An Eastern European Adventure, Part II: Serbia

And so the adventure continues…onto Belgrade! I must admit I was rather surprised by the 8-hour trip from Budapest to Belgrade. It was, in fact, rather pleasant. We passed by many small Hungarian towns, noticeable from a distance only by the rise of the tall church steeple at the center of town, multiple lakes and ponds, farmers tending to their cows, and probably fifty tiny train stations whose name I could never even dream of pronouncing. Once we passed the border with Serbia, passports freshly stamped, I noticed the train began to roll at a strikingly slower pace. I can’t say I wasn’t warned about the Serbian railways, but I do believe I could have run faster than the train at some points.

Belgrade graffiti

Not much changed in terms of scenery until we pulled into Belgrade. Very bleak with few new buildings, it looked as if nothing had even been built since the 1960s. Drab weather contributed to the overall depressing look of the city, and at first glance, we were glad not to be spending much time in Serbia. Around dinnertime we got into our hostel, the “Chillton” (I wish I was kidding), changed, and headed out for a meal. We had asked those working at our hostel if they had any recommendations for somewhere to eat, and they pointed us towards a restaurant called “?” (again, not kidding), the oldest restaurant in Belgrade. We asked for traditional, and definitely were not let down. Before eating, we ordered the domestic beer on tap, Jelen, and glanced at what I can only say was a very Serbian menu. For dinner we started with a honey- and walnut-covered polenta, which a) I never knew was Serbian, and b) was absolutely delicious. Brad then continued with some fried pork bonanza that was essentially a flattened and breaded piece of pork rolled into a long tube, stuffed with cheese, and then dipped into a deep-fat fryer. He claimed he was loosing muscle mass on the trip because I didn’t eat as often as would have liked, so I assume this helped make up for some of the weight loss. I had a sort of pork stew served in a whole wheat bread bowl, complete with onions, mushrooms, pork, and small bits of bacon. Not thrilled by the looks of the meal, I was hesitant to dive in, but enjoyed it thoroughly in the end.

Questionable pork stew

After dinner we headed to the grocery store to stock up for the 16-hour train ride we had to next day to Bucharest, Romania. Not in the least delighted at spending 2/3 of my day in a more-than-probably dilapidated train car, I was tempted to buy copious amounts of alcohol. In the end, we would be happy that we didn’t, but that is a story for later. Upon bringing our groceries back to the hostel and checking my bank account, I ruled going out not an option until I had allocated more funds from my American account into my French account and was sure that the money had gone through. While sad to not go bar hopping on our one night in Serbia, I nevertheless had to pay attention to what my bank account was telling me: “Perhaps this would be a good time to reevaluate your finances instead of sticking your face in a mug of beer, ok?”

At the Kalemegdan, overlooking where the
Danube and Sava rivers meet

Thursday morning we got up very early to explore the city, as we only had until 3pm, the time of our train departure, to do so. We went first to the old fortress, Kalemegdan, which is the oldest part of the city of Belgrade. Originally built by the Romans in the 3^rd century, the fortress sits high up on a hill overlooking the place where the Danube and Sava rivers meet. Attacked and invaded many times, the fortress had to be continually rebuilt over centuries. Rebuilt by Justinian in the 6^th century, it remained under Byzantine control until the 12^th century when it fell into the hands of the burgeoning Serbian state. The name of the city, Belgrade, or Beograd in Serbian, means “white town” or “white fortress”. After the Battle of Kosovo, the fortress was partially destroyed, and had to be rebuilt by the new occupiers, the Ottomans, in the 15^th century.

While at the fortress, Brad and I met a lovely Serbian journalist, who spoke to us for a long time about the history, politics, and current events of the country. Both feeling remiss about not having studied up much on Serbia before coming, this was a great way to learn about the city, and country, we were exploring. We learned that the situation with Kosovo is a delicate matter, with most Serbs wanting to separate peacefully so both countries can then enter separately into the European Union. “It is like when you have a person in your house who is sick, but then dies. You are sad, but you feel relief,” Dragan, the journalist, mentioned, as he explained how Serbs felt about Kosovo. He also explained that Kosovo is the real heart of Serbia, home to many churches, palaces, and important monuments. Truth be told, there aren’t very many in Belgrade.

The Victor, showing you his ass

Dragan also spoke in depth about Ratko Mladic, general of the Bosnian Serb forces responsible for the many atrocities carried out during the 1990s, and, at that point, a war criminal still at large. Listening to him speak about how important it was for Serbia to catch and prosecute this man before the capture actually happened, has made this past week’s current events all the more interesting and meaningful to me.

As we walked around the fortress, we passed by a large monument of a naked man, called “the Victor”, erected after WWI to commemorate Serbia’s victory over the Ottoman and the Austro-Hungarian empires. Built by a Croatian artist, it faces out across the confluence of the Sava and Danube rivers towards what was, at the time, part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. Originally the statue was meant to stand in Terazije Square, but ended up in its current location after people complained about his nudity. Dragan told us that to this day, people continue to complain about the statue because it was built by a Croatian (Croatia and Serbia are rivals). People say, “Just look at that statue, showing all of Belgrade his ass!”

