The Muž guide to Serbian gift-giving
Muž is a cool man under pressure–until it comes to holiday shopping. He doesn’t believe in “wish lists” and usually buys (admittedly lovely) gifts the week before Christmas. I picture him entering a store, finding a saleswoman that vaguely resembles me, and handing her his credit card.
Not this year.
This Christmas, Muž gave me the best Belgrade gift yet. It’s not any of my previous suggestions, but it was better than all of them combined.
Muž worked with a company to publish the first year of posts on this site–two volumes of confusion, laughs and adventures. Thanks to him and to all my readers for helping to create an amazing gift.
Cekaonica: Belgrade’s not-so-secret bar
Belgrade guide books often mention “secret bars.” In reality, they’re born more out of need than secret. Owners flaunt zoning regulations/papework and create bars in abandoned hospitals, basements, or empty apartment buildings. Some of these, like the Federal Association of Travelers, are exactly what you picture: they’re found through an unmarked door in the basement of an apartment building, and make you feel like you crashed a very civilized cocktail party. Others are tiny, loud apartment-sized spots. Some are actually in apartments, with very angry-or tolerant-neighbors.
They’re definitely bars, but not not exactly secret; many have websites or are commonly shared through word-of-mouth. Still, most people have a favorite “secret” bar, and I’m no exception.
My favorite not-so-secret bar? Čekaonica.
Čekaonica is located at the top of the BIGZ building, a half-abandoned printing plant that was built in the mid-1930s. BIGZ building is just off a highway in an area that’s part industrial, part late-night clubs, and part Senjak mansions. Typically Belgrade, really.
There’s no sign, so visitors simply walk in the building, past a sometimes-present security guard, and turn right down a dark hallway to find the freight elevator. There’s graffiti everywhere, and enough random noise and sounds that make you realize the building isn’t abandoned–but that the residents may not there legally. And if that’s not enough to make you feel a bit secretive, wait until you get into the elevator.
The freight elevator is my second-favorite thing about Čekaonica. It’s not for the timid, because it lacks interior doors, and it’s not for the uninitiated, because it’s operated by pushing the knob button on the bottom AND the floor button you want. Like a secret code, if you will. And nothing impressed my cohorts (Serbian and American) like showing them a crazy building, a scary elevator, and a secret code.
Until they saw the view.
This is my favorite thing about Čekaonica. It’s one of Belgrade’s few (only?) rooftop bars. From here, you can see the glory of the fortress, the brutalist architecture of Novi Beograd, or the seediness of the train yard. It’s the perfect spot to watch the sunset with a glass of wine and listen to live jazz. Because that’s right readers, it gets even better: Čekaonica is a jazz club.
The bar, I’m told, got its name (“waiting room”) because there’s a recording studio and jam space in the lower levels of BIGZ. Musicians would hang out on the roof while waiting for their turn to play, an enterprising person decided to put a bar up there, and Čekaonica was officially (unofficially?) in business. While this place isn’t so secret anymore, it manages to feel low-key. That is, until the new “secret” club next door starts blasting the bass at 1am.
Čekaonica is open from 10am-2am, and is located at the top of the BIGZ building. I don’t have the address, but ask for the BIGZ building and any taxi driver should take you there. You can find the bar’s Facebook page HERE.
Pet Peeve Petak
When did 60 ounces of soda become “small?”
Also, the new James Bond is great–but for all the hype about filming in Novi Sad, I barely caught a glimpse!
Zen and the Art of Making Rakija
One more item was crossed off the “Belgrade bucket list” this week when I was invited to watch grape rakija (lozovaca) being made in a village outside of Fruska Gora. Fruska Gora is national parkland about an hour outside of Belgrade. It’s known for its fresh air, gorgeous scenery and wineries. Yet we weren’t there for that. We were there for the rakija.
My friend Lisa, a professional photographer working in Serbia, invited me to join her to document the experience. I don’t have her photography skills, so I can only guess I was chosen for my drinking skills. Whatever it takes, people. We arrived just as the grapes were being poured into the distiller.
The grapes had been sitting in barrels for about a week. Normally they might ferment a bit longer, but Serbia’s late summer moved the natural process along quickly. This weather has also been great for wineries—the drought forced grapes to produce more sugar than usual. Look for 2011 vintage wines over the next couple of years. We couldn’t wait that long, so we tasted some of the young wine that our gracious host provided.
I normally don’t like young wine, but this tasted more like fresh grape juice with slight carbonation. The best part is that there’s nothing but fermented, pressed grapes in this pitcher. It doesn’t get any more natural than that. After a toast to the harvest, we turned our attention to the giant, slightly scary distiller. The machine looks crazy, but it’s actually pretty simple. Fermented grapes are poured into a container heated by a wood stove underneath. (Grapes go into the container closest to the camera.)
The stove must be kept very hot, and the grapes must be stirred via crank to prevent burning or sticking. A flour paste is pressed along the seams of the distiller to prevent steam escaping.
After two hours or so, the mixture becomes hot enough that it begins to boil. Steam then rises from the first container, travels along the long pipe and moves the second container, which is filled with cold water to help condense the steam and cool the liquid, which is—almost—rakija.
I say “almost rakija” because the first liter of liquid isn’t rakija at all. It’s methyl alcohol, a substance that is highly flammable and poisonous if consumed. One must wait until the methyl alcohol has been passed (the prvenac, or first batch) to start collecting the drinkable ethanol/grain alcohol. You should know when the methyl alcohol has passed because the smell (like rubbing alcohol) will make you recoil.
