Beasts of the Southern Wild

My great chagrin about Western European cities is that they have no cats. Well, they do, they must have some, but their cats are not fully fledged members of the polis, they do not wander around in that self assured way of a feline basking in the knowledge that she owns- the house, the garden, the street, whatever place she might find herself in. The Mediterranean has such cats- small Greek villages greet you with scrawny furry ears peaking out from behind whitewashed walls, in Istanbul’s backstreet stores you randomly find a sleeping cat-dragon ensconced in the basket you were about to buy and in Rome’s Piazza Argentina they perform the superhuman and superfeline task of outnumbering Asian tourists.

Western cities on the other hand have dogs aplenty. Small dogs looking like evil alien species from a distant Star Trek world tucked into minute Swarowski crystal bedecked bags, pugs on the border of asphyxia, giant drooly things peering sadly into the nowhere, angry poodles about to bite unsuspecting ankles, Yorkshire terriers on the edge of paralysis through hysteria waiting outside corner shops, hipster hounds inhaling the fumes of specialty coffee.

Enter the city which has both- and it’s Belgrade, obviously, always on the verge of escaping definition, always at a confluence. At first glance, you’d say it’s a dog city akin to Budapest, with early mornings punctuated by the comings and goings of dog owners taking the mutt out for some fresh air, usually looking a little worse for wear and in need of a cup of something to shake them into definite wakefulness. (In case you wondered, this can apply to both dog and owner.) But stay a little longer, and you’ll start meeting the cats of Belgrade. There’s definitely less of them than more to the south, but this makes them that more dignified, even the decidedly stray ones are well fed and comfortable with their bit of the circus of life. There’s coffeehouse cats, and beer bar cats, and black cats casually crossing the street just because they can.

There are also beasts of an altogether different kind roaming the streets of Belgrade: old cars, often proud products of a forward looking communist economy, sometimes in top shape, with shiny bonnets and carefully re-upholstered seats, sometimes looking like they’ve taken one to one thousand trips too many on bumpy country roads.

The sight of a Dacia 1310, especially one which has been lovingly maintained, is becoming a rarity in Romania, where nostalgia about the ’golden era’ of communism is much more ambiguous. In Serbia, however, the state of Yugoslavia and of being in Yugoslavia is often regarded as something positive, a better time before the 90s, a period of new found stability for other countries in the region, took a tragic toll on the country, or what was left of it.

Food and Other Glorious Aspects- Belgrade Guide Part Four

There comes a point in your life when you stare into the abyss, and the abyss stares back, smiles, and says hello. More precisely in our case, amidst a refreshing spring shower, it said zdravo. Or so it seemed to me, as I was very focused on it, on its shiny frothy blackness reflecting the last rays of the sun hiding under clouds- my abyss was the mother of all Turkish coffees. 

Or domaća kafa, as it is called around this part of the world- homemade coffee, but also coffee from home, without any particular nationality stuck to it, such dances with terms and fire are particularly popular in the area of the former Yugoslavia, where not really knowing what to call it, people will refer to the language as naš jezik- our language, the group engulfed by 'our' to be defined at a later stage, or possibly never, as to avoid unnecessary hassle. 

Coffee is of course not only an abyss, but a general Balkan turbulence: each summer I spend particularly entertaining moments listening to Turks and Greeks bicker over what to call it- the Turks might have the advantage, as basically the whole area (but the Greeks) calls it Turkish coffee, so besides calling it domaća, you can also get away with calling it turska kafa in Serbia as well. 

The specimen which started this whole sociocultural rambling was sampled in the Krunska ulica outpost of the Coffeedream chain and, in its whole intense half-litre splendour induced a state which could best be defined in Vinnie Jones’ words: it was emotional. As per our ulterior investigation, Turkish coffee is often served in giant portions in Belgrade, yet I tend to be partial to the more classical iteration, which fills a small espresso cup- two great places to sample it are the Znak Pitanja restaurant on Kralja Petra street and Srpska Kafana on Svetogorska.

Srpska Kafana shouldn’t be your destination just for coffee- it’s a generally charming old affair, with the classical red-white checked table cloths, patrons who seem to be languishing in a dark corner at least since Vuk Karadžić’s linguistic reform and will casually go for beer and brandy for breakfast, extremely friendly staff (albeit with a completely minimal inkling of English, so be prepared for a polite sign language conversation around the subject of eggs if you speak no Serbian, or, alternatively take a crash course prior to travelling) , an esoteric all-Cyrillic website, and, above all, Srećko the house cat. I seem to have forgotten the food- which is very silly of me, because the food is also pretty amazing.

