BELGRADE, NOVI SAD AND PETROVARADIN

I can never be just a tourist in Serbia.
When my sister and I decided to go to Belgrade for May half term, I knew this was going to be a lesson in history – both of a family and a country – for my teenage daughter. Our mother was Serbian from Srpska Krajina in Croatia. She married our Croatian father and they lived happily (mostly) ever after in Istria. Towards the end of the Civil war in Yugoslavia, mother’s three brothers and two sisters escaped to Belgrade, some settled there, others emigrated to Australia.
I visited Belgrade twice before. In 2004, on the way to my friend Ilja’s wedding in Jagodina, my English husband and I stopped in Belgrade. In 2008, we drove my mum (and dad) to meet her brothers and sisters for the first time in eighteen years. Lots have happened since. My mum has gone. Her two younger brothers too. Out of seven siblings, there are four left and three live in Belgrade.
For my London born and bred child, visiting Belgrade and meeting her Serbian family is as exotic as it gets. My sister is flying from Rome, and we are meeting at Nikola Tesla Airport in Belgrade.
My cousin’s son – who was five years old last time I visited, now an independent young man with a good job and a flash car – is collecting us and taking to Zemun Polje, a leafy suburban neighbourhood where they all live. The week that follows we slalom between family gatherings and excursions to the capital city of the country my sister and I were born in but that no longer exists.

KALEMEGDAN TO SAINT SAVA
The following morning, the three of us head to Belgrade. We exchange Euros into Serbian dinars in an Exchange kiosk by the bus stop in Zemun Polje. Not only there is an Exchange office – Menjacnica – at every corner but it also offers an impressive variety of services. Alongside the basic exchanging of currency, which everyone seems to be doing here, one can also pay taxes, their electricity and water bills and renew their car registration…
Bus number 707, that takes us downtown, is an ancient vehicle with broken seats and zero comfort and it sways and bounces on the poorly kept roads as if in an Easter European version of the Wacky Races. We drive past the Institute of Corn, through the centre of Zemun and then by hotel Jugoslavia. The final stop is at Zeleni Venac, a bustling area with a green market and an overcrowded terminal with buses that connect the centre with its numerous suburbs.
We head to the Knez Mihailova Street, the main pedestrian zone lined with cafés, restaurants, shops, banks and just about any business one can think of. Artists are setting up their tables, easels and boxes of paints, stalls holders are arranging souvenirs and all kind of knickknacks, screaming children are chasing balloons and young mother chasing them…
On the terrace of the Coffeedream café we drink our first coffee (and smoothie) in Belgrade. The double espresso is just as it should be: strong in taste with a satisfying linger. Although still on the early side of the noon, the temperatures are already reaching thirty degrees Celsius.

From here we head to the end of the street and to the Kalemegdan park and to the Belgrade fortress, the oldest section of the urban area of the city. Belgrade has a very rich history. It always represented the border between the Roman Empire and Central Europe. It was destroyed and rebuilt multiple times and changed many rulers: Bulgarian, Byzantines, Hungarian, Turks, Austrian… This is also how far the Ottoman Empire reached in their attempt to conquest Europe. The name Kalemegdan comes from Turkish kale (fortress) and Meydan (field) – fortress field. The park is a very popular spot with walking paths, statues and amazing views to the city and the rivers underneath.
Parts of the Belgrade fortress are occupied by a filming crew and closed for visitors. We rush past the display of tanks, mine throwers and other large military equipment, as I disagree with exhibiting machinery that kills people and feel embarrassed that my teenage child must see them. At the vantage point, a platform overlooking the confluence of Sava and Danube rivers, we take in the beauty of the place. The rivers are like two lovers running into each other’s arms, day after day, never tired of each other…

