My first impressions of Serbia were garnered on the bus ride through the countryside
enroute to Belgrade...
It was a warm early summer morning with overcast skies and light rain dappling the hills...
perfect for seeing the depth of terrain, the greenery and softened landscape.
Fields, hills and villages were spread in every direction, softly shadowed.
I was impressed with the carefully tended land. Every inch of it was under cultivation.
This land was well-loved... You could feel it in every sworl and ridge.
It was meticulously planted and managed well.
The traditional houses gave a similar impression of great care and strength.
They were hand-built, good sized and solid.
Not ostentatious, but fine and strong and of generous proportions.
It was easy to see the character of the people in their fields and houses.
They were hard-working, aware and fully engaged in their lives.
They had earned a certain prosperity through their efforts...it was well-deserved.
I was intrigued with the yards surrounding their houses.
Much like the fields, the yards were neatly cultivated to the last inch with flowers and vegetables...
no lawns to be seen anywhere.
Everything gave off a sense of strength and a good kind of pride and industriousness.
I could hardly wait to encounter these people.
After a few hours, I changed buses in Nis.
The energy of the place and people was quite distinct.
I knew without a doubt that I was in a different country now.
The Serbians are somewhat serious in temperament with a sense of mannered reserve.
They carry themselves with a sense of pride and keen awareness,
It is much like the kind of feeling I get at a chess tournament....highly charged intelligence.
As I walked through the crowd, I became aware of the large community
of Gypsies milling around, as well.
The darker skinned men were sharp-eyed, nervous, seeking.
The women in long skirts were quiet and submissive to their husbands.
They were a separate society...not quite shunned, but tolerated.
I was the only foreigner in sight. I felt various peoples' curiosity.
Back on the bus for the final leg of the trip, the sun came out and lit up the countryside.
There were gently rolling hills with cattle and sheep, serene villages, and spring crops.
A few hours later, we rumbled into the sprawl that is Belgrade.
At that moment, I much preferred the serene and beautiful rural Serbia,
but I had committed to several days in the city for this first trip.
Belgrade had been described as one of the liveliest cities in all of Europe
with something for everyone...a must-see.
I hopped off the bus with map in hand, intent on stretching my legs for awhile
and walking off the long bus ride.
According to my map, I was within walking distance of my destination...the city center.
I was soon surrounded by cab drivers offering help. A few of them spoke a bit of English.
I politely assured them that I would be fine walking the short distance.
I just needed to get my bearings. Several of them insisted that it was too far to walk...
several kilometers...and through dangerous neighborhoods.
I began to doubt my map reading, but I was not up to being rushed into a waiting cab.
Besides, I had no money. My first stop would be the bank. That said, they left me alone.
My first Serbian exchange was with the unsmiling bank guard, who eyed me warily
at first before relenting and holding the door open for me.
He offered to help with my bags and asked where I was from.
I told him I was from the US, and shared that it was my 1st visit to Serbia...
and that I was half Serbian on my father's side. He finally smiled at that.
He thought for a moment before earnestly impressing me with the remark
that my Serbian side was my 'better half'. Serbian pride...
He studied me soberly while I handed over passport and dollars in exchange for Serbian dinars.
Once more, he went the extra mile in helping me leave....much unsaid, but felt.
It was going to be an interesting trip...
Belgrade was a typical big city with people rushing by, unable or unwilling to stop for questions,
but I eventually found the tourist information building. Once again, I was assailed by cabbies.
I waved them aside so I could get to a window with a guide.
The woman behind the glass, who, thankfully, spoke flawless English, helped me make
a hotel reservation for the next few nights and showed me the shortcut up the steep hill
to the city center...a mere 8 blocks away.
Beware of the cab drivers, she warned.
I found my hotel after a good, stiff hike up the hill past shops and restaurants.
I dropped my things, freshened up and hit the streets, eager to make the most of my time.
I walked big circles around my hotel to familiarize myself with the neighborhood.
I was in the perfect spot...close to everything...parks, museums, trolley cars
and boulevards lined with open-air cafes where one could rest, sip coffee and people watch.
As I explored, I was delighted to find several well-stocked bookstores within a few block radius.
People were serious about books here! It reminded me of the good old days in New York City
when independent bookstores were plentiful.
I soon procurred a copy of Momo Kapor's "The Magic of Belgrade". How perfect!
I had read Momo's "Guide to the Serbian Mentality"...a book laced with touching humor
and insight born of a life of keen observation. What more fitting guide!
I could weather whatever came my way with Momo as my guide.
I chose a small local restaurant for dinner, wine and some good reading...
" Belgrade is not all in Belgrade. A much bigger part of Belgrade is in the yearning for Belgrade,
which makes it more beautiful than it actually is...."
.