Should you be too in touch with your inner (or outer )hipster, there are also specialty coffee shops aplenty- in Užitak we were welcomed by a professional but pretty strict lady who took offence at my unorthodox consumption of very light roast Honduran beans as espresso- the coffee was however great and the location on Hilandarska street is perfect to take your poison of choice away to Tašmajdan park- I can’t really find reasons against my living is Belgrade except maybe that I would constantly tend towards zero productivity, as I’d be in Tašmajdan reading and having coffee. 

Other spots worth checking out for caffeination purposes are Aviator Coffee- of which there are two, one on Gundulićev venac and one on Cara Nikolaja, and Zona Industriale on Njegoševa street. Should you wish to be on a very sober budget in Belgrade, there are plenty of small stores with fresh countryside produce, one of which brought me to the existential truth that Serbia is to the south of Hungary and thus fruit is riper in mid-May. 

I am pretty great at observations like these-just recently, I noticed how, whereas I might run into obstacles in what concerns particularly obscure lexical aspects touching on birds, fish or vegetables, my Serbian vocabulary is flawless when it comes to fruit. Now I love my peaches and melons as much as the next woman, but the real reason behind this forte is that, quite similarly to their northern and north-eastern neighbours, Serbs are also the kind of people who will waste no chances in turning pretty much any kind of imaginable fruit into brandy. (The best kind of people, really, but I admit to being absolutely biased on this one.)The age old classic is of course plum brandy, šljivovica, yet if I were to choose the one type which Serbia excels at in particular, I would go for the more fragrant quince version, dunjevača. Most restaurants serve pretty good, often home made brandies, but for a more intensive study of this fascinating and relevant topic, Rakia Bar is a superb option.

In case you find brandy too intense, there is, of course the soothing alternative of beer. Although local friends have complained of a dip in the quality of commercial beers, I would still say that Serbia is in the fortunate position of having several absolutely enjoyable domestic beers, such as Jelen and Zaječarsko, plus neighbourly imports such as Nikšićko, of which the dark version is particularly heartwarming. Several craft breweries have also popped up recently- Kabinet definitely being the best, yes, I know I am weak minded, their bottles are just wonderful and I rattled home with several of them in tow, but the content is also top notch. Our sampling was done in the cozy surroundings of Pivopija bar in Novi Beograd-  breaking news: they have a CAT- but in case you're less lazy, you can also check out the bigger version in Zemun.  Further to Kabinet, we'll also give honourable mentions to beers from the Paunović and Zebrew brewery. 

I now realize I have gone this far with only few mentions of what was supposed to be the main topic- food. I will therefore jump to the nutshell version: it's magnificent. No, really, it is. I have always thought of Serbia as the land of, well, not necessarily milk and honey, but kaymak and Eurocrem. Even their standard supermarket sweets are of the mouth watering variety, and then they go full mental and make pancakes with plazma biscuits and the aforementioned Eurocrem- which is the nec plus ultra of the socialist dream, a dual coloured concoction of hazelnut cream which tastes like all your childhood fancies packed into a square plastic box. The day the disintegration of Yugoslavia really hit home was when my grandfather told me I would have to do with the sub par Greek version of Eurocrem- and with it, childish innocence died too.

Actually, I don't even have a sweet tooth, but then I think of the tufahija (walnut stuffed apple) in Znak Pitanja, and I reconsider a fair chunk of my existence.  I do however love meat, and was pretty amused to see vegan manifestos plastered all over Belgrade- much as I wish to be accepting of everything of everyone, there are lines you do not cross, and the connection of people from the Balkans with meat is a sacred bond. 

Ćevapi (minced meat rolls), ražnjići (meat grilled on skewers) and pljeskavica (grilled meat patty), usually accompanied by an assortment of sides dishes including ajvar (pepper relish), kaymak, urnebes (peppery cheese cream) and onions are absolute staples, and just to make it all even more tantalizingly diet friendly, a delicious flatbread going by the local name of lepinja, is also thrown in. My absolute meaty nemesis when it comes to Serbian cuisine is Karađorđeva šnicla- a breaded and fried steak filled with kaymak- tasty and invariably, huge. I once dared ask a cook whether it would be possible to make a smaller edition- with a look of pity and scorn in his eyes he told me there is no such thing as a small Karađorđeva šnicla and he stormed off to talk to people who made marginally more sense than me.

You will definitely be on the safe side of things if you try some of the above in the restaurants on Skadarska street- Tri Šešira, Dva jelena, Zlatni bokal or Ima dana. Then there is of course the oft mentioned Znak Pitanja and the exquisite option of Koliba, modestly situated at the scenic confluence of the Sava and the Danube- though here you might also wish to try the fish and the walnut cake -as already mentioned, I'm really not into sweets and that is why I spent basically my entire stay in Belgrade eating them. Like, I'm not into ice cream either, so every time I went into Moritz Eis it was by some silly accident and I was drooling like a crazed pug over their entire range only because I had nothing better to do- they are to open a store in Budapest as well, so I will have new accidents for no good reason soonish. 