We leave Kalemegdan behind and walk to the other end of Knez Mihailova. We stop at the junction where Hotel Balkan and Hotel Moskva look at each other. These are the most famous hotels in Belgrade, both for their individual architectural styles and heritage, as well as their importance in the artistic and political history of the city. Hotel Moskva is an example of Russian secession with ancient Greek elements and a shiny façade. In between two world wars, prominent Serbian modernist writers used to meet in the cafeteria and discus the literary scene of the time. The hotel also hosted many hot celebrities, from Albert Einstein to Robert De Niro, from Alfred Hitchcock to Woody Allen, and the famous existentialists, Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre, just to mention a few…

After a long walk – much longer than we envisaged by a look at the map – and a few wrong turns we reach the Museum of Nikola Tesla. However, due to its weird ticketing system permitting only groups of 10+ to book tickets online, we cannot get in. Individual visitors can enter only if there is space. We should try again tomorrow…
From here we descend to the Temple of Saint Sava, a religious monument that seventeen years ago, when I visited with mum and dad, was under construction. The main cathedral of Serbian Orthodox Church, dedicated to its founder Saint Sava, nicknamed “New Hagia Sophia” is today a breathtakingly impressive place. The interior is decorated with icons and other religious insignia of the Orthodox Christianism, all in a golden tint with sacral music playing on low volume. A unique place of faith and contemplation…

There is an overflow of stylish and cool cafes in this city and on our way to Zeleni Venac, we stop in Caffe Tierra, a place that appears to be popular with fashionable (and well behaved) teenagers and middle-aged women, therefore perfect for us. The heat outside is well over my levels of tolerance, and we prefer its cool and pleasant interior. We order coffees, iced drinks and cakes – tiramisu and rafaello – feeling relaxed and satisfied. Visiting Belgrade feels like visiting a close relative, a cousin who lives far away but it always welcomes you with open arms and makes you feel at home…

MEMORIES OF TITO
The following day we take the Metro from the station Kamendin, a fifteen-minute walk from our aunt’s house. The journey is faster and more pleasant than with the bus 707. Belgrade Metro is still under construction and hardly mentioned on the Internet, yet this line is working fine. We get off at Vukov Spomenik, the nearest station to the Museum of Nikola Tesla. However, the availability for the 11 o’clock tour that we saw online in the morning, has gone and there are forty, fifty people in the queue ahead of us. I complain. Or I simply ask how individuals can visit the museum. The manager tells me that she might be able to add us to a group at two o’clock. I decline. Sorry, Nikola Tesla, but there are other places to see in this city…
That is when we give up on visiting the museum of Nikola Tesla. And anyway, I believe one should always leave something for a future visit, as an incentive and a promise of return.
Instead, we decide to walk to the Museum of Yugoslavia. It is quite far and the unreliable Google map takes us down narrow streets, up a steep hill, through a maze-like hospital complex, by a large bus station, and past Hyde park(!). When we finally reach the Museum, we are gasping for a drink. I fancy a double espresso. But, during the recent celebrations of 25 May (Tito’s official birthday) they run out of capsules for the coffee machine, and they only have granules. I smile at the waitress. That’s alright. She hands me “double espresso” in a half-litre cup “as it doesn’t feel right to make me an espresso when she can make me full cup”. How lovely. I thank her. Fully aware that that is more coffee than I drink in a week…

First, we visit The House of Flowers, the resting place of President Tito. Once the location of major pilgrimages of devoted communists, now is a deserted place of historical curiosity. An American couple are taking photos by the sculpture of Tito, the one depicting him with a pensive expression and a large coat hanging from his shoulders, the one that always appears in historical books and encyclopaedia entries. As we approach them, the woman dressed in expensive clothes, looks toward us and comments: “he was a great leader”.
“Not sure what to say. We were born and grew up in Yugoslavia.” I say with a tinge of bitterness in my voice.
That is exactly how I feel today: not sure what to say. We were poor in Yugoslavia. We struggled. Dad struggled. We never experienced the Yugoslav golden dream of equality. We lived in a house with leaking roof. But on a privately owned piece of land.

