Belgrade for the holidays
Looking for a gift for a certain special Serbian? Here are two options for anyone missing, or curious to see, a bit of Belgrade.
The first is from fellow Belgrade blogger Andy Townend, who published a book this year featuring his gorgeous shots of the White City.
Unfortunately, the book is currently only available in Serbian bookstores. There’s an option to order it through the Delfi website, but a bit of Serbian is needed to order, and I’m not sure that the book will ship internationally. Check out his blog, http://www.belgradestreets.com, for a free fix until your next visit to a knjižara.
For those without access to Belgrade bookstores, there’s another photography book that’s easily accessible for Americans. Streetartlove.rs/belgrade by Marko Todorovic features Belgrade street art from 2005-2010. It’s a different vibe from Belgrade streets, but just as beautiful. When used with a smart phone, the book also reveals interviews and videos. Best of all, it’s available on Amazon.com
These books should tide your special someone over until they receive the ultimate gift: a plane ticket back to Belgrade. (Save that ticket for springtime, though. Looks like the Balkans are in for another rough winter.)
Happy anniversary to me
Should I have set out on this long journey? I went almost unthinkingly, without any special desire or need, for the sake of another. And perhaps I’d gain from seeing this strange Frankish world. I say perhaps, because I didn’t believe it. Apart from merchants, traveling was only for those disturbed people unable to remain alone with themselves, who chased after the new sights that an unknown world offered to their eyes while their hearts remained empty.
-Meša Selimović, The Fortress.
I’ve always loved this quote, but I find it especially fitting today. I arrived in Belgrade one year ago. When we landed I was tired, confused, and practically ignorant about this part of the world. I moved here for the sake of another, but also because I hoped to gain a greater understanding about the world and even my own country. But let’s be honest, too–I also hoped to see new sights.
I’ve accomplished some of these goals, but the “must-see, must-do, must-read” list goes on and on. Maybe that’s the way it should be. Or maybe I’m one of the “disturbed” people Selimovic talks about. That’s ok. I’ve been called worse. Should I have set out on this long journey? Sigorno. With certainty.
Check out the works of Selimović and other Balkan (and Portugese) authors this year at the Belgrade Book Fair–it continues until Sunday.
Final Churches, Turbes and Monasteries on Sunday
A peek of Crkva Ruzica
Churches, turbes, and monasteries–I’m overpacking today’s post like a family of eight in a Budva-destined Lada. Yet I must. After 52 Sundays of writing about churches, I am officially retiring CoS posts. Next Sunday I will be flying back to the U.S. and it seems fitting to end my Sunday posts where they began: in Belgrade.
I wanted to write about Kalemedgan’s Sveta Petka and Ružica Churches, but could not get permission to photograph their interiors. These churches are jewels of Belgrade–precious, tiny, and historic–but you’ll have to take my word for it. Alternatively, you can check out this video highlighting Petka church, but beware of bad angles and the need for a tripod.
The doors of Crkve Ružica.
Sveti Petka
Instead, I’ll focus on the former Dervish Monastery in Belgrade. It’s part of the scant evidence of 500 years of Ottoman rule in Belgrade. After Serbian independence, people either destroyed the mosques and buildings of their Ottoman oppressors or left the structures to rot. However, two turbes (Islamic mausoleums) testify to the time of fezzes, carpets, and apple tea.
Just past Studenski Park lies the turbe of Sheik Mustafa. It was built in 1784 in the center of a Dervish Monastery. The monastery is long gone, but the turbe still stands. People still tie twine to the eye-shaped window; perhaps it’s a sign that what is gone is not forgotten.
The second turbe stands in the middle of Kalemegdan on the west side of the Military museum. It’s dedicated to Damad Ali Pasha, the “Great Vizier of Sultan Ahmed III.” (I just love titles from this era.) This turbe appears to have less dedicated visitors, but it’s an impressive sight in an already impressive fortress. I’ve read that turbes often stand near mosques or monasteries, but I don’t have evidence of a monastery here. However, Turks lived in the fortress during their reign, and it would make sense that there was a mosque there at one time.
Belgrade’s long and colorful history is reflected everywhere: buildings, streets, and even first names testify to a history of Slavic/Roman/Austrian/Ottoman/Serbian rule. Balkan churches are no different; they offer as much history as any museum. Many thanks to the priests, imams, rabbis, readers and others who have recommended and explained places of worship over the past year. I wouldn’t have learned nearly as much about this region without you.
Fall for Belgrade
Belgrade fall comes in with a bang. Last Friday I wore a skirt and t-shirt; the next day I grumpily wore a wool coat. I’ve always resented fall weather. Spring is a time of hope. Summer is a time of ease. After long days of outdoor dining and tiny sandals, autumn arrives as an unwelcome guest. It shows up at the front door with a garbage bag of shorter, colder days. It brings the ghosts of back-to-school dismay and laughs when last year’s favorite sweater reveals a moth hole. It sleeps on the couch for a couple of weeks and leaves behind slushy streets and sore throats. It’s almost as bad as my freshman year roommate.
