed over to the National Assembly, and then onward to Republic Square. I saw other cyclists use the pavement, but there were a lot of pedestrians, and it’s a matter of respect really. I was happy to walk with the bike and take my chances when they came.
Museums are closed in Belgrade on Mondays, so I was out of luck. I wanted to visit the Nikolai Tesla museum, but no joy. The airport is named after him. Related story: in 1903, the unfortunate Topsy the elephant was filmed being electrocuted by Telsa’s high voltage AC, scoring a big PR victory for Edison in the War of the Currents.
Anyway, Republic square was closed-off for refurbishment, like much of central Belgrade it seems. There is that sense of rejuvenation, even if it is all a bit messy for now. There’s also a sense of pride in the city – despite the noisy traffic and the appearance of some older buildings, it’s much cleaner relative to say, Dublin, and there were teams out washing the streets with big hoses, being careful not to drench the upmarket cafe clientele.
There is a great little late night bar near here. If you stand at the Prince Mihailo Monument – the statue of Prince Michael on a horse – and look down the square, there is a large ‘Hublot’ sign. Underneath it is a passage, to the right of the army supply shop, that smells of pee and looks like you shouldn’t go down it. Well do, because it leads to the Magic Garden, a smoky, red-lit pub that plays great alternative rock music, and lots of people from all over who love to chat. Conversation is a breeze in Serbia. Everybody has an opinion and is not afraid to express it, but rationally and with humour. I couldn’t help comparing it to the Irish pub debating scene, but with better teeth and less cynicism. It’s fun, end everyone can clink glasses and agree to disagree.
Lunch was outside one of the many quiet side street cafes and came as a small plate of Serbian smoked beef, cheese and Ajvar – a sweet and smokey condiment made from red peppers. The butter is creamy and salty – a real potential competitor to Kerrygold, I’d say. Washed down with a dark beer, I was feeling pretty high as I explored some of the backstreets and down to the Bohemian Skadarlija District. It seemed a bit too early in the day, as there was only few tourist diners, nearly all with disappointed looks.
From there I went up to Belgrade fortress – from which the name ‘White City’ derives. It looks a little less white and past it’s glory but is worth the visit, if only to the Victory column so as to peer over Belgrade, and take-in the Danube-Sava river confluence. Belgrade, like Serbia as a whole, has an interesting history as a flashpoint between East and West..
I went back to Manga Hostel to collect my bags and spent the afternoon having an animated chat with the owner, Ana Marija on the steps outside. I was sad to hear that she was closing down the hostel this week after 12 years which, it seemed, were pretty tough. Belgrade is a hard city in which to do business if you don’t know the right people. So she’s off to Asia, and I wish her every success. I’m caving-in to join Instagram so that we can stay in touch.
I had to leave though and pedal about 6km on rush-hour roads, cycling in the wake of trams for safety. I was off to see Marijana, a good friend and toxicology colleague with a heart of pure gold. We greeted with a big hug (reluctantly on my part as I stank!) and she took me to see my quarters – a nothing less than palatial apartment. She gave me a gift of a towel with my name embroidered in Cyrilic script. How cool is that!
We had arranged to meet another friend and colleague of ours – Mina – for dinner. We drove over to Sava Lake (‘Ada’), a really impressive 8km diameter artificial lake with beaches and restaurants along either side. People were swimming and I wanted to dive-in, but the restaurant we had chosen spontaneously closed.
So we headed over to an old favourite of theirs – Zapata Rio – by the river, for some excellent Mexican food and salty, tasty Margaritas. We shared plates and had a good geek-out on toxicology. Great company and witty conversation. Thank you Mina and Marijana for a great time!
Marijana dropped Mina home, and then me to the apartment which was equipped with a ridiculously comfortable memory-foam mattress. I was asleep in seconds, with no time to reflect on what I now remember was a was a great day out.
Marijana called around in the morning with breakfast – Yoghurt with both Serbian and Sarajevo Burek. Essentially the same thing – cheese wrapped in layers of fatty – and therefore delicious – layers of pastry. The only difference is the shape. Sarajevo Burek comes as long strips, whereas usually it is pie-like and cut into quarters. I was just about able to finish the strips, so the quadrant was wrapped for me to take away.
Marijana had also brought me gaffa tape, which I would need later when packing the bike. What a star!
We hugged our goodbyes and I started back to town to find a tiny bicycle repair shop that had been recommended. The guys there kindly offered me a cardboard bicycle box for free, but I would have to assemble it, and dis-assemble the bike myself. Can’t say fairer! The process was much easier than I initially thought. I even managed to fix my front-wheel axle, which had prevented the it being removed. Everything came off – wheels, racks, handlebars, saddle – and fit neatly inside the box along with my tent and some clothes.
I was relieved because I was now well-within the size and weight specifications of Air Serbia, who had initially refused to transport my bike based on an estimate I had given. It all worked-out in the end though and, despite some confusion sat the airport check-in, the bike was loaded and landed with me in Prague.
Leaving beer money for the repair-shop guys, I called for a large taxi to the airport, but the dispatcher couldn’t speak English and their app didn’t work on my phone. So, Marijana to the rescue again – I called her and, within seconds, a taxi driver screeched-in. We loaded the box together and immediately struck-up an animated conversion about bicycles. His name is Ilija – what a guy! By the time we had reached the airport, he had shown me pictures of his city bikes, his beautiful wife (admittedly, she was!), discussed women and their star-signs, cures for lung fibrosis, depleted uranium, whether Osama was a terrorist or freedom-fighter, and the best restaurant near the airport. Also, he invited me to meet his sister, who lives in New York, where I’m going anyway in two week’s time! How we laughed, but he was insistent that I call her when I get there, and why not? When we arrived at the airport we exchanged numbers and agreed to meet-up for a cycle tour and a beer when I’m back in September.
Although I passed landmarks of the 1999 NATO bombings, I didn’t photograph them because that’s not how I want to remember or promote Serbia. Serbia is it’s people and I’ve made great friends there. I’m going back in September to resume the journey south, but I think I won’t be rushing to leave.