The park between the Mausoleum and the Museum is beautifully peaceful, interlaced with immaculately trimmed roses and randomly scattered sculptures of known artists from Former Yugoslavia. The Museum of Yugoslavia resembles a worn-out schoolbook, like a time capsule and a homage to a country that no longer exists. Every single baton (The Relay of Youth) that Tito received on his birthday during his life and the ones in the years that followed his death and until the discontinuation of the manifestation in 1988 is displayed in the glass cabinets. The relay carried a baton with a birthday message delivered to Tito on 25 May, that was his official birthday and a national holiday – the Day of Youth.
When Tito died, I was seven and a half years old. It was in early May 1980, and I was in school in Kašcerga. The headmaster from the main school in Trviž arrived with a sombre face. He rarely visited the small, subsidiary school of twenty children and we knew he brought important news. He paced the room with teary eyes, carefully choosing the words and building the atmosphere to announce the historical event. Tito has died. Our great leader. I knew I was expected to cry, but I could not, neither could the other children. We were seven years old, after all. At that age one does not understand the gradiosity of situation. My nonna was ill and died shortly afterwards and instead of partaking in the national mourning, we cried over our private loss.
Following the route recommended by Google, we zigzag between buildings, under overpasses, down overgrown stairs (meeting cyclists pushing their bikes and double checking the route on their phone) and eventually reach the Sava Promenade. The waterfront development offers luxurious apartments, hotels, shopping centre Galeria and fancy restaurant, all overlooking the river Sava.
In Bistrot Balkanique Kolo we stop for a spot of late lunch. We eat cevapi, pita bread, chips, with ajvar (red pepper paste) and kajmak (a very soft cheese, similar in taste to clotted cream). For something sweet, our teenage companion orders a cremeschnitte, a custard slice she always had in Croatia with her nonno and sis and I share a refreshing pistachio-mousse creation…

NOVI SAD AND PETROVARADIN
I always wanted to visit Novi Sad, the capital city of the province of Vojvodina and the second largest city in Serbia. It is also a great place for a day trip from Zemun Polje. First, we take the train from Kamendin to Batajnica, where the semi-fast trains that connect Belgrade and Novi Sad stop. They run once an hour. The station is almost empty. Two friendly stray dogs wander around saluting the few travellers and sniffing their bags for food. The Ticket office is closed, but the station master – a funny man who talks to everyone, including to the dogs – tells us not to worry, we can purchase the tickets on the train. Nonetheless, there we do not see a conductor during the thirty-minute journey, and we feel uncomfortable alighting at the Station of Novi Sad without having paid for the tickets.

Novi Sad is a mesmerizingly beautiful city. It is calm, relaxed and completely different to Belgrade, both in architecture (typical central European) and the general vibe. It lies on the meander of the Danube and in the flat, Pannonian Plain. The name Novi Sad means “new plantation” in Serbian and Latin name was “Neoplanta”. Vojvodina is the most fertile region in Serbia, in 1981 its GDP per capita was 172% of the Yugoslav average. This is an affluent city with many financial and insurance institutions, oil and energy companies and information technology centres. Novi Sad is the home to the EXIT festival (in July), one of the largest events in Europe, as well as many other folk, literature and art events and not surprisingly it was the European Capital of Culture in 2023.

I must admit our orientation is not great, but neither is Google map’s. Novi Sad is a mostly flat city without high rises or recognisable orienteers and the river is away from the centre. After a longish walk and a few wrong turns, we reach Trg Slobode (The Freedom Square), the very heart of the city. The square is surrounded by buildings of historical value such as the largest catholic church in the city, the Town hall, a few international banks and very expensive shops… In its core is the impressive monument to Svetozar Miletic, the mayor of Novi Sad in the 19th century who was also a political journalist and the author of “On the education of women” published in 1871.