Bombed building

From the fortress we walked down to the train station to get our tickets to Bucharest. We got a little lost along the way, as all the grey, dirty, and graffiti covered streets and buildings pretty much look the same, but we eventually made our way there. We then headed out to the far eastern side of the city towards Sava Cathedral, passing two bombed buildings from WWII along the way. The Cathedral of Saint Sava, the largest Orthodox cathedral in the Balkans, and one of the largest in the world, is dedicated to Saint Sava, the founder of the Orthodox Church. The cathedral is built on the grounds where the Ottomans burned his remains in the 16^th century. From the outside the cathedral is truly remarkable.  Built in the traditional Orthodox plan, the exterior is a bright white topped by multiple blue domes. The interior, on the other hand, is nothing to rave about. It looked like a giant empty parking garage with no levels. It is completely grey with no art on the walls, and most of the art and artifacts they did have were huddled off to the side in some sort of makeshift shrine. Okay, yes, probably under renovation, but all in all, a glorified car park in the shape of cool dome.

Cathedral of Saint Sava

Leaving the last item on our tourist to-do list, we made our way back towards center city to the “bohemian quarter”, called Skadarska, to grab some lunch. Told that this was the best area for restaurants, cafés, and bars, we decided to lunch down a small cobblestone pedestrian street, probably the only beautiful place in all of Belgrade. For lunch we split a “mixed grill”, which in Serbia clearly means “mixed fry”. Served with French fries, the pork, two types of sausage, and hamburger were probably the least healthy option on the menu. Mixed grill, ha! Not a single thing on that plate had ever even been near a grill.

After lunch we raced back to the hostel to grab our bags and head down to the train station. Not knowing what to expect for the ride, we waited with bated breath as the train approached. When we entered the train, Brad and I had completely opposite reactions. As he looked around and took stock of our surroundings, he got a little angry, wondering what in the world I had gotten him into, and if he could quickly get off the train and beat up the ticket agent for giving us what was, I kid you not, the most disgusting cabin aboard the train. For a ticket that was double the value of our first journey, it was 100 times worse in quality. While Brad got a little peeved, I, on the other hand, could not stop laughing. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. Simply the fact that I had to spend 16 hours in this cabin made me laugh so hysterically that I cried. Literally, tears poured down my face as I stared at the trash and dirt all over the floor, the tattered curtains that were falling down, the windows that had not been washed since the train was built in 1900, the seat cushions that were torn from the walls at awkward angles and practically impossible to sit comfortably on, and the overall state of utter disrepair that our cabin was in. Yes, we attempted to switch cabins, but after being yelled at by our Serbian conductor, we decided it would be best to stay put. “It’s a good thing we didn’t get alcohol,” Brad said, “because I probably would go punch somebody in the face if I drank anything right now.”

Our delightful train cabin

I spent the first hour laughing as Brad tried to find a silver lining. “Let’s just be thankful we’re not on an overnight train in Pakistan.” Well, he made a good point, I suppose. However, in truth, there were not that many positives to find. During hour #2, as I gazed around the cabin, I seriously regretted not purchasing a tarp to cover the upholstery. But instead of letting ourselves get too preoccupied with the disgustingness that surrounded us, we played games to entertain ourselves during the ride. As we rolled slowly through the Serbian hills, we would pretend we were the royal couple and wave out of the window to passing groups of women and children. Surprisingly more fun than it sounds. We spent the rest of the time devising methods to prevent people from entering into our cabin: perfecting nervous ticks, inappropriate stretching methods, weird laughs, strange voices, etc. As the journey wore on I became more and more aware of the fact that I desperately needed to use the bathroom. Having glanced at the toilet on my way onto the train, there was no way I was going in there without reinforcements. Realizing that I only had a small bit of toilet paper left from the roll I expertly packed in Budapest, I knew I was going to have to make other arrangements. I needed to get creative. Out of the many books we had in the cabin, we chose the one we thought could spare the most pages. Our choice? Brad’s Let’s Go travel guide from 2007. The country? Sorry, Ukraine.

Not pleased with the train...

After that harrowing experience, the journey wasn’t too bad until nightfall, when the train conductor decided to put the heat on full blast in the cabins. Of course, it being our cabin and all, we had a thermostat that was clearly broken and our cabin turned into an absolute furnace. I could not escape the nightmare. Around midnight we examined cabins around us and found one nearby that was open and remarkably clean. We moved our stuff in and actually managed to get a little bit of sleep until 6 large Romanian men came bursting in at 5am to share the space until we pulled into Bucharest around 7am. Moving was not an option, as all the other compartments were equally filled, so we stayed put with the space (and smell) until we finally got into the city at 7am.

Call me weird, but however awful and disgusting that train ride was, it is by far one of the fondest memories I have of my trip to Eastern Europe. I don’t recall ever laughing so hard at a situation I was powerless to change. My thorough enjoyment was the lemonade out of life’s lemons, for sure.

And so, that’s it for this installment of the Eastern European adventure. Check back soon for Part III: Romania.