raspberryfairy's journal

My dream recipe for a Balkan Journey was very diligent and peculiar, but as with cooking, I find it dramatically hard to follow the recipe so it comes as no surprise that instead of catching a hike somewhere out of Warsaw, with huge backpack and a list of Balkan treasures I’m going to visit, I’ve
found myself at one of Budapest’s favorite viewing spots – Citadella upon Gellert Hill trying to talk our friend into catching a train to Belgrade with us …

I couldn’t get enough of Belgrade. Really, I could go on and on about it in a more hilariously ridiculous way than Hathaway talked about love in Interstellar. It’s intense and full of contrasts. From the most lovely azure water at the junction of Sava and Danube when you’re on Kalemegdan, through the remains of last war to quiet, foggy evening on Zemun when you see whole other city slowly falling asleep (it actually used to be another city and you see it on every corner). I was amazed by all of those, but it wasn’t until later that I really fell in love with Belgrade.

On our way back from Church of Saint Sava when we’ve stumbled upon a kafana that seemed a bit less usual. Oh God how it kills me I can’t recall its name (update – I’ve found it wandering through google maps, it’s Korcagin and believe me it’s crazy to see photos on FB, almost as if it was a different place).

The place was full of communist symbols, portraits of leaders, Russian newspapers, flags, old books. Though a but disturbing there was something oddly appealing about it, something that all together with more or less common knowledge of Serbian history caused your heart rate getting much higher than usual.

We were welcomed by the waves of smoke, loud, enthusiastic laughter and a sound of tuning aguitar. My Slavic soul had to wake up at that point (though it might be just a matter character notancestry). I felt overwhelmed with the intensity of colors, sounds and most likely shots of rakija I had before. The kafana was filled with people joining the guitarist in singing those more energetic songs(ok, I was one of those who sang Katyusha almost as loud as the singer), but just as easily they got quiet, listening to sad love song in pensiveness.

I hardly ever feel so relevant while I’m alone with foreigners, but this time I was bewitched. The atmosphere, the people I’ve meet and the feeling I had when I was humming sad songs with them was irreplaceable. I think that was a deep dive into Serbia, a capstone of our last-minute journey.