I truly resent fall now, since it also signifies the end of my time in Belgrade. Yet even a curmudgeon like me can’t deny that it’s a special time here. The leaves are changing in Kalemegdan, but everything still looks green and leafy. Cafes keep their outdoor tables but now offer blankets. Gangly school children show off their new sneakers. Mothers ignore the midday warmth and insist on down coats and thick scarves. There’s also a most unexpected delight: the smell of fall in Belgrade.
Some days I wake up to the smell of burning wood from a chimney or rakija still. I walk through the sweet, charcoal aroma of roga peppers roasting for ajvar. I savor Knez Mihailova’s bouquet of grilled corn, charred chestnuts, and fresh popcorn. When the rain stops, I catch a whiff of clean grass and barely rotting leaves. Fall may be an unwanted visitor, but at least he doesn’t stink.
Fall is better than the next guest, Old Man Winter. His bouquet will be sour. Before the municipal heat turns on, some people will burn refuse for warmth. The odor of melted wood varnish and tires will trudge into the city, float on air particulates, and tickle noses in the middle of the night. Fall might be a nuisance, but winter is simply rude. So I’ll enjoy the fall smells—and sights, and sounds—of Belgrade for as long as I can. I’ll miss this city more than all my strappy sandals combined.
Photo credit: Marcus Agar (aka W!ldRooster) instagram via twitter. Check out his website at http://wildrooster.blogspot.com/
Behind the Belgrade Bulge: Trpkovic Bakery
Last week I crossed yet another item off the Belgrade Bucket List: follow the advice of commenter Bojan to try raspberry pastry at Trpkovic bakery. Going to Trpkovic felt like destiny. In addition to Bojan, two other people had told me to try Trpkovic last week. They suggested (really, demanded) that I try the burek. Burek is a phyllo pastry “snack” in the Balkans, which means it would be a meal anywhere else. Meat, cheese or spinach is mixed with egg and cream, layered between phyllo dough and brushed with oil. Repeat this process a zillion times, bake it in the oven, and voila! Burek.
Trpkovic bakery isn’t exactly a Belgrade secret. As I approached the door, there were two lines of people waiting. The line out the door was for burek, and the shorter one was for pastries.
As I waited in the burek line for ten minutes, I was reminded of the “Soup Nazi” Seinfeld episode. There was clearly a method to Trpkovic, and I wasn’t sure what it was. I knew about the two lines in advance, but as I got closer, the process seemed specific and confusing. Usually there’s only one size of burek, but people seemed to be receiving burek of different sizes. Were they asking for it by the gram? I had no idea how many grams were in a small burek. I couldn’t hear orders because the bakery was loud and people were ordering in rapid Serbian. I didn’t want to seem like a Trpkovic twit or worse, be told, “No burek for you!”
I told the woman behind the counter that I wanted a small cheese burek to go. This was obviously wrong because she paused. (She had been dishing out burek like a machine.) Then she nodded and disappeared behind a mass of other women taking orders. A second woman asked what I wanted, and I told her I wanted 100 grams of rasperry strudlica (per Bojan’s suggestion). I wasn’t sure if I could order pastry from the burek line, but this seemed okay. She muttered something and handed me a white bag 10 seconds later–just as my burek appeared. It was like magic. Stressful, Serbian magic.
I was running late to meet a friend so I brought the bag with me. I felt triumphant and hungry. I almost forgot to take a photo before I tore into it.
Don't let that grease get in the way of goodness
As I suspected, the confusion was totally worth it. The burek wasn’t too crunchy or greasy. The amount of cheese filling was perfect. I made my Serbian pal try a bite for an “expert” second opinion. She said it was the best burek she’s tasted.
After that, we were on a roll—or specifically, rolica. I’d asked for strudlica, but either the waitress didn’t hear me, or rolica was the closest she could get. Either way, these were amazing. They were light, flaky, and burst open with raspberry filling. I took a photo of them in the bag because we were eating them too quickly to guarantee a photo later.
People, the Belgrade Bucket List is going to give me a Belgrade bulge. But it was worth the wait–and the new waistline. Many thanks for all the Belgrade Bucket List suggestions—keep ‘em coming!
Trpkovic Bakery has three locations: Nemanjina 32, Dimitrija Tucovića 60, and Milorada Budžalića 6. I went to the Nemanija location, about 200 meters south of Slavija Circle.
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.
“What’s Belgrade Like?”
I just returned from a short trip to London, and it was clearly a taste of what to expect when I return to America. I’m not talking about Vietnamese restaurants, high prices and subway lines. I’m talking about explaining life in Serbia.
“What’s Belgrade like?” is an innocent question. It didn’t surprise me; even in (somewhat) nearby London, few people have traveled to Serbia. What surprised me was the wide-eyed stare. The “wow, you must be really brave” intonation. Or worse, the smirk. The “I’m going to get some really snarky stories about another culture” smirk. Sigh.
“It’s Paris meets Brooklyn” has become my catchphrase. It’s more like Paris meets Queens, but let’s face it, few people have an idea of what Queens is like, either. “It’s grit and great bakeries; it’s beautiful women and brutalist architecture; it has fresh, simple food and complicated people.” Most people seem incredulous.