That time I stumbled into a French pastry shop on Dobračina street was likewise an accident, alongside all the surreptitious visits to random bakeries (pekare) which serve burek with yogurt. As GK Chesterton said, poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese, but so have they been on the subject of yogurt, and that is just as wrong, because there is the kind of yogurt which is sour just so, and teeters on the border of being fluid, yet without falling into this trap- this kind of yogurt is rare and can be found in but a few countries in the Balkans and Belgrade happens to be in one of them.

In case some/all of the above sounds too intense, no need to despair, you can detox with smoothies and shakes in FitBar- though instead of kale and goji berries, they will still put kaymak in your omlette, because even diet food is fun in Serbia.

Everything You Haven't Come to Expect- Belgrade Guide Part Three

Paris has the Eiffel Tower. London has Big Ben. Rome has the Colosseum. And Belgrade has the weirdly shaped naked man who was shipped up to the fortress so the citizens of the fair capital don’t have to stare at his manhood in the heart of the city, for where it was originally planned. Well, the actual reasons for why it was finally placed in Kalemegdan, facing the river, instead of Terazije, are just as convoluted as the history of the Balkans in general, but the end result is the same: nowhere in the world can you see sunsets this spectacular, with the profile of some extremely heroic buttocks randomly blocking out the sun.

This might again feel like veiled criticism- but it isn’t: I am usually very suspicious of statues, and most modern ones look decidedly mis-shaped to me, but the Victor was just carved to be there. Which is not easy to accomplish, when the view from the fortress is quite unique as it is: the Danube meeting one of its major tributaries, the Sava, in the heart of a city. I’m not sentimental about a lot of things, but I tend to get soft hearted and weak minded when thinking of rivers, their slow but unrelenting progress, how they are arteries linking our lives together in often unseen ways. Plus, I’ve seen the Sava when it was a baby -and it still is a baby, somewhere in Slovenia, it gushes from a mountainside, a very small trickle of Alpine water, which at the same time somewhere in the distance becomes a majestic matron making its way first to the Danube and then together to the sea.

I blame the above lyrical outburst on the feeling of extreme peace and one-ness with the forces of the universe given by pints of Jelen consumed on the walls of Belgrade fortress while peering into the distance over the confluence, on a fine sunny day. This experience should be everyone’s staple when visiting, and then you can potter about the rest of the area as well, stumbling upon the rather elaborate grave of a Turk, tanks, a weird statue dedicated to the French and a squeaky clean toilet, which is always reason for great happiness for a weary traveler.

Once done with the exploration of the fortress, you might as well go straight towards the centre on Kneza Mihailova: a leafy pedestrian street with plenty of bars, restaurants and shops. Since by now it has become obvious that I do like to stray away from the beaten track, I do however generally veer right at this point towards Kosančićev venac- this is basically the oldest part of old Belgrade, fallen mostly out of grace during forward looking communist times, but enjoying a revival of late, and serving up several delights, such as the elaborate French embassy, Princess Ljubica’s palace and Saint Michael’s Church- well, frankly, this last specimen is best when admired from the garden of the Question Mark (Znak pitanja) coffeehouse. Belgrade does dramatic backdrops pretty well, as you see.  This area has also become a hub for design stores of the better kind, like Makadam, which also sports a restaurant and a lovely terrace, and Gradstor.

Adjacent to Kosančićev venac is Savamala- which, depending on whom you ask, is either a horrible slum with ramshackle buildings or a vivid arts scene- with ramshackle buildings. There’s no doubt that the area is in need of some care and attention, but the plan to turn it into a shiny glass menagerie of modernist monsters envisaged by the authorities is definitely not the best way to go about it. Opposition to the Waterfront project is strong, but Eastern European governments do still have a way of sneakily imposing their will against that of their people- so now might be the last chance to explore Savamala in all of its broken, graffitied, disheveled and decrepit beauty. There are also plenty of places to drink to Savamala’s decrepit beauty such as Mikser House- where we bumped into a pretty effervescent Sunday vinyl market or KC Grad.

I have a particular fondness for Savamala’s red trams rattling along Karađorđeva street: they make this panicky sound of a flimsy implement about to fall apart, especially when navigating turns. Each time I hear one of them approaching, I half fear that maybe only some seats and a door will arrive into the station, with the rest of the tram merrily trotting off into another unknown, and perhaps far more interesting direction.

Another Savamala highlight is the area of the stairs coming down from the foot of Branko’s bridge to Karađorđeva, with popular spots such as Jazz Bašta and the oddity of an organic restaurant, Gnezdo with a pretty fancy balcony overlooking the street- from where you can revel in the clickety passing of the aforementioned streetcars named disaster.

