The border between Bosnia and Serbia consists of a bridge over the vast Drina river. On the two sides of the bridge are the customs. I remember the strange feeling of driving through it, through the border itself. Theoretically a "no-man’s-land". Since the beginning I'm a little bit uneasy in front of the countryside and the Serbian towns. It's because of their regularity and endless flatness. We notice few people along the way, with a darker skin colour and harsher features. As far as I remember.
After Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia (read about it here), we have now entered the fourth country of our road trip: Serbia. This time weldon't stop, we drive all the way until Belgrade's gates. Except for a toilet-stop in a Serbian countryside village, where we already start admiring a certain Transilvanic style in the interior design of the only guesthouse. The sun is fading down and the arrival is far less traumatic than the previous morning in Sarajevo. Streets -just like rivers, houses and any other thing- are broader and less crowded. We park the car in a convenient spot aside of the street leading to our hostel, which occupies the third or fourth floor of one of the countless palaces Belgrad is filled with. Judging by heart, and with no experience of Russia, the first word that comes up to my mind to descrive the city is "sovietic".
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| I, N, Vacca and our two adventure mates |
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| Belgrade |
Since we heard that Belgrad made a name for itself as city of night fun and we do not want to miss out on anything, me and Francesco (nicknamed "Vacca") set off to the dark and empty streets of the capital. Enne (N) prefers to stay in the hostel and relax. We are heading towards the riverside, where much of the nightlife of Belgrad is. While we cross the big steel bridge, I feel for the first time the instinct to hold tight my Swiss knife in my pocket. The only people we meet are taxi drivers and kebab sellers, a bunch of not reassuring big guys and gypsies at the sides of te street. Then a lady stops us to ask us in English: "Which is the way to Bulgaria? I would like to catch a ride". We have no idea about the right direction, but we do know that the Bulgarian border es at least 300 km away and that it's night. We would like to invite her to resist, but she has already understood we're not helpful to her needs and she's gone.
Once we reach the other side go the river, we find boats rearranged as clubs (little, loud, floating clubs). Though it's only Tuesday or Wednesday, the queue to get in one of those boats is quite long. So we choose one and wait, but when it comes our moment we are told it’s necessary to be in a list to get in. We give another go to a place without queue, only to receive the same answer from the bodyguards. I don’t know whether it was just to keep an appaerence or because us, being Italians, deserve some credit here, but after some weak protest we are let in by a security guy who recgnizes our accent. He changes his mind and says: "Go in, just because you’re Italian". Inside it's almost empty, maybe the night is yet to take off. So we get a drink and then we get out, so to look for a place where they play Turbofolk, the musical genre which has led us all the way there.
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| One of the riverside clubs, picture from Inspirock.com |
Under the sunlight and strolling around the most important part of the city - historically and politically- Belgrade seems less ugly than the previous day. It's Sunday morning and we walk through a pedestrian street leading to the fortress. A 9 or 10 years old girl fills up the street with the notes of a violin. A crowd of tourists surrounds the few souvenir shops, where T-shirts with Nicolas Tesla's face are being sold. While two men (two!) have only shoe strings on their old stand: classic or colourful ones, long and short ones. Shoe strings. In fact, poverty is a bit everywhere around the city: from the ubiquitous old cars to the coffe shops with the cracked windows.
We make a detour so to enter the Church of Saint Sava, among the biggest orthodox churches in the world. In the square in front of the Temple (that's how it's most well known) some children are playing football and some old people are sitting in the benches. The external facade is bizantine and super symmetrical. So far so good, then. But it's inside that we start noticing some odd details. A red carpet covers the floor of the main room environment. Large religious paintings are laying on top small tables all along the walls. And people are queuing before them, so to be able to kiss the figures when it's their turn. While the back of the Temple is not accessible, as renovation works are being done and we only get to see a lot of protective plastic and a big van which was surprisingly parked in the middle.
And finally we approach the Park of the Fortress, which has been destroyed and reconstructed countless times starting from the Romans until few decades ago (after which they were tired of rebuilding it and left it the way it was, as it seems). Cannons and weapons of different types, together with dinosaur statues, are positioned a little bit everywhere in the park. While on top there's a guy who convinces us to pay him something so to shoot a few arrows from his bow. But more importantly, from the top you can see the river Slava flowing into the Donau. With this majestic scene in our eyes we leave Serbia soon after, and we get ready to enter Romania.
We make a detour so to enter the Church of Saint Sava, among the biggest orthodox churches in the world. In the square in front of the Temple (that's how it's most well known) some children are playing football and some old people are sitting in the benches. The external facade is bizantine and super symmetrical. So far so good, then. But it's inside that we start noticing some odd details. A red carpet covers the floor of the main room environment. Large religious paintings are laying on top small tables all along the walls. And people are queuing before them, so to be able to kiss the figures when it's their turn. While the back of the Temple is not accessible, as renovation works are being done and we only get to see a lot of protective plastic and a big van which was surprisingly parked in the middle.
And finally we approach the Park of the Fortress, which has been destroyed and reconstructed countless times starting from the Romans until few decades ago (after which they were tired of rebuilding it and left it the way it was, as it seems). Cannons and weapons of different types, together with dinosaur statues, are positioned a little bit everywhere in the park. While on top there's a guy who convinces us to pay him something so to shoot a few arrows from his bow. But more importantly, from the top you can see the river Slava flowing into the Donau. With this majestic scene in our eyes we leave Serbia soon after, and we get ready to enter Romania.