After the prvenac, you can start collecting the rakija in glass jars. Our host first stores rakija in glass for about three months, then decides if he wants to age the rakija in barrels or glass. If rakija is golden, it’s likely because it was stored in wood, and not necessarily because of how long it aged. Or it’s because coloring has been added–a big no-no in the homemade rakija world.
We tasted the first drinkable batch of rakija, but it was pretty harsh. It takes several months for rakija to be smooth enough to drink comfortably, and years for it to taste like the rakija I’ve come to enjoy. Good things come to those who wait, I suppose.
It was a special day of Serbian sights, tastes and sounds, but my favorite part of the day was waiting for the grapes to boil. I was happy to sit around the distiller eating fresh goat cheese and bread, sample grapes and apples from our hosts’ orchard, and smell the wood burn. It was a surprisingly meditative process that resulted in a feeling of accomplishment: making one of the oldest beverages known to man. Serbians may not practice zen, but the art of making rakija comes pretty close.
If you’d like to see Lisa’s photos that day, you’ll have to wait–but you can see other amazing shots of Serbia on her website http://lisaquinones.photoshelter.com/
Orange you glad for cafes in Belgrade?
In America, coca-cola is sometimes served with a slice of lemon. In Mexico and Central America, it’s served with a slice of lime. In Serbia, a slice of orange is added. It tastes quite nice, though I’m not sure why it’s done. Oranges aren’t exactly native to Serbia.
People might wonder why I was ordering a soda at a cafe. I could have easily bought a bottle from a kiosk and walked around with it. Yet I rarely see someone (who’s not a tourist) walking around with a drink in hand. Take-away coffee is advertised as something special. If you want a drink, Belgrade seems to say, sit down and enjoy it. Watch people walking by. Read the paper–waitresses will bring one to you if you ask. And as a bonus surprise, here’s a slice of orange.
Before I moved to Serbia, it would have taken me five minutes to drink this bottle. I would have bought it on the street and chugged it while I was running errands. Now it’s a social event that takes thirty or forty minutes. I don’t think I’ve done anything to change Belgrade, but Belgrade has certainly changed me.
This post title is from one of the worst American jokes ever told.
The RHOB Guide to Survival Serbian
Maybe you already know Serbian. Maybe you ARE Serbian. (Zdravo!) If not, and you’re coming to Belgrade, it’s good to know some words beyond dobar dan (good day) and hvala (thank you). It’s even better to know a few sentences and phrases that will get you through some typical Serbian experiences. These may not be grammatically perfect, but you’ll get your point across.**
Scenario 1: Finding a meal.
You’re starving. You see white tablecloths, outside seating, and a waiter hovering in the doorway. “Lunch!” you say to yourself. But not so fast…
You: Da li imate hranu ovde? (Crudely, do you have food here?)*
Waiter: Ne. (No.)
You: Mogu da jedem burek ovde? Super. (Can I eat burek here? Great.)
Note: cafes often look like nice restaurants but serve no food. Ask to bring in food from somewhere else (like a bakery or burek stand) or risk running around from cafe to cafe until your blood sugar drops faster than a Yugo’s value.
Scenario 2: Ending a meal.
You’re at a kafana, or ever better, someone’s baba is cooking for you. Food has been coming out of the kitchen for three hours. You have to stop this madness before you explode like that dude in Big Trouble, Little China.
You: Sve je bila odlicno. Ne mogu vise. (Everything was excellent. I can’t eat another bite.)
Baba: Moras da jedes malo vise. To ce pomoci da beba. (You must eat a little more. This will help you make babies.)
You: !?!?!
Baba: Napravna sam tulumbe, baklava, tufahije i torta. (I made tulumbe, baklava, tufanije and cake.)
You: Necu, ali hvala vama. Ako jedem nesto vise, mozda ja cu umreti. (I can’t, but thank you. If I eat anything else, I might die.)
Baba: Ti ces jesti tufahije. (You will eat tufanije.)
You: Mozda samo malo. Hvala vama. (Maybe just a little. Thank you.)
Note: While in Serbia, prepare to eat until you feel like dying. People will try to feed you until you clutch your heart and run out the door. Argument is useless. Besides, tufahije is awesome.
Scenario 3: Ending an evening at a friend’s house
You: Ne vise vina za mene. Mislim da je moj jetra je kiseli. (No more wine for me. I think my liver is pickled.)
Friend: Stravno? Imam dunya rakija iz cela mog dede. (Really? I have quince rakija from my grandfather’s village.)
You: U redu. Moja jetra nije važno, zar ne? (Ok. My liver isn’t important, right?)
Note: There is little peer pressure to drink alcohol in Serbia. But when you’re offered someone’s homemade rakija, peer pressure isn’t needed. Imbibe carefully.
Scenario 4: Ending an Evening, Part II
[Ring, ring.]
You: Molim? Sta? Ne, ne mogu da idem u klubu veceras. To je tri ujutru i imam sastanak sutra u osam sati. (Hello? What? No, I can’t go to the club tonight. It’s 3 a.m. and I have a meeting tomorrow at 8 a.m.)
Friend: Nole je ovde. (Novak Djokovic is here.)
You: Ja cu biti to za deset minuti. (I’ll be there in ten minutes.)
Note: Just go. You can sleep on the plane. Or when you’re retired.
***
Enjoy Serbia!
*There MUST be a better way to ask this. Srpski speakers, help a housewife out.