In case you’ve successfully made it back to Kneza Mihailova street and don’t know what to do with yourself, you can turn left into another historic neighbourhood, Dorćol, which got it’s name from the Turkish dört yol, four roads, and used to be the trading hub of old Belgrade. It’s mostly just houses- with the occasional added excitement of something like the Bajrakli mosque on Gospodar Jevremova street, which, just like some of its Christian counterparts, is usually engaged in some complicated and indeterminate rebuilding action. My favourite pastime in Dorćol is walking around- aimlessly, I would hope, but I have to come to terms with the fact that by now I’ve mostly learned the logic of the streets. If you’re very fresh to the city, then do get very lost around here, just taking in the sights and the feeling of the place. Quite fortuitously, the area is packed with bars and restaurants of all shapes and sizes, from hipster haunts to mind boggling displays of fake leather and plastic flowers, so everyone can find the ones closest to their hearts.

Lost as you are, it’s very likely that at some point you will make it to Skadarska street, or Skadarlija, which is pretty much the closest you can get to a real tourist attraction in Belgrade, with groups of selfie stick wielding Asians regularly pouring out of both ends. It’s been called the Montmartre of Belgrade, due to its past as a Bohemian haunt for usually broke artists, but that might be raising the bar too high- or too low.

For Montmartre these days is more of a Montmartre theme park, an idea of what it used to be like being sold bit by bit, decomposed into Chinese made baubles. Skadarlija, on the other hand, is a shortish cobbled street with many historic, and still pretty affordable restaurants serving great food- and, come evening, the atmosphere on the terraces still feels genuine, with locals outnumbering tourists even during summer and with the occasional grumpy man with a beer who might just be in the process of a)finishing an epic novel and b) looking for someone to foot his bill.

A short walk from Skadarlija leads you to Trg Republike. incidentally, this is where Kneza Mihailova begins- but since we’ve covered that part, we may proceed in the opposite direction, on Terazije and Kraja Milana towards the Church of Saint Sava- the giant white building is actually nicely visible right from the beginning of the walk, so no danger of getting lost here. This is a feature I really love about Belgrade- every now and then a street will offer a spectacular, organic perspective, another one of my favourites being the view up Nemanjina street from the train station, which has a special way of carrying light in the morning and in the evening.

When getting up close and personal with it, my feelings about the Church of Saint Sava are not quite as straightforward. It’s just a bit too white and too bulky for my tastes, like an exploratory ship an alien civilization built trying to approximate humanity’s fancies. It also looks eerily more like a mosque than a church- but then again, many mosques have Byzantine elements to them, so we’re moving around in the usual Balkan circles here. The Church is also unfinished on the inside- and each time I see it, it looks unfinished in a different way, or, should I say, every time it looks almost a bit unfinished-er than before.

There is of course a grand plan to finish it some day, and this grand plan also includes the moving of Nikola Tesla’s ashes to the Church- since the most relevant Serb of all times should of course reside in the (arguably) most relevant building in town. I do consider this as one of the silliest ideas ever and start to comprehend why Tesla preferred pigeons to humans towards the end of his life. (As mentioned before, Belgrade pigeons are particularly inquisitive, but generally look like they’re doing only completely sensible pigeony things, so Tesla was definitely on to something.)

Mercifully, for the time being Tesla’s ashes are still housed by the museum bearing his name located on Krunska street, about 20 minutes walk from the church, so in case you felt overwhelmed by its presence, you might electrocute yourself back into sanity in the blink of a pigeon’s eye. Krunska street itself is lovely and lies at the heart of Vračar, a neighbourhood of many wonders, such as the Kalenić market, one of those amazing Eastern European endeavours where you can buy pretty much anything from shoelaces to rocket launchers. Alongside pretty rose laden streets punctuated by small shops and cafés, you can also bump into something as eerie as the Beograđanka, a rather uncalled for high rise in the heart of old Belgrade, but of course, stranger things have happened around this part of the world, so, after all, why the hell not.

Crossing Kralja Aleksandra boulevard from Vračar, you can find the Tašmajdan park and the adjacent Church of Saint Mark- which hosts the remains of Tsar Dušan and is, yep, you guessed right, being renovated. Whenever I am in Tašmajdan, I also realize just how fond of popcorn Serbs are- there are ‘kokice’ stands of all shapes and sizes strewn all over the city, and especially so in parks and on promenades.  Then again, Romanians are passionate about pretzels, so who am I to judge culinary quirks.

This area also has the dubious fame of having been quite severely hit during the 1999 NATO bombings with the building of the state television having been one of the main targets- there are ruins aplenty strewn across the city, most of them almost untouched, an eerie memento of the kind of devastation that most European cities did not have to witness since the mid-20th century.

Needless to say, there's plenty of Belgrade not being covered above- but it's a pretty fair estimation of what you can do in three days, on an ever so fashionable city break let's say. When calculating your time, you should also ensure that plenty of it is set aside for eating and drinking as well- some suggestions on where to do that await you in the upcoming entry.