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| The river seen from Belgrade's fortress |
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| A random street in Belgrade |
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| Orthodox "Iconodulia" |
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| The patriotism, the prophane and the sacred met during a walk around Belgrade |
And suddenly we are in Romania. The border we pass through basically doesn’t exist. It’s signalled by a sign, while a boy, not in uniform, is the only person who controls it. Actually, he just looks at us and let us go. In the late evening, we arrive in Sibiu, a nice town in the Transilvania region. I mean it, it's not a ironic adjective, Sibiu is quite a beautiful city. Europan Capital of Culture in 2007 and historical university, Sibiu has a small architectural gem of central square, on which our hostel overlooks: coloured three-floor houses and institutional buildings form a large oval shaped belt, not paved but cobbled, filled at the margins with tables from the taverns and in the middle with a big scenic stage, from which classical music is being played. Other parts of the city are maybe less elegant but full of colours.
Next day we get ready to drive through the "Transfăgărășan", a foolish mountain road wanted by Ceausescu. It was built at the beginning of the '70s for military purposes and is normally closed to traffic between October and June due to extreme weather conditions. A classic of the Romanian cycling Tour and a destination for bikers of all sorts, we leave the honour of driving there to N. It's the twistiest route I’ve ever experienced. Two guys met at the hostel, Srikanth (from India) and Aryudha (from Indonesia), are also with us and they seem also impressed by it. Before reaching the top, we stop to see one of the fortresses of Vlad the 3rd, aka "The Impaler", aka Count Dracula.
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| The square of Plata Mare in Sibiu, picture from blogromania.com |
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| A Transilvanian pub |
Right, Dracula. Obviously not Count Dracula as we know it (the vampire), which never existed...being a literary invention. But the character Bram Stoker took inspiration from: Vlad III, bloody and heroic ruler of Wallachia Principality, as well as protector of Christianity during the 1400s, when the Ottoman Empire had conquered most of the Balkans and was aiming to expand north. The legend says that Vlad refused to pay the tribute and send 500 hundred of his best soldiers as request by the Sultan of the Empire in exchange of peace. The result was necessarily the beginning of a new war.
Eventually Vlad became a thorn in the backside for the Sultan, whose army had to struggle for some time due to a series of massacres and ambushes guided by The Impaler. Vlad also temporarily became a hope for the Christian world of the time, which was following the events with anxiety. As in all the best stories, the only way to defeat the Count was to rely on a betrayal from his brother, who was also a valuable soldier and was boiling with jealousy. S the brother defeated Vlad and took his place, blinking an eye to the Sultan. While Vlad had to run away and seek shelter abroad, only to be betrayed for a second time and get killed. It is said that that his head was sent to Constantinople as trophy.
Today the Poenari Fortress itself is no big deal, since not much of it is left from the moment it was abandoned after Vlad's death in 1477. However it's quite an experience to walk through it while knowing that one of the most bloody characters in history used to hide there. The climb up is quite steep and crosses the local vegetation (mostly coniferous trees). Luckily, I hear onlywhile writing this article that the area hosts a fast growing population of bears. In the end, some gruesome bleeding mannequins at the top of the uphill (as in the picture below) welcome us to the fortress, just the way Vlad preferred to treat his enemies.
Back in the car, we continue to follow the Transfăgărășan, which gradually gets more and more extreme. The combination of this and the falling rain triggers us, and the Scatman CD we put on the stereo creates the deadly cocktail. We get to the highest point, park and make our way through the thick fog, under a now even heavier rain. Judging from the map, there would be a lake to see, but we can’t find it, as we struggle to even see each other (useless to describe our attempt to get back to the car). But once we do find again our car, our craziness has only worsened and as a matter fact it gets to Srikanth and Aryudha as well: it is just pure Transilvanian madness for a while, with Vacca's head outside of the car "screaming and waving at the rain" and our bodies only responding to Scatman vibes.
The night in Sibiu reaches the same heights, thanks to a Swedish metal band playing in the cellar of a pub in the city centre. The Indian and the Indonesian are now part of the group and they are introduced to the art of "pogo" (precursor of moshing), which we definitely contribute to extend to the Romanian audience. Cheap beers and lousy people would definitely worth spending even more of the night in the pub, but more destinations are waiting for us and so we go back relatively "early".
The night in Sibiu reaches the same heights, thanks to a Swedish metal band playing in the cellar of a pub in the city centre. The Indian and the Indonesian are now part of the group and they are introduced to the art of "pogo" (precursor of moshing), which we definitely contribute to extend to the Romanian audience. Cheap beers and lousy people would definitely worth spending even more of the night in the pub, but more destinations are waiting for us and so we go back relatively "early".
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| The way up the Transfagarajan and a video memory digged out from my phone |
So the next morning we give ourselves the chance for a last round in Sibiu's city centre and then we head towards the Turda's Salt Mine. Salt source for as much as 2000 years, then occasionally used as cheese seasoning room and as ari-raid shelter during WWII, since the '90s this mine was transformed in a touristic attraction and futuristic space for concerts and events. A part of it has been filled with water, where it's possible to sail with small boats, and another wing is now equipped with a carousel, some ping pong and foosball tables and stage. However, the coolest thing is still to lean from the top handrail and look down.
In the evening we reach Cluj Napoca (for the cools: "Cluj"), a