**I realize that there are probably several errors here, especially with cases. (Posting late, can’t find my cases cheat sheet, lazy, etc.) Feel free to correct major errors in the comments, but I probably will not correct the main text unless I wrote something offensively incorrect. Have a great weekend, everyone.
Corfu’s kumquat craze
We thought we knew what to expect from Corfu: lovely beaches, relaxed attitudes, and all the dolmades we could eat. However, there was one unexpected delight in Corfu. Kumquats!
I tasted my first kumquat this year and was instantly hooked. Kumquats aren’t often found in Serbia, but a friend somehow found them and offered them to me at the end of a meal. I picked up the grape-sized citrus fruit and popped one, whole, into my mouth. The rind was a bit sour, but the inside was a delicious mixture of sweet and tart. Where had these delicious goodies been all my life? All too soon, kumquat season ended and I was left with visions of buying them at a D.C. Whole Foods for $10 a pound.
This will be $8.99 plus tax next year...
Kumquats are often found in Asia or South Africa, but Corfu received its first trees in the early 1900s. The plant thrived in its new terrain. Today, Corfu is one of the only places in Europe that has achieved “mass kumquat cultivation.” Sounds like an awesome band name. You’re welcome.
Kumquat season was over in Corfu, but the tiny tart treats are preserved as candy and liqueur. We stopped by a shop in Corfu’s old town for a taste test. Though most of the shops here seem to be selling the same things, we were drawn in by this store’s focus on kumquats and their less-cheesy bottles. Plus, isn’t the shopkeeper adorable?
The candied kumquats were fantastic. The sugar heightened the kumquat’s mix of sweet and tart, making it an easy, if not healthy, way to enjoy the fruit year-round. We picked up a box for Muz’s office as I kept sneaking samples. The proprietor then asked us if we wanted to try the kumquat liqueur. Lady, does the Pope wear a big hat? We played it cool, though. Muz waited a solid three seconds before he said yes.
There were several kinds of liqueur available, but we only tasted two. After the shopkeeper learned we liked rakija she dismissed the first two because she thought we would find them “too sweet.” The third bottle from the left was so sweet that I wondered how the other liqueurs didn’t induce diabetic comas. The last one, with the crystals inside, had the mix of bitter/tart/sweet that I like in the kumquat’s original form. And let’s face it, it was also the prettiest bottle.
It was also the most expensive one. As Muz scowled at my “champagne tastes” the woman told us that we could refill the bottle with vodka when it’s empty (When? Five years from now?) and still enjoy something similar. Aha! I insisted it was the more economical choice. A Real Housewife has to think of finances, you know. We purchased a small bottle, secure in the knowledge that my crush on Corfu–and kumquats–could continue in the comfort of our Belgrade home.
In Corfu, a blogger’s paradise
I’ve almost completed my posts about Balkan Bonanza ’11, the road trip Muz and I took in August. After driving through Bosnia, Montenegro, and Albania, we finished our adventure on the island of Corfu in Greece.
Corfu had almost everything we could ask for, like this
and this,
and this:
The only thing Corfu lacked was a good internet connection. (Don’t get me started on why “nicer” hotels have bad or overpriced wifi. That could be a whole other blog.) Most people wouldn’t care about hotel internet connection, but between my obsession with posting Sunday-Friday and Muz preparing to return to work, an internet connection was a priority. So when we read that the Corfu Starbucks had one of the best views in town, we drove over to check it out.
I’m not the slightest bit ashamed to say I love Starbucks. Yes, they might give home-grown coffee shops a run for their money (or not). Yes, the shops may contain an odd menagerie of yuppies, hipsters, and homeless people. Yes, sometimes the coffee tastes burned. Yet Starbucks also has fast, free wireless and fancy large coffee drinks on steroids. GO AMERICA. Starbucks is a beacon to this travel blogger. In Corfu, it’s a beacon with one of the best views on the island.
This is Mouse Island, a.k.a. Pontikonisi. The building on the island is Pantokrator Monastery, which was built during the 13th Century. The island is named Pontikonisi because the Monastery’s staircase is supposed to look like a mouse’s tail. From our vantage point, it just looked like heaven. Sugary, caffeinated heaven.
Maybe I should have been ashamed that I was sitting on a canvas director’s chair instead of a fortress wall. Perhaps I should have felt guilty that I wasn’t exactly soaking in Greek culture. Mostly, I just felt relaxed by the gorgeous view, a little sick from drinking a frappuccino, and comfortable knowing that good travel memories can happen anywhere.
Finding old-world hospitality in the ancient city of Berat, Albania
Travel rule #1: do as the locals do. We ignored this rule in Berat. Most people were hiding from the heat or waiting to break Ramadan fast, but we ignored the 100 degree temperatures to explore the city.
Berat is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in Europe. It’s known as The White City or The City of 1,000 Windows, depending on the guidebook. The nicknames stem from the oversized windows on traditional white houses lining Berat’s hills. We later learned that Berat is also known as The City of Two Thousand Steps. Hilly steps, as it turns out. We were sweating like calves in a cevabdzinica.
We were there to see the sights, but felt like the main attraction ourselves. Strangers called out to us from their front steps or simply stared at the new people in town. A note to other traveling housewives: women walking alone will be stared at without hesitation. People were simply curious–or lascivious–and it was safe, but like nothing else I’ve experienced in the Balkans.
Muz and I walked up (and up) a path to see the 13th Century Church of St. Michael (Shën Mehill). We were sweaty and tired, but figured it would be worth the hike.
It was, naturally, closed.