The misconceptions aren’t one-sided. Strangers expected Serbia to be an ugly, difficult place to live, and Serbians expected strangers to think they were ugly and difficult. On my cab ride back from the airport, the driver and I talked about English people. “What do they think of us?” he asked. “Do they still think we’re savages? Cannibals?” “I never heard that,” I said. “They just think that Serbia is a war-torn country.” It’s true. Americans and Englishmen ask about the war, but they don’t imply that everyone here is a war criminal. They’re simply amazed to hear that Belgrade isn’t a third world city or a Moscow suburb.
I started this blog partly to explain life in Belgrade, but I’m no Momo Kapur. Something else is needed. More accurately, someone else: Serbians. I can’t tell you how many Serbians are shocked to find that I like living here. Or how often I hear, “Oh, I know a Serbian person (living abroad). They say that Serbia is terrible.” I hear that and I cringe.
I compare that attitude to the tour guide in Istanbul who asked, “who wouldn’t want to be Turkish?” and the hotel clerk in Sarajevo who said, “maybe you could live here someday,” as if he was offering candy. I’m reminded of a friend who returned from her first visit to New York complaining about public urination and noise and rudeness, and my reply was “yes, but didn’t you LOVE it?”
There are plenty of places that are imperfect and crazy and worth visiting. I know. I’m lucky to live in one of them. If you disagree, then please tell me: “What’s Belgrade like?”
In Belgrade, sexy sells…pooper scoopers
In an interesting mix of business and “doing business,” the Belgrade office of international advertising firm McCann Erickson devised a new ad campaign geared to convince Beogradjani to scoop their pet’s poop:
Okay, so it’s not all that sexy, especially by Belgrade standards. In a city with girls in bikinis selling luggage, a little junk in the trunk isn’t going to make people blink, but I hope it will make them pick up their pet’s, um, presents.
As a Belgrade dog owner, I offer a huge thanks to McCann Erickson for tackling this smelly subject. It’s hard to walk down the street or in a park without dodging dookie. Belgrade’s stray dogs can’t pick up after themselves, but I’ve seen far too many dog owners who refuse to pick up or acknowledge their own dog’s waste. I realize this isn’t high on the list of Belgrade’s problems, but it’s an easy way to make Belgrade a more enjoyable city for everyone. Plus, it avoids some pretty gross health problems.
So, Beogradjani, scoop that poop! Though you might want to bend at the knees…
Image and background info courtesy of http://adsoftheworld.com/taxonomy/brand/city_of_belgrade and this W!ld Rooster blog post.
“Hot” sights in Belgrade
This may not be the most picturesque vision in Belgrade, but it’s one of the most common in the summertime. No, it’s not women in short dresses; that’s actually quite picturesque. It’s the home-grown approach to catch water dripping from air conditioners.
Now that Belgrade is in the throes of a heat wave, bottles are set up all over town. I like to think that the type of bottle usually corresponds with the type of store in a building. The hair salon by my apartment uses an old shampoo bottle and most of the bars or convenience stores will use a spare drink bottle. I’ve even seen a bar using an old Jelen bottle, but didn’t have my camera with me at the time.
I’m a huge fan of the bottle system, because it prevents the sickening feeling I get when an air conditioner drips on me. As it turns out, the water is not poison-filled-icy-nastiness, but it feels that way all the same.
Thanks, Belgrade shopkeepers, for keeping our streets drip-free and turning the A/C on, despite fears of promaja! Now if we could all work on opening up more than one window on busses…
I bike (and walk, and float) Belgrade
When my latest duo of prijateljice (girlfriends) arrived in Belgrade, I thought I’d abandon my “RHOB, private guide” role and join a bike tour. Little did I know that a touristic bike ride would lead to one of my most local adventures to date.
I Bike Belgrade is a relatively new tour company that also seeks to promote bicycle use in Belgrade. The company was founded by Dutchman (shocking) who employs local guides. Beograjani might laugh at the concept of biking through the city, since bike paths are limited and drivers are, well, spirited. We were assured that we’d stick to bicycle paths for most of the trip.
The tour started innocently enough. We met our guide at Kalemegdan and walked about a half mile to the bike rental place, where we selected our bikes and introduced ourselves to each other. Upon starting off, we received one of the best summaries of Belgrade history that I’ve heard. I thought the tour would be informative but a little predictable. I thought wrong.
Soon after seeing the Nebojsa Tower, our guide discovered that I lived in Belgrade. He had been to the States, and we talked about the differences in both places. He said, “Do you know what I miss about America the most? BROWNIES! They are delicious!” This was the last thing I expected to hear, but it’s true: we do not have brownies in Belgrade.
I wasn’t sure if he meant “regular” brownies…
As we approached Zemun, our guide asked, “Do you want to do something really local?” “Of course,” I replied.
NOTE: I don’t generally recommend this response. Local things include drinking tons of rakjia, “no liability” bungee jumping at Ada, or driving all night to see a friend in Montenegro. Lots of fun, but…do as I say, not as I do, readers.
“I will see if we can visit my friend on Rat Island,” he said. JACKPOT, I thought. Rat Island is a nature preserve by Zemun with incredibly diverse wildlife. More importantly, it also has small beaches, rustic cottages, and cafes that are practically hidden to non-Beogradjani. It’s not private but you have to know the right person to figure out how and where to go. It was a rare opportunity to see another aspect of Belgrade life.