Novi Sad and the region of Vojvodina produced many remarkable people. Albert Einstein’s first wife Mileva Maric was born in a nearby village called Titel and we walk past the house they stayed in when visiting Novi Sad. The poet Jovan Jovanovic Zmaj played a crucial role in the history of Serbian literature and his children’s poetry is still popular in the whole of Balkans. Then there is the famous tennis player, Monika Seleš...
From the square we walk to the Zmaj Jovina Street, a pedestrian promenade lined with charming cafés that are perfect for a sunny and hot day like this. We choose Café Šeherezada, sit on its terrace, in the shade of trees and parasols, next to a sleeping dog, and order an orange and chocolate mousse and coffees while our young companion prefers mango ice-cream. Refreshing. And delicious.
In the afternoon, after a stroll through luxurious shops and a lunch in a Greek café, we walk across the bridge Duga to the fortress of Petrovaradin, on the right bank of the Danube. The city of Petrovaradin was founded by the Celts and during the Roman times was known as Cusum. Romans built a fort where the today Petrovaradin Fortress stands. During Hungarian administration, the city was called Pétervárad, during Ottoman it was Petervaradin and during Habsburgs – Peterwardein.
We climb up steep, stone stairs and through some tunnels (there are many tunnels and underground passages underneath) until we reach the top and The Tower Clock. From here we take in the amazing views of the meandering Danube and Novi Sad on the other bank.
The train stations of Petrovaradin and Novi Sad are within similar distance from the fortress, and we decide to walk to Petrovaradin. The route takes us through sleepy streets and green areas. Of course, it feels much further than on the map. Of course, the ticket office is closed. This time, however, the conductor comes to us, and we buy the tickets. Phew!

THE LAST DAY
The ticketing system for the Royal complex is like the one for the Museum of Nikola Tesla and individual visitors must purchase the tickets from the Central Tourist Office of Belgrade, if available on the day. We give up. I guess, next time we can take our aunts, uncle and cousins on a group tour of Belgrade…
Instead, we opt for a relaxed wander without a particular plan. We arrive by metro to Vukov Spomenik, take the tram towards the old town and get off at Skadarlija, a bohemian street inspired by Montmartre. Skadarlija or Skadarska is renowned for many inns, cafés and the best restaurants in town. On my previous visits I dined in the two of its most famous eating establishments – “Tri šešira” (Three Hats) and “Dva Jelena” (Two Deer) – but on this occasion we are spoilt with home cooked masterpieces in the kitchen of my aunts and cousins.

As the light rain descends on the city, we rush to Kafeterija Magazin 1907, in a side street off Knez Mihailova. This is one of the most charming cafés I ever visited. It covers three floors connected with an impressive staircase in the middle and it also homes a vintage looking Barber in the basement (!). What a perfect concept; while men are groomed, wives can have coffees and cakes. We sit by the window on the first floor and gaze at the rainy city and people hiding under colourful umbrellas. The deal of the day is a coffee and a slice of cake for the equivalent of five euros. How can anyone resist that?
A leisurely stroll down Knez Mihailova – with a stop in a market selling artisan works where I buy yellow earrings from the chatty artists – takes us to Trg Republike (Republic Square). We glance at the programme at the National Theatre and are rather tempted by a piece based on the life of Einstein’s first wife Mileva, but not sure our aunts would approve a night out on our last day… Next to it is the largest museum in Belgrade, the National Museum of Serbia and we might as well pop in. The impressive collection of the arts of Serbia from the earliest findings to the 20th century is presented over three floors. We start with the top floor that is displaying the modern and contemporary art, both by Serbian artists and the famous names of the international scene. From there we descend back in time, to the arts of previous centuries and to the exhibits of early church art…

When we run out of mental and physical energy, as well as time, we head to Zeleni Venac and take the bus back to Zemun Polje, knowing that our aunt is waiting with yet another of her delicious dinners.
As the bus meanders through suburban expansions, we summarise our week in Belgrade. Although due to circumstances – poverty, distance and war – we have not spent much time with our Serbian family when growing up or to be more precise the four/five decades of our lives, we feel like at home and aunts remind us of our mother. After all, blood is thicker than water, and we know that we are not going to leave it too long before our next visit…