Let us in!
- At least I could get my lens past the gate…
Most of Berat’s churches and mosques aren’t open to the public; access requires knowing the person(s) with a key. We had read this fact, but thought high tourist season would be different. It’s not. We climbed back down the path and I wondered if coming out in the afternoon had been a giant mistake.
Yet the travel gods were smiling upon us. As we walked back to the old town, we passed a couple carving a stone plaque. I asked if we could take photos of their work, and they graciously said yes. Upon learning we spoke English, the husband summoned his daughter to come outside and translate his greetings. Thirty seconds later, he invited us inside his home for coffee.
I had heard that Albanians are known for their hospitality, but was surprised to be welcomed so quickly. I probably shouldn’t have been; Albanian hospitality is famous in the Balkans. Part of this attitude stems from the Kanun, an 15th Century (or older) set of Albanian laws and customs. Under Kanun, a man’s home was his fortress, protected by his honor. A guest in his home was also protected under this honor and treated with the highest respect.
Though the Kanun was outlawed by Hoxna, its rules regarding guests live on. Muz was served raki (home-brewed brandy, like rakija) and I received a sweet liquor and a bowl of preserved fruit (slatko). We talked about each others’ lives, the world in general, and how much Albania has changed in the last thirty years. The man of the house said that under Hoxna, he would have been arrested for inviting us in. His kind smile told us that even under those circumstances, he still might have welcomed us in his home.
We spent the next day exploring the city’s attractions, but our visit with this family will remain one of our favorite memories. We came to Berat to see well-preserved Albanian culture. We left grateful to experience it firsthand.
The Fairy Tales, Tastes and Truffles of Motovun, Croatia
Motovun is the stuff of fairy tales. It appears almost out of nowhere: a turn on a highway suddenly reveals the white hilltop city lording over olive groves, vineyards, and truffle patches. It’s Disneyland for wine-swilling, food-loving adults. Obivously I had to go there.
I drove there with my latest partners in crime: Zločin, aka “Felony”–she knows why–and Lingvista, or Linguist, because she used the same five Serbian/Croatian words in every conversation. If you want strangers to like you, bring along a friend to likes to tell everyone “Volim te.” They were the perfect duo for my latest adventure.
Our final destination was Rovinj, but we stopped in Motovun at the advice of a Croatian friend, bolstered by an Italian man’s claim that Istria, the region of both Rovinj and Motovan, was “better than Tuscany.” As we walked around the old city, we understood the hype. It was a small town filled with gorgeous views, wine stores, truffle specialists and lovely restaurants. Though my guidebook claimed that it was often overrun with tourists in high season, we had the area practically to ourselves.
Motovun isn’t just the stuff of RHOB fairy tales. It’s also the setting of a famous Croatian fairy tale about a giant named Veli Jože. Based on my sketchy language skills, he was a giant who lived in Motovun and tried to (1) be a free man, (2) stop other giants from being greedy with their newfound gold stash, and (3) possibly help the people of Motovun, who didn’t want to feed the giants but were his friend. Obviously my translating skills need serious work. Here’s an English summary that may not be any better…
Unfortunately we weren’t able to eat at some of the finer dining establishments because we arrived after two and before six pm. Still, we were able to get good pizza and great truffle pasta at a place with a view of the valley below us. The local wine was delicious but a bit of a mystery. Upon our inquiry we were only told that it was “white.” I figured it was malvazija wine, since the other local specialty wines are white muscatel (a distinctive taste) and teran, a red wine.
We tried to pick up a similar bottle in the local stores but were disappointed with the high prices and minimal selection. Fortunately we found a small shop on the outskirts of town that offered local prices and atmosphere. After Lingvista picked up enough fruit for a small army, we grabbed an edible souvenir for our evening in Rovinj. Cinderella may have received a glass slipper, but RHOB lucked out with a glass of Istrian white. That’s my kind of fairy tale.
So, what’s Prague LIKE?
I know, readers, I know: I get so wrapped up in showing snippets from our travels that I neglect to offer general impressions. Here’s one Housewife’s take on Prague.
In one (overused) word, Prague is charming. Unlike many of its neighbors, Prague was spared severe bombing in World War II so the city’s gothic, neoclassical, baroque and art nouveau buildings are well-preserved. If you don’t know what those terms mean, not to worry: it’s really pretty. Yet there’s enough realism to make the city approachable. Many buildings are cloaked in soot. At night, the statues on Charles Bridge are covered in spiders. It’s interesting without being imposing.
Charles Bridge: the site of 1,000 proposals
Guidebooks give the Old Town the most acclaim, but I found Lesser Town to be the best place for a stroll. I liked the cafes, hidden streets, and quirky sense of irony and artistry. It’s also the old German area, for those looking for a bit of history with their espresso.
If you’re not into architecture, the city’s park system is a lovely way to pass an afternoon. We saw lots of picnics with wine bottles. Based on the number of sporting goods stores we saw, there are also hiking opportunities outside of the city. The Czechs seem to be fit, but not overly friendly. We didn’t chat with many locals. Then again, I imagine the appeal of meeting foreigners lost its luster long ago. Most people speak English well, though our Serbian came in handy at the rail station. Basic Serbian vocabulary is surprisingly similar to Czech.
Though Prague is no longer the cheap destination it was in the late 1990s, there are still tons of backpackers. We heard a lot of Spanish, Italian, and English. I’m past my backpacking phase of life (sort of), but it was fun to see so many people ready to take on the world with a tent and a rucksack.