After biking/walking up to Zemun’s Gardos Tower (it’s steep there, readers) we hopped on a small motorboat with 9 people, three bikes, and a skipper. As we carefully balanced ourselves and noted the two inches of boat floating above water, our guide asked, “You can all swim, right?” as we started off.
We arrived at Lido beach and celebrated our safe passage with beer, rakija, and good stories. Other guests fed stray cats and argued about soccer as we watched the sun sink over Zemun. Some guests were slightly nervous about the change in plans (or just the return trip on the boat, perhaps), but I tried to assure them that this was truly the best Belgrade tour they could ask for. After all, how many times does a bike tour include a treacherous hill, a secret beer spot, and a perilous boat ride?
For more information about I Bike Belgrade, click HERE. The site also has a great blog worth checking out.
I should add that we were charged higher prices than normal for drinks and food, but since we were not charged for the boat ride and our guide was with us for longer than the advertised period, I considered it a worthwhile price.
Flashback Friday: This-will-get-stuck-in-your-head-edition
Behold, Belgrade’s 1986 promotion video to host the 1992 Olympics:
Fair warning: it’s kind of terrible in a great, 1980s way. Was dancing really that bad then? It’s not like Beogradjani lack rhythm.
Sadly, the all-star ensemble, Belgrade landmarks and Yugoexport sighting didn’t tip the scales for the White City. Barcelona eventually got the honors. But if they had shown rakija-drinking, Yugo-mania and Belgrade’s leggy beauties, who knows what would have happened?
The Legend of Loki
Belgrade has many legends, but there’s only one that managed to rally hundreds of people around the humble pljeskavica. Meet Belgrade Legend Sasa Mitrovic, the owner of the food stand Loki.
image source: Blic online
Image source: http://tinyurl.com/3ccdq2y
It all started over twenty years ago, when Mitrovic opened Loki in a public square near Kralja Petra. His food stand sustained Serbians with pljeskavica, cevap, and gurmanska 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. A loyal following developed among hard-partying Beogrdjani emerging from bars at four in the morning. Loki became a quintessential Belgrade experience, like walking on Knez Mihailova or getting ripped off in a taxi from the airport.
But in 2010, the good times were coming to an end for the humble, green-roofed shack. Kralja Petra’s fortunes were rising–and so was the value of the land that Loki sat on. Based on rumor and my poor translation of news articles, it seems that Mitrovic didn’t own the land, but tried to claim that Loki had historic value that prevented a tear-down. Celebrities, models and sports starts called for Loki to remain on municipal land. Authorities were undeterred. A court ruled that Loki would be no more.
Beogradjani took to the streets to prevent Loki from being torn down. At least five police showdowns occurred. Workers, patrons, and Mitrovic himself formed human barriers to prevent the bulldozer from breaking down tradition. During the fifth stalemate, Mitrovic locked himself in his kiosk and threatened to light it on fire if the police dared to come any closer. He was subsequently arrested, along with 50 other people. Loki was later bulldozed to the ground.
Image from Blic Online
The legend doesn’t end there. Several weeks later, Mitrovic opened a new Loki not far from his old location. The new Loki was in a proper storefront that some claim Mitrovic owned for many years. It still stands there today.
The bulldozed area, as I best understand it, is now the home of a…Telecom Srbija hut. Sigh.
My question is, why didn’t Mitrovic use his storefront before things came to fisticuffs? Perhaps he wanted to thumb his nose at Belgrade authorities/prospecting real estate investors. Maybe he wanted to keep the storefront as a private bar for close friends. Possibly, he bought it in the months leading up to the court decision, knowing the Loki stand would one day be no more. Or maybe…he knew that a legend always needs a little mystery.
*For a proper rendition of facts, see the Serbian article about the arrest here. Information about the old Loki is scarce, so feel free to correct me/add your own impressions in the comments.
(Kinda) Church on Sunday/Nice Day for a White Wedding
Belgrade’s City Hall isn’t a church, but it seemed like one this morning when over 100 couples were joined together in Belgrade’s “Dream Wedding,” an annual event that takes place in front of City Hall.
Information on the event in English is limited, but it appears that this event started in 1999 during NATO air raids. The weddings are performed for free. Serbian and non-Serbian couples are welcome to get hitched in front of friends, family, and hundreds of strangers. Like me.
The first couple in the wedding procession was quite a sight; a handsome military officer and a bride with one of the longest trains I’d ever seen. I suppose her “something blue” were the jeans worn by her ten attendants.
I don’t know about this year, but former Dream Wedding couples received free dresses, hotel rooms, and gifts. Judging from the number of expectant brides, I’d guess that the city still offers free strollers to couples/soon-to-be parents. But the real prize, I presume, is celebrating a happy relationship in such a fun and unusual way. People waved and shouted to the couples, a gypsy band joined the walk to the hall, and ballerinas dressed as peacocks performed. City Hall may not be a holy place, but this morning, it was my kind of church.
Who runs Belgrade? More than 40,000 people.
Yesterday, approximately 40,000 people ran the Belgrade marathon. RHOB’s training has been lackluster this year, so I entered the 5K fun run instead.
