If the Balkan Peninsula (or Southeast Europe, as it is now more properly called) has its northern boundary at the Sava River, we finally made it. Here we are in Belgrade. Our boat 'Sulina' has been lying in the marina in Novi Sad in Serbia for the last 2 weeks without a propeller. There is some promise on the horizon, but that is a very hazy horizon as the concept of time and urgency is different here and requires a cultural adjustment. Serbia is an interesting land, full of contrasts, and one that has taken a while to win us over. Perhaps that is why the long delay here, to force us to take the time to let the country grow on us. Like moss on a rock, it is slowly doing so.
But how did we get here to Belgrade? How did we move through, then almost out of Europe (at least utterly out of the EU) along the Danube, that essentially European river which passes through 10 countries along its course, called variously Donau, Dunaj, Duna, Dunav, Dunarea and Dunay till its mouth in the Black Sea?
Some impressions of Serbia, including Belgrade
Maybe a look at the cities we encountered since leaving Mohacs gives a clue. On our last night there, we joked around with a fellow boater and his friend who worked at the Customs House, our first stop for the next morning. 'Be careful on your way along the Danube,' he said. 'We Hungarians say that the Serbians and Croatians are hiding in the trees as they occupy the opposite sides of the Danube with their weapons still trained on each other!' He emphasized that it was just a Hungarian joke, but it did set the scene. The reality that we found as we travelled along was maybe more subtle but in essence not far off.
OSIJEK
After the high drama of getting stuck on rocks in the old harbour, we found the town of Osijek a pleasant and gentle introduction to Croatia. The helpful man at the Tourist Information Centre encouraged us to visit the old town which we had seen from the Drava with its fortress and massive city gates, as well as take a stroll along the Europa Avenue to admire the many pastel coloured art nouveau buildings, many originally built as banks or family dynasty villas, now housing all manner of businesses or turned into flats, some well maintained and many in need of a lot of TLC (and injection of cash). That was a pattern we were to see repeated again and again, quite interesting architecture, or architectural details next to disintegrating uncared-for structures, perhaps originally of equal interest.
A young woman in a supermarket with good English kindly helped me out and talked about the language problems in her country. 'The old people only speak Croatian or a little Russian, but we young ones are trying to learn English so we can be more part of Europe,' she said, and added, 'if you need any more help with anything, just look for me,' taking my hand in a sweet gesture. The other side of this was the old gentleman watching his grandson play with the pigeons, and incidentally observing Johannes drawing the Peter and Paul Cathedral. As Johannes finished his picture, he came over and shyly indicated his wish to look at it, and his approval. We enncountered this gentle nature again, but not too much curiosity about us, perhaps out of shyness before foreigners, sad on our side that we only had a couple of words of Croatian.
VUKOVAR
Vukovar, our next stop in Croatia, stood in large part as a memorial to the Balkan Wars or 'homeland wars' as they call them here. Houses and walls still riddled with bullet holes, plaques describing loss and decrying the 'aggressor', the famous water tower still with the marks of destruction as symbol of the town, all signs of a place struggling to overcome the trauma of 30 years ago, when neighbour killed neighbour. Our boat carrried the two flags of Croatia and Serbia side by side and they fluttered in the wind in harmony with each other, but the inhabitants of Vukovar, reduced to almost half their population as most of the Serbs had left after the wars, lived next to each other with unresolved pain.
NOVI SAD
As we checked into Serbia at the Customs House on the Danube in Novi Sad, we were hit in the face by the difference in dealing with the events of 30 years ago. The tough but friendly policewoman who took our passports and documents virtually blamed us, as representatives of NATO (German and American) for the destruction of their 2 beautiful bridges 22 years ago. 'Welcome to Serbia!'
Here was no paralysis from a victim mentality to be seen. The city is thriving, the historic part beautiful and attractive in all ways to tourists, the university highly favoured, dynamic and ambitious young people starting up businesses and keeping remarkably and publicly fit, great amenities like the long and lively public city beach, the Fruska Gora national park quite near enough to be the lungs of the city, and many interesting churches and monasteries to visit. Buskers and bands abound, in the city, on the strand, at many of the restaurants and pubs, especially on Friday and Saturday nights.
Older people who had worked in Germany 50 or so years ago often approached us and spoke with happiness of those days. Regret about the influx of 'immigrants' from countries further south or east is to be heard. And although the country has suffered from a 'brain drain', many have come back because after all, 'Home is home.' The national pride is palpable.
We've spent much longer here than we had planned because of our broken propeller. Waiting for the repair plunged us into a cultural difference we'd lived in during our 10 years in Africa, but had grown out of since moving to Germany in 2005. Time has a different quality, the sense of urgency is just in your own head, 'Get over it.' If it takes 3 weeks instead of 1, well, 'that's life. What can you do?'
BELGRADE
So we hired a car for a few days and drove to Belgrade, where the Balkans technically begin. And here we came a step closer to understanding and appreciating the people and culture of Serbia, a country part of Europe but not of the EU, revelling in their heritage. And where the material manifestations are not so much in evidence, then is that portrayed in the musical tradition that we experienced in the famous Skardarska Street where our hostel had its place. I never regretted more that my battery had finished by the time evening came around and I couldn't make any videos! Each restaurant or pub was full and most had their own band, 4 or more musicians playing Serbian folk music, the guests singing along and many bands right next to or across from each other. It was loud, fun and inspiring.
FRUSKA GORA
Driving back to Novi Sad, we took the opportunity to see some of the 16 monasteries in the Fruska Gora. At Krusedol we chatted with the young monk who lives there with 5 other old monks, presumably doing much of the physical work himself. The church was 500 years old and for me, the most wonderful orthodox church we have seen. Even Dustin, the ex-military traveller from Texas who had joined us in Belgrade, felt the atmosphere and said, 'Yes, here people have lived. And died. You can feel it.'
(Postcard as photography wasn't allowed in the Krusedol church)
The small mountains and pretty forests we drove through were restful and pleasant, as was the vista of vineyards and fine mixed agriculture. The many farmstalls were colourful with their peaches and peppers, homemade wines and juices, salamis and garlic hanging on strings and rustic ceramic casseroles and plates.
Back again in Novi Sad and waiting for the propeller that might be ready in 2 more days. This was a long blog, dear readers, but here we have that magic mixture of TIME and INTERNET! Later, once we truly penetrate the Balkans by boat, that may no longer be the case!
The marina where Sulina without propeller is lying quietly
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