The only part of Prague that disappointed us was the food. We didn’t go to high-end restaurants, but the local, traditional cuisine is a little bland. Meat is not as tasty as it is in Serbia. Restaurant service is indifferent. Yet beer is cheap and delicious. We didn’t see any stag parties but I hear they are ubiquitous on the weekends.
Would I recommend Prague? Absolutely. It’s gorgeous, easy to get around, and has a unique culture. Yet Prague is “on the map,” so to speak, and will continue to be a popular destination for people past the hostel stage. If you’re looking for adventure, I’d recommend other Eastern locales. Still, you can’t beat the romance of Prague…and the humor behind the public art.
In Prague, this Bud(var)’s for you
While we were in Prague, we decided to try a beer with a different look but a very familiar-sounding name: Budweiser. That’s right, the beer synonymous with U.S. barbecues and red Solo cups has roots (sort of) in the Czech Republic. Around 1876, Adolphus Busch of Busch beer fame named a new brew “Budwieser, King of Beers.” Some say he picked the name out of the map randomly, but others claim that he modeled his beer on a Czech pilsner from Budvar. Budweiser is the German name for Budvar, Czech Republic, where beer has been brewed since 1785. To complicate matters, nineteen years after Busch formed his company, the Budvar Brewery was formed and sold its beer under the name Budweiser.
A brewsky battle began a century later, when efforts to expand the respective beer markets led to an awkward introduction. Busch had trademarked the name in America; Budvar had European rights. The two agreed to stay out of each others’ territory, but globalization and thousands of lawyers later, the two companies are still duking out the rights to the name Budweiser.
We grabbed a bottle of the stuff to develop our own stake in the cold beer conflict. Budvar Budweiser tasted akin to the King of Beers (KoB), which isn’t surprising since they’re both pilsner. However, Budvar Budweiser is smoother and lacks the the watery essence and slightly metallic aftertaste that seems to be the hallmark of the KoB. We preferred the Budvar, but nothing compared to the cheap and plentiful Pilsner Urquell that flows through Prague.
If you’re interested in trying Budvar Budweiser, but lack the funds or will to get to Prague, take heart: the beer is now sold in the United States under the name Czechvar.
Image from unitedpackageliquors.com
The name may not roll off the tongue, but the beer might. “Czech” out the distributor on Czechvar’s web page: it’s none other than Anheuser-Busch. And you thought politics made strange bedfellows…
The Disneyfication of…the liquor aisle?!
Whitney Houston reminded us that “…children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way.” But I don’t think she was talking about baby champagne. This was seen at the Maxi on Sarajevska Street in Belgrade.
I’m not a parent, or even an aunt, but seriously?! Champagne for kids? It’s non-alcoholic, but still…isn’t beer for dogs weird enough? I know children like to copy their parents, yet it’s not like Serbian parents drink lots of champagne at home. If anything, Disney should be making two-liter bottles of Princess Jasmine Jelen or Rapunzel Rakija. Even I would consider buying that.
Photo source: soawesomeithurts.com
At first I was surprised that Disney would promote alcohol consumption for children. Then I thought that there might be some benefit to it. Little ladies will face serious disappointment if they think life is like a fairy tale. Fake booze can really take the edge off when you expect a pony for your sixth birthday but you get your sister’s hand-me-down bike instead. Not that I speak from experience.
Disney booze can also help parents re-enact hip hop videos starring children. Come on, what parent hasn’t wanted their kids to experience the decadent life of champagne, back-beats, and scantily clad women?
Image source tbohiphop.net
Image source: apple.itunes.com
FACT: I have always wanted to see a champagne fountain. Why deny a child this experience?
While Beogradjani enjoy their liquor, it’s hard to believe that they buy fake champagne with cartoon characters on it. If anything, they’re more likely to employ the Mama RHOB method: let a child sip your wine, make a terrible face, and end the discussion. The drinking age is 18 here (and loosely enforced), so it’s not like little Nada has to wait that long to sip the real, far better stuff. But considering America’s love/hate relationship with alcohol, I suspect it will be a hit in the U.S. Maybe I won’t have to wait too long to see that bubbly fountain in action…
Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls…in Bosnia
Last Friday, Majmun and I decided to cap off our Bosnian Bonanza with stop in Travnik before jumping in the famed waters of Jajce. This meant we had to take a roundabout route west of Sarajevo before heading back east to Belgrade. Unfortunately, we didn’t realize how roundabout this trip would become.
The road from Sarajevo to Travnik was uneventful but slow due to the two-lane highway overrun with trucks and Yugos going below the speed limit. A warning to Balkan travel planners: distances are further than they appear. Small highways, mountains, and trucks make those two close points on the map a longer drive than you’d believe. Still, driving in Bosnia offers beautiful sights, and the main roads aren’t bad. At times I felt like I was in a BMW commercial, gliding through curvy roads along a green mountainside. Minus the BMW, that is.
We reached Travnik, our midpoint, in about two hours. The Ottomans made Travnik the capital of their Bosnian stronghold in 1699, resulting in numerous mosques and Ottoman architecture that still stands today. We climbed around Travnik’s medieval fortress and dipped our hands in the plava voda…before realizing a catfish farm was depositing water nearby. Hmmm.
Travnik is also famous for being the home of Pulitzer prize-winning author Ivo Andric and for making world-class Bosnian coffee. Okay, I made up that last one, but it was truly delicious.