The 5K was more about fun than run. People walked, rollerbladed, or took their dogs for the 3.2 mile trip. Even so, I was impressed with the number of Beogradjani running. Part of the race went around Slavija Circle. I’ve often found myself jogging through its intersections, but it’s usually to avoid being hit by a car.
Later that day, Milos and I walked to the finish line to cheer on the distance runners. I was kicking myself for letting my running regimen fall to the wayside. Milos was, literally, falling to the wayside.
Let’s just say he’s not a sporting dog.
Congratulations to all runners. If you’re inspired to run Belgrade yourself, there’s a “Women’s Race” on June 4th on Ada, and a “Race Through History” on October 12th in Kalemegdan. And if you’re training in Belgrade, feel free to check out and add to the Belgrade route webpage I found here.
Old dogs, new tricks: Serbia’s efforts to reduce stray animals
Belgrade Animal Week wouldn’t be complete without a discussion about the stray dogs and cats that literally run Belgrade. A U.S. article states that there are 15,000 stray dogs in Belgrade, and 50,000 in Serbia. A BBC article contends that there are 100,000 stray dogs in Belgrade alone. Whatever the number is, it’s high. I’ve never seen so many strays in another European city.
There seem to be several reasons why the stray population is so high here: other legal priorities in a post-war society, a dearth of pre-existing animal welfare laws, shoddy shelters, and a lack of spay and neuter programs. A lot of fingers are pointed in the stray animal blame game; but everyone, including private citizens, has a role.
Most of the strays in downtown Belgrade are aloof and peaceful dogs. They’re a lot like my favorite stray shown below. I secretly call him Mr. Whiskers. He’s well-fed, friendly, and likes to watch the crowds while lying in the middle of Knez Mihailova.
Unfortunately, some strays aren’t so friendly. They roam in packs and have a reputation for attacking cars, bicycles, and, occasionally, people. In one suburban area, two dogs have been known to lunge at children. But it’s not clear what to do when dogs become a danger to Beogradjani.
These dogs were fine-just crossing the street
Animal control is almost non-existent here. Some people resort to getting rid of strays on their own, with cruel results. And placing friendly strays in a shelter can be a worse fate than leaving them on the streets. Shelters are underfunded, overcrowded, and often have inadequate food supplies and health care. Belgrade only has shelter facilities for 500 hundred animals; that’s one-tenth of its stray population.
Conflicting laws are partly to blame. Serbian Animal Welfare law mandates that shelters provide standard conditions, and Serbian criminal law prevents euthanasia unless an animal has a terminal illness. The result? Overcrowded cages, limited supplies, and terrible stories of non-medically euthanized animals. I prefer Mr. Whiskers on Knez Mihailova, thank you very much.
an animal welfare law in 2009. This year, Belgrade assigned eight police officers to a new animal welfare division to combat cruelty. And several organizations, from Bridgette Bardot’s foundation to volunteer medical students in the United States, have offered spay and neutering services to limit the number of stray dogs and cats. It remains to be seen if this will be an effective strategy. Serbians love their dogs, but they’re not too keen on making them sterile. I think it’s a machismo issue-but dealing with lots of unwanted puppies isn’t too macho in RHOB’s opinion.In any event, this animal lover is not alone in Belgrade. I know many people who adopt strays or try to find homes for them. Until laws are clarified, shelter funding increases, and spay and neuter programs are the norm, strays will be a common sight in Belgrade. But don’t tell that to Mr. Whiskers-he thinks he’s the only stray worth looking at.
Legends of Belgrade, Part III: Sami the Chimp
For my third Belgrade Animal Week post, I thought I’d write something more uplifting about the zoo: the Legend of Sami the Chimpanzee.
Sami arrived at the Belgrade zoo in 1988. There’s a rumor that he was a German family pet before his, um, amorous advances at home led him to the zoo. He quickly tired of life behind bars: the jeering tourists, the bad food, and his neighbor’s incessant discussions about bananas, poop, and how “it was all better in the circus, man.” He hatched a plan to escape and sample Belgrade’s famous nightlife.
It worked. In the third week of February, 1988, Sami ran away. He wandered around Dorcol until the zoo director collected him from a rooftop and took him back to his cage via taxi. I guess Sami liked to arrive in style-or the director didn’t want chimp teeth marks in his car. Radio stations and TV crews covered his escape and capture, but I can’t find footage of this online.
Two days later, Sami escaped again. Belgraded.com, citing an Ivan Kovacevic essay, highlights that “thousands of people gathered in the streets, shouting: Sami, we won’t let them catch you!, Watch out, Sami!, Sami, don’t come down!” and even carrying protest signs with “Sami, we’re with you!” and “Monkey to the people!” slogans.”
Sami didn’t go back without a fight. No one was injured, but he was sedated for his return home. According to this school newspaper article (great source, right?), Sami got over his harried escape with antibiotics and hot tea. Sounds like a hangover remedy. I’m not so sure Sami wasn’t at a local pub, downing a few Jelen and hitting on ribe.
The incidents brought attention to the zoo, and to its now-famous resident. Sami became known as “the Dorcol fugitive,” and “the Belgrade dissident.” These sound a bit rude in English, but trust me-Sami was a star. His antics captured the hearts of Beogradjani, who were, in their own way, striving for freedom.
