Friday 6 November 2009

sex shops and slot bars in belgrade.






So Friday afternoon I had the travel itch. There was a long weekend ahead, so many places called out to be visited and were only a 20 euro train ride away (never mind the time length). After reading about Belgrade’s esteemable night life I rested on that one and it was sorted for Saturday.

An uneventful and remarkly flat train ride later and Belgrade was at our door step. When we walked off the train, ten minutes out of the centre, we were confronted with hoards of rubbish made up in corpses, covered over with white sheets. It took a scrutinising eye to discern whether or not they actually were corpses. Oh I forget- on the train ride when we passed the Serbian border there was a strong stench of burning that lasted quite a way in- and almost as if a circular story- before we got on the train to return just now there was a an absent fire among the same piles of rubbish I described, completely unattended, again providing that burning stench. How strange!

So, as we had gotten into a smaller station there was no cash point in sight so no chance of a taxi. We were a little stuck and a little more panicked, surrounded by unfamiliar communist-looming buildings, a landscape of rubbish and an incomprehensible language and alphabet covering street signs. Coming to our rescue, thank god, were two similar aged Serbian lads. One could speak no Enlgish, the other only disjointed sentences usually containing “strange” “bad English” and “Alan Shearer!” (after finding out we were from N.castle). These friendly folk made sure we got a tram in the right direction and assured us there would be “no security” so no pay.



I was taken aback by the difference in architecture and feeling in this city to any other I had visited in Europe, marked by the safe symbol of the EU and funding. Buildings were in the process of demolishment, but could have been that way forever, traffic lights broken, zebra crossings unused, few Western shops or even English writing. The bridge into “old town” was unimpressive, as was old town itself- the romantic name not laying claim to any majestic-ness or beauty. There seemed a general lack of any of the Western tourist rinsing we were so used to. In fact it felt more like people were honoured you had come to visit them. Like when you make the effort to visit a friend who is lonely lives far away, Belgrade welcomed us as such. The “square” we got off at was more a roundabout with a dilapidated statue in the middle, surrounded by buildings covered from head to toe in obscenely sexy advertising.

Our hostel was a modest, exceptionally clean flat. Again, there was no sense of them working on a competitive basis: they provided good service but it was no atmosphere conducive to fun. After relaxing from a bread-baby-belly dilemma (too much one journey) we headed onto the Belgrade streets, opting for a fun Irish bar as the recommended places seemed too pretentious. Three cocktails later and we were trollied, and decided to go in search of a club. With no idea where to go we were tempted by a racket of cheesy music protruding from a flat a few strories up on thr main street. We no invitation we walked straight in and danced like we were bezzies with the birthday boy. Craving more liquour, (but definitely not needing it) we inspected what was displayed on the table. In my stupor I subconsciously pretended to wear mittens and knocked wine bottles and glasses over as soon as I tried holding them. It resulted unsuccessfully and we became entirely dispirited with the party so next stop bakery then bed.

The extra hour due to winter time changeover was a welcome relief next morning when my pounding head gravitated me to the comfort. A downing of cold water and a hot shower later, we were back on the streets, this time in daylight and with an eye for sightseeing. Well Belgrade does not fall short of interesting sights, well away from the tourist gaze. Beautiful is a word saved for Budapest, but it was marvellous all the same. I was actually constantly awed with the vulgarity of the buildings and general lack of any attempt to hide or change this. Grey was the only colour palate they took from- as if the lack of money produced in Serbia provides a black and white vision to with it. We saw the fortress (bland) the main street (Grey Street Newcastle) the market (Soviet kitsch) and oh, the Bohemian Quarter- which was kind of wholly redeemable for all of Belgrade.

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