After the coffee kicked in (whee!) we pressed on to Jajce. Jajce is a medieval town flanked by stone gates and ruins. It’s also home to a famous 20-meter waterfall and nearby lakes. I hadn’t discovered a lot of information about Jajce, but the photos I saw looked amazing. Majmun and I were excited to see it in person.
Majmun kept calling it "Yahtzee." Photo source: Wikipedia.
Jajce is about a two-hour drive from Travnik on the M-5, a major North-West highway. Or so we thought. After about 30 minutes on the M-5 we were met with an ominous sign: Jajce was crossed out with red tape. I spoke to a gas station attendant who confirmed the news. The major highway to Jajce was closed.
Not to fear! we thought. Majmun and asked “Jack” (the name of our GPS voice) to find a detour. No dice. We consulted a map and saw a small road and even smaller town that could connect us to Jajce. Using this as a GPS waypoint, we drove on smaller roads through mountains, passing few cars. At the rakija stand I wrote about on Friday, Jack told us to turn left at a gravel road next to a logging truck. It was definitely the road less traveled…but I’m supposed to take those, right?
After 30 more minutes of driving, we pulled over. Jack had brought us to the right road…we just didn’t realize it was an unpaved logging road. At this rate, it would take hours and a possible flat tire to reach Jajce. We had to abandon our plans. Five hours of driving from Sarajevo led to a filthy car and a failed mission; but it also led to great coffee, even better rakija, and an important lesson brought to us by TLC.
Thanks, ladies. I’ll stick to the Sava and the Danube I’m used to.
My wish for this fish…
I was going to spend time writing about our road trip today, but I have important sleuthing and wishing to do instead. I left my phone in a cab last night. No one seems to be answering it, and I’m hoping they’re not passing it around their family to make calls to Timbuktu. I’m wishing that it will turn up, courtesy of the goldfish at Zlatna Riba bar in Sarajevo.
It’s a great bar with a relaxed atmosphere, lots of “art” on the walls, and no shortage of Americans with Lonely Planet guides. Goldie the fish offers a wishing bell to guests with high hopes–like me today. Any ideas about how to make someone return a cell phone in a foreign land? Here’s wishing for a Good Samaritan in Belgrade…
Road trip rakija
Sorry for the late and short posts these past few days, but it’s not going to get better until tomorrow. I just returned from a whirlwind drive around Bosnia. Ten and a half hours in the car, three highway detours, two King ice cream bars, and one very forgiving police officer later, Majmun and I are back in Belgrade. The highway detours were frustrating but we found our silver lining in the form of a rakija and cheese stand in the middle of nowhere.
Business is good, judging from the Mercedes parked on the right. We stopped in for a peek and wound up buying a bottle of walnut rakija (orahovaca) before trudging out on a doomed mission to Jajce. More on that tomorrow. After all our adventures today a sip of rakija is long overdue…
The Ruin Pubs of Budapest
Budapest is the home of ruin pubs, bars that sprung up in dilapidated buildings and courtyards in the Jewish Quarter. While commercial redevelopment lags in this charming part of the city (think tiny streets and quirky stores), enterprising Hungarians have made it a unique part of Budapest nightlife. We decided to show Muz’s parents what happens when bad infrastructure, Hungarian ingenuity, and interesting drinkers get together. So we walked to Szimpla Kert (Simple Garden), one of the best-known ruin pubs in the city.
I was a little worried that the bar would be too slick and commercialized. This concern vanished as we walked up the street to the bar’s front door.
Maybe this ruin is a little too authentic for Muz’s parents, I thought. Yet when we stepped through the doorway and into the courtyard, we knew we had come to the right spot. People of all ages were sitting in the courtyard on haphazard furniture. The decor was mostly scavenged, but not too kitchy as to seem forced.
Besides, people don’t come to ruin pubs for the furniture. They come for the atmosphere. It was lively, but not filled with drunken stag parties. The clientele seemed to be tourists and locals of all ages. And while there are some commercial aspects to Szimpla Kert, like selling t-shirts and coffee mugs, it retains a homegrown feel.
There are quite a few ruin pubs in Budapest. In fact, there are enough of them that a new term, “art pub,” has sprung up. Though I’m not sure how long they’ll have the same atmosphere. That road development probably means that the Jewish Quarter is next on Budapest’s list for gentrification. I’m happy to see the city continually improving (even since our first visit in November), but I’ll be sitting in ruin pubs for our next visit. A life in ruins may be caused by drinking, but drinking in ruins is just delightful.
Palinka: Hungarian Hooch
- Image source here.
Hungary is probably best known for its wine, but on this last trip I decided to try another homegrown specialty: palinka. Palinka is a fruit brandy typically made with plums, pears, apricot, or peaches. Sounds rather like rakija, doesn’t it? Most countries in this region have some sort of local distilled brandy, but Hungary has cornered the market–or marketing, to be more precise–on the name palinka.
My glass was at Bor La Bor, an upscale wine bar/restaurant. We started our meal with glasses of palinka made from cranberries, apricot and plum. The waiter informed us that there was honey mixed with the palinka, and that we would find pieces of fruit in our glasses. Fancy.
My first sip was good, but as the drink became sweeter my interest waned. It was more like a tiny cocktail than brandy. After way too much rakija drinking here, I like my brandy to have a little bite.
The next night we took Muz’s parents to the wine bar we found on our first trip here–you know, the one owned by the lady with the glass eye who served wine by the ladle? Exactly. Muz’s parents were surprisingly game for a glass of wine there despite the inch of dirt on the floor and the cloud of cigarette smoke lingering in the air. Did I mention they’re awesome?