Sami may have even inspired the awesome 80’s Serbian pop song, “Sami, let’s be alone.” Okay, maybe he didn’t, but it’s still a catchy tune.
Sami died in 1992, but he is far from forgotten. His statue stands in the Belgrade zoo to this day, and his exploits may have inspired primates across the world. In 2007, Oliver the monkey made his second escape from an American zoo in Mississippi. And in 2009, not one, but thirty chimps broke out of their enclosure in a UK zoo to raid the kitchen. Sami would have been proud.
Many thanks to http://www.Belgraded.com for their prior research on this subject.
The Tiger’s Wife and the Elephant’s Widow: Reflections on “Twiggy” at the Belgrade Zoo
A few weeks ago I read The Tiger’s Wife, a novel set in a fictional version of Belgrade in the 1990s. It’s a great book, whether you know anything about the Balkans or not; it’s more (bitter)sweet for a reader in Belgrade.
The book is about many things: coming of age in a time of war, familial love and secrets, and the understanding that some things, however strange, must be accepted as truth. Incredibly, the author winds much of the tale around tigers, including a tiger at the “not Belgrade” zoo.
The walk to the zoo will be quite familiar for Beogradjani:
…the crowded walk up the hill to the citadel park…there is the popcorn cart, the umbrella stand, a small kiosk with postcards and pictures…through the garden that runs the length of the citadel wall, framed with cages.
Last November, I walked through the Belgrade zoo. I strolled past the popcorn cart, the fortress walls, and the kiosks that now sell drinks and candy. I, like the narrator, smelled the musk of the wolves and the stench of the vulture’s meal. I love zoos, and was enjoying my trip. But my heart sank when I reached the elephant den.
“Twiggy” is kept on a small concrete pad. Her enclosure is dank. She repeatedly paces an exact pattern, a sign of repetitive stress disorder. The exhibit, and the animal, look depressed and tired.
Elephants need a lot of space; they roam up to thirty miles per day in the wild. Female elephants are social creatures that live in packs and help raise each other’s children. Twiggy has been alone since 1997, when her intended mate “Boy” died. (Though her widowhood might have been for the best—they never liked each other.) To say that this enclosure isn’t serving Twiggy’s needs is a major understatement.
I understand that the Belgrade zoo doesn’t have a large endowment. I understand that zoos are valuable tools for teaching us about the world and ecology; they highlight man’s role in preserving-and destroying-earth’s creatures. But I couldn’t understand how one could justify the elephant habitat in the Belgrade zoo.
This passage about an elephant in The Tigers’ Wife offered some insight:
Later on, we would read about how some soldiers found him near death at the site of an abandoned circus; about how, despite everything, despite closure and bankruptcy, the zoo director had said bring him in, bring him in and eventually the kids will see him. For months the newspapers would run a picture of him, standing stark-ribbed in his new pen at the zoo, an advert of times to come, a pledge of the zoo’s future, the undeniable end of the war.
Hope is found in simple images: a soldier’s return home; houses standing amidst earthquake rubble; a child smiling at an elephant. I’m not sure if that’s why Twiggy’s still here: is she a reminder that Belgrade is as good as any city, with a zoo like any other? If so, Belgrade doesn’t need that kind of reminder. It’s a wonderful city with a good heart and excellent people. But sadly, right now, it’s a terrible place for an elephant.
Something sweet? Belgrade’s baklava
So full...but one can't resist (photo still from Tito i Ja)
Americans, picture yourself in a Serbian restaurant. Two hours have passed since you were seated.The Serbians around you are still ordering piles of food, but at this point you are utterly, completely full. The plates of pork prosciutto and mladi cheese are reduced to unidentifiable crumbles. The remaining ajvar has settled into an oily, shallow pool at the bottom of the bowl. The main course-you didn’t think that was the main course, did you?-has been dutifully picked over: roasted meat and vegetables massacred by several forks, and only two scoops of prebanac (baked beans) remain. The waiters clear rakija glasses and offer you another flask of wine. You think you may never eat again.
But it’s not over. The waiter asks, “Something sweet?” Such small, innocent words. Words fit for a tiny petit four or a spoonful of local honey. But you’re in Serbia, and there’s no such thing as a small dish here. You start to protest as your Serbian friends nod vigorously. They discuss options. You think, all the food in my stomach has dislodged a rib. There is no way I am eating dessert. And then…it arrives. And it’s gone before you know it.
There are many great desserts in Belgrade, but one you should try is baklava. Though many think of baklava as a Greek or Turkish dessert, it’s widely available, and delicious, throughout the Balkans. If you’d rather skip the meal and go straight to dessert, I heartily recommend the Baklavdžinica Dukat on Topličin Venac, 3.
They offer a variety of flavors and sizes, from chocolate to pistachio and so on. I prefer pistachio, muz liked chocolate. Either way, you’re not going to be disappointed. If you’d like to know more about the place, check out this great blog post about it.
The 5 Stages of Reading Belgrade Travel Articles…
RHOB’s 5 stages of reading travel articles about Belgrade
- Pleasant surprise: “Oh, look, a travel article about Belgrade!”