I thought the owner would have palinka here, and I was right. She took a half-empty bottle off the dusty shelf and poured me a glass of Barack (apricot). I played some Elvis on the jukebox and inhaled the sharp aroma of 60-80 percent alcohol, burning my nose hairs in the process. This was brandy.
Remember her? We do.
I enjoyed palinka, but it wasn’t as good as the rakjia we’ve had in Serbia. Maybe I’m biased, but I like how good rakija balances the sharpness of the alcohol and the flavor of the fruit. Brandy, in my opinion, should smell and taste like its base fruit without any added sugars or articifial flavors. My palinka didn’t have that quality. Then again, I was ordering it from a dive bar in Budapest, so it probably wasn’t the best palinka out there. Still, I consider myself lucky to live in the land of delicious homemade rakjia…and to still have a healthy liver after eight months of living here.
Turkish tea time
Though Turkish-style coffee is ubiquitous throughout the Balkans, tea reigns supreme in Istanbul. The tea is delivered to shopkeepers and passerby throughout the city in distinctive tulip-shaped glasses on special trays.
Tea and clean underwear...what more does one need?
It took a long time to get a decent photo of a tea carrier in action. These men speed walk through the city and dodge through crowds to deliver tea at the proper “freshly boiled” temperature.
In the Kadikoy district, life-and tea-goes at a slightly slower pace. I found this gentlemen taking a rare break after delivering his tray. That, or he was cleaning up after the alligator.
No sugar, please. It's bad for my teeth.
“Prohibition has made nothing but trouble.”
So said Al Capone, whose story and likeness grace a wall in Stari Grad. Of course, prohibition made nothing but money for Al Capone. His suggling, bootleg liquor and prostitution rings made an estimated $62 million by 1929. That kind of money buys a lot of hats.
Today, Belgrade is facing its own version of prohibition. Belgraded.com notes that local government will ban the sale of alcohol from 10pm to 6am. Restaurants, cafes and clubs are exempted.
Ok, so it’s not exactly prohibition. But it does seem excessive. People here (and not just young ‘uns) routinely start their evenings at 9 or 10pm. Why preclude people from buying alcohol then? Of course, restaurants and cafes will still be able to serve alcohol-at a 50% markup. But if you want to pick up some alcohol before that slava you’re going to…good luck.
Many people think that this law will kickstart a black market for late-night liquor, and I agree. Capone said, “I am like any other man. All I do is supply a demand.” Belgrade already has an infrastructure for illegal DVDs, cigarettes, and who knows what else. I’m sure some enterprising people will be happy to expand to Jelen and Ballentines. Though really, what is UP with the love for Ballentines here?
Perhaps Belgrade’s “enterprising class” will be deterred by strict enforcement. (hmmm.) Or maybe they’ll realize that crime doesn’t always pay. The people who died in the St. Valentine’s Day massacre, said to be the work of Mr. Capone, were lured by the idea of buying cheap bootleg liquor. Al Capone was eventually jailed for tax evasion, and his complications from syphilis (NOT the way to go, folks) became so bad that he was released from jail and died in his Palm Beach mansion.
So maybe bootlegging won’t pay. But someone will try to find out.
Trogir: Italian roots, Balkan hospitality
I wasn’t surprised when our guests from the States wanted to visit the Croatian coast. In my unscientific opinion, Americans are more inclined to go to Croatia than any other Balkan country. We agreed to go with them, but I was a little skeptical. I thought the natural beauty of Slovenia, Macedonia, Bosnia, and, of course, Serbia, was equally beautiful as Trogir.
And then I saw it.
Our friends’ three-year old daughter kept asking, “what princess lives in THIS castle?”
Don’t get me wrong; there are plenty of Balkan sites equal to, if not nicer, than the Croatian coast. But few places have such well-preserved/restored medieval cities, with the additional benefit of being on the water. Trogir’s prime location made self-governance difficult. Greece, Rome, Venice and Austria-Hungary occupied the island at different points in history. But the Italian influence seems the most prominent. We tasted “Easter bread” similar to Panettone, saw ubiquitous pasta dishes, and heard people bid farewell with addio. When we complimented our chef and pension owner on her pizza, we were even given an Italian response: “Ah, but pizza is not a meal.”
There’s a dolce vita air about Trogir. It’s a town designed for wandering, taking photos, and eating ice cream. We saw the major sights in one day and decided to spend the next morning exploring smaller islands in a boat owned by our guide, Marinas. We signed up for a three-hour tour and joked about getting stranded.
Of course, this resulted in us getting stranded.
Fortunately, we were able to make it to Marinas’ summer cottage. It had no electricity, no running water, and loads of character.
Trogir may have Italian roots, but it also has Balkan hospitality. Marinas offered his family’s homemade wine and sage rakija. He encouraged us to explore the island and relax. Our new boat was slow to arrive, so we were only able to reach Maslinica for grilled fish and octopus salad before heading back to Trogir.
Maslinica
When we arrived, our pension owner came back from her restaurant to ask about the trip, play with Milos, and offer a little doll to our friend’s daughter before we piled in the car for the drive to Dubrovnik. Trogir is popular for its architecture and natural beauty, but its Balkan hospitality is its true charm.
Monastery on Sunday: Studenica, Serbia
- Open sesame!
In an earlier post, I mentioned we bought rakija from a monastery. What I didn’t mention was that it was one of the most important monasteries in Serbia-and one of our best experiences here yet.