- Curiosity: “I wonder what the author thought of the people, food, music, scenery…”
- Hope: “Perhaps I will learn about something new.”
- Disappointment: “This is…alarmingly similar to every other Belgrade article.”
- Frustration: “Did this person just copy the last article I read? It looks like the writer blindly followed his guidebook. This is cliched, hackneyed crap. If someone offered me money to write about travel…” Mumbling and sighing ensues.
Reading Belgrade travel articles is like Groundhog Day: it’s the same experiences/language, again and again. Sure, some repetition is necesary-there should be discussions of Kalemegdan or Ada-but the impressions are usually the same. “It’s nice. The women are pretty.” I wouldn’t mind if a writer hated Belgrade, as long as his experience wasn’t passive or totally cliche, like “There’s more to Belgrade than its war-torn image.” You get the idea.
So I’ve decided to do something about it, and I hope my BGD readers will help. Here’s the first installment of
Travel Writing Tips for Belgrade
Part 1: Dining.
I don't wanna Iguana
Readers, if I have to read about Iguana one more time, I’m going to scream. Look, I like Iguagna-it has nice food, it’s on the water and has live music. What’s not to like? But it’s one of the ONLY places mentioned in articles.
There are tons of other restaurants with a fun atmosphere and good food. Here’s my short list: Lorenzo and Kakalamba, Public Dine and Wine, Whatever @ the Corner, Restaurant 27 (though that’s a bit in the ‘burbs). Communale is also nice, and it’s even owned by the Iguana people-give it a try! There are surely other great places, but I wouldn’t know because people rarely write about them.
Skadarlija
Now, let’s talk about Serbian food. Almost every article goes to a place on Skadarlija. I don’t blame them for this; it’s a very pretty street, and the live music is nice. Personally, I think the “Big Three” Serbian restaurants there are touristy and overrated. But I can’t deny that it’s a lovely street to linger on during a warm afternoon or evening. So in addition to Skadarlija, please go to another kafana: Vuk, Srbksa Kafana, Cucina Kafana, Kalenic Kafana…the list goes on.
The chances that a travel writer will actually read this post are slim, I know. But perhaps my Serbian readers can help me out. What restaurants are writers missing out on? And what, if anything, would you change about travel writing in Belgrade?
Hajde, travel writers…you can do this…
Happy St. Patrick’s Day, from Belfast to Belgrade
Tomorrow is St. Patrick’s Day-a holiday that barely means anything in Ireland, but is a cause for drunken revelry in the United States. On St. Patrick’s Day in America, it doesn’t matter if you’re from Shannon or Sri Lanka-you can freely celebrate with a pint of Guinness and a green t-shirt.
I thought only Americans appropriated other cultures for the sake of debauchery. Fortunately, I was wrong. St. Patricks Day is alive and well in Belgrade. Not only does Belgrade have at least two Irish bars, but it also has its very own Irish folk band: The Orthodox Celts.
The O’Celts are a group of Serbians who perform traditional and original Irish folk songs. You might think that demand for Serbians playing Irish tunes is low, but the band is quite popular according to Serbian and American friends who live here. They’ve released five albums and have a number of videos on You Tube. There’s even a proposed documentary about them. You can see the (longish) preview here:
If you’re in Belgrade, there’s no need to watch them on You Tube: they’re performing at Dom Omladine tomorrow at 9pm. Does RHOB have tickets? You bet your sweet shamrock she does.
If live music on St. Patrick’s Day isn’t your thing, please seek medical attention. If no one can help you, go to the Three Carrots on Kneza Milosa or the Irish Pub on Kosovska, behind the national assembly building. Warning: prepare to pay U.S. prices for Guinness at Three Carrots. In addition, the Canadian Club has a St. Patrick’s Day party on Friday. Sláinte and ziveli to all!
The Magic of Miloš
Before we had Miloš, Belgrade was a nice city with reserved, but kind people. Now, it’s hard to walk down the block without meeting a new person who fawns all over him and asks us questions. He’s a bit of a “man magnet” too; something about his tiny swagger has grown, well-dressed men crouching on the sidewalk to play with our pup. Serbian men are pretty macho, so it’s even more amazing when they talk to him in a voice normally reserved for babies.
Milos has forced me to learn new Serbian vocabulary: no, he doesn’t bite, he’s friendly, he’s three months old, is it ok for him (to approach your dog). My broken Serbian usually results in discussions about where I’m from, how we’re liking the city, etc. In his small, furry way, he’s transformed our Belgrade experience.
The magic of Miloš has even inspired friends and family to send packages. Packages for Miloš, that is. If we’re lucky we get a card addressed to us, and Miloš gets toys that we can barely pry out of his mouth.
We’d feel jealous about all the attention he’s getting, but he’s just so. freakin’.cute.
Especially when he goes crazy over a new toy.
gimme gimme gimme
We owe a big thank-you to friends and family who have sent us packages for the little guy, offered advice on training, suggested vet clinics, and a million other things we didn’t realize we needed to know. We also owe a big thank-you to Beogradjani who have made us feel even more welcome with their friendly questions and tolerance for a wriggling, licking, crazy pup.
Who, me?
Balkan Boza: the Malt of Mesopotamia
I’ve written extensively about drinking in the Balkans, prompting concerns that I was becoming a lush. (To which I responded, what do you mean, becoming? Kidding, folks! Mostly). Anyway, when I read Balkan Insight’s article about boza, the non-alcoholic malted drink popular with children, I knew I had to try it–and share it with you, dear readers.
Boza originated in Mesopotamia eight or nine thousand years ago and was popularized in the Ottoman Empire during the 10th century. In the 17th century the Sultan categorized boza as alcoholic, effectively banning the drink. But banning things doesn’t make them less popular; the boza bonanza spread through the Balkans during Ottoman occupation. Every region has a different recipe, but Serbian boza is made with water, fermented corn grain, yeast and sugar. (Or something like that. Every recipe I read was a little different.)
Though bottled boza exists, we were after the real thing: boza freshly made in a poslasticarnica/sweet shop. We hit paydirt with the poslasticarnica Belgrade Insight recommended on Makedonska, just south of Republic Trg. This place is the real deal. The floor was linoleum, the walls were wood-paneled, and the dessert case was full of fresh goodies: Turkish delight, krem pita, cookies, baklava, and everything else designed to knock a girl off her diet. Solely in the name of research, I ordered tufahije, a walnut-stuffed apple stewed in water with sugar, to go with our boza.
And I asked for "a little" cream...
The boza was tangy and super sweet. It reminded me of a mix of coconut milk and pineapple juice, with the slightest bit of grit from the corn grain. It was distinctive, and I can understand why people (especially kids) would have fond memories of it. I was glad I tried it, since it’s probably one of the oldest man-made beverages after beer, but I won’t be having a glass of boza after a hard day of housewifery.
Though I’m not bananas for boza, I considered the outing a great success. The poslasticarnica was delicious, and a great find. Great for muz, that is. Bad for my skinny jeans…
Church on Sunday: St. Michael’s Cathedral in Belgrade
If you’re only going to see two churches in Belgrade, make St. Michael’s Catherdral, aka Saborna Crkva, one of them. (Sveti Sava being the other one, of course.) The Cathedral is on Cara Lazara, just west of Knez Mihailova and close to Kalemegdan.
The Cathedral was built from 1837 to 1840 by order of Prince Miloš Obrenović. As you walk into the Cathedral, it’s hard to
ignore the gold leaf icons that shine on the greyest, foggiest days.
The inside is even more striking. A wall of large, golden icons at the front of the church command attention, and there are additional golden icons lining the sides of the cathedral. It wasn’t a bright day, but the interior had a pleasant glow. I’d show you a photo, but we couldn’t take any; there were services at the time. We listened to the choir, looked around, and decided to come back for photos when it would be less intrusive. Here are some interior photos that I found online for the truly curious:
Services photo found here
Photo from http://www.beograd.rs
Belgrade in three days…or three years
I’ve lived in Belgrade for over four months now, and I still read travel articles about the city. They’re all pretty similar:
“BELGRADE IN THREE DAYS. Dinner at a kafana, lunch at a burek stand. Walk through Kalemegdan, Knez Mihailova and Strahinjica Bana for a couple of hours. See Sveti Sava, some museums, and maybe Zemun. Have extra time? Drive to Topola or Fruska Gora.”
Sure, you could see all these things in three to four days. But I must tell you: even after all that, you still won’t see Belgrade.
After several months here, I’m discovering a new side of Belgrade, one hidden in apartment courtyards, down dark staircases, and behind locked doors. Belgrade’s secret bars are well-documented, and we’ve also been to parties in the strangest spaces, like an old house with outdoor plumbing, and the basement underneath a clothing store. Addresses are more guidance than direction. For example, the address for my pilates class doesn’t indicate that one has to go through the building, into the courtyard, enter another building, and go up a flight of stairs.
One of Belgrade's first "secret" bars, The Federal Association of Globetrotters
There’s also the whole delivery system—firewood, coal, ice—that is largely unadvertised. I guess you just have to “know someone” a phrase that can evoke smiles or grimaces in Belgrade. Sometimes we know someone, or get lucky. When we learned our beloved vegetarian restaurant was closing, we were simply given the chef’s cell number; he’ll deliver the food from now on. There were no signs on the door about closing or the new delivery system. If we hadn’t walked in the week they were closing, we’d still wonder what happened.
Shopping can be just as elusive. The stores along the main streets are nice, but there’s a treasure trove behind, you guessed it, closed doors. The embroidered cloth bags I see around town? They’re made by a designer who sells the bags out of her home, or at the occasional craft fair. The Serbian painting I loved? I’ll need a referral to meet the artist. Sometimes things aren’t locked away, but they might as well be. After fruitlessly looking for hangars, I found a store devoted to nothing else in a dark, pass-through tunnel underneath a major intersection. A wrong turn down an alley once led me to a couture dress shop. The glittering brooch on a chiffon dress bounced light toward the decaying building across the street.
And then there's the hidden graffiti in random alleyways...
Secret Belgrade may be frustrating sometimes, but I’m up for the challenge. And I encourage visitors to see it, too. It will take a lot longer than three days—more like three years—but it’s the best way to “see” Belgrade.
Real Housewife of Belgrade 