We decided to take the long way home from Zlatibor and see the historic and beautiful Studenica Monastery. The monastery was built by Stefan Nemanja, the first leader of medieval Serbia. Long after Nemanja fought for Serbian independence from Byzantine rule, he abdicated his throne to become a monk at Studenica. Two of his sons became Serbian leaders, and another, Saint Sava, founded the Serbian Orthodox Church.
(To think I was proud of getting the laundry done today.)
We were excited to see it, and plugged “Studenica” in our GPS. We promptly followed the directions- to Studenica, Kosovo. Oops. We figured this out before we got to the border, but it made the trip significantly longer. Studenica’s gates were closed when we arrived.
We were devastated. A passing monk explained that the doors had closed five minutes ago, and asked us about our Belgrade license plates. After we explained our roundabout way home, he said he could show us around a little. We couldn’t believe our luck.
There were once 14 churches in the complex, but now only two remain: Church of the Virgin, and the Church of the King.
Church of the King
Church of the Virgin
Photos of the interior are not permitted, but I’ve pulled some off the net. Trust me, they look much better in person. The frescoes below, from the Church of the Virgin, date from the 1200s. Time and Ottoman forces have damaged the images, but the colors remain vibrant. The image on the right is Stefan Nemajna, from answers.com.
Image from naturalpigments.com
Door detail on Church of the Virgin
The King’s Church is smaller. It’s not as awe-inspiring as the Virgin’s church, but its frescoes are in better condition. Some of the frescoes featuring the king’s life were even used to teach people about hygiene. I’d love to show a photo, but I couldn’t find one I thought I could use freely.
We admired the marble carvings on the Virgin’s Church exterior. As our host pointed out a sundial carved into a wall, he offered us coffee. He treated us like guests, rather than the gate-crashers we were.
We sipped and watched the sun set on the countryside. The Bishop wandered over to say hello. We talked about our families, our travels, and the monastery. It was a memorable example of the Serbian spirit and hospitality. It was also memorable for another reason; we were able to have this conversation almost entirely in Serbian. At last, we could participate in the Serbian community, not just observe it.
We bid farewell to our hosts and went back to our car. We had a long drive to an apartment, and a city, that felt like home.
Detective RHOB and the Riddle of Homemade Rakia
This is your brain on commercial rakija
I’ve written quite a bit about rakija without revealing our secret: we didn’t have any in our home. Why was this a problem? Rakija is essential for Serbian hosting. A home without rakija is like a Nationals game without unforced errors. It’s like Charlie Sheen without a prostitute. It’s just…odd. We wanted to buy rakjia, but there was a dilemma. The best rakija is homemade, and we didn’t know anyone who distilled it. I had to don my detective lipstick and get to the bottom of my new case: the riddle of finding homemade rakija.
Not willing to die for rakija
For those who think I’m just being a rakija snob, well, you’re right. With homemade rakjia, taste buds and local reputation are on the line; it’s not mere swill sold to tourists. And store-bought rakjia doesn’t just taste bad-it’s possibly dangerous. Serbia experienced a rakija scandal in 1998, when 56 people were poisoned by rakija made with methyl alcohol rather than ethanol. Not exactly what this drinker/shopper/detective wants to hear.
So on a recent trip to Zlatibor, I kept my eyes and ears open for clues about homemade rakjia. Fortunately, the spirits of Cagney and Lacey were with me, and I saw this sign on the way back from Sirogojno.
It was a strong clue. I drove up the steep driveway, parked by a tractor, and dodged chickens to cross the yard. A man emerged from the house. I mentioned his sign and he gestured toward a small wooden table with two rickety stools underneath. I didn’t take photos of the house-I didn’t want him to think I was being disresptectful, somehow.
He brought me a thimble-sized glass and poured me a drink from a flask. It was a nice plum rakjia but I was looking for medovica (honey rakija). He didn’t have any, but offered a sample of his juniper rakjia, poured from an old Courvosier bottle. I guess distilling is like making jam-use whatever containers you have on hand. Four hundred dinars later, I was the owner of a liter of juniper rakjia. To keep things mysterious, I received it in a sparkling water bottle.
The case seemed to be over…or was it? Later, I toured the Zlatibor market in the center of town. Rakija isn’t openly sold in Belgrade markets, but it was plentiful there. I looked for the least sophisticated label I could find and settled on the Terzic Jelena stand. She offered a sample, and I was as hooked as a three-eyed fish in the Anacostia River. We bought a bottle for five hundred dinars. It doesn’t look fancy, but at least it’s not in a water bottle.
We left Zlatibor content with solving the mystery not once, but twice. On a roundabout way home, we stopped at Studenica Monastery, where we were offered coffee and a smooth plum rakjia. When we complimented the bottle, we were informed us that it was made in the monastery. Ah, capitalism. We bought some as a souvenir.
Were my detective skills sharpening, or was this just a holy coincidence? Either way, we are now proud owners of not one, but three locally made bottles of rakjia. Now we just need to find rakija glasses…but that’s a mystery for another time.
Springtime in the Balkans
If my “Daffodils” post was too Western for you, here’s a more Balkan sign of spring: when the mulled wine stands in Zagreb turn into rakija and apple syrup stands. Once again, I made the mistake of thinking there were non-alcoholic options available, and asked if they sold apple juice. The woman’s mouth said “no,” and her eyes said, “amateur.” Touché, lady.
I’m still not sure why the apple syrup is popular this time of year. Any ideas? Answers?
Real Housewife of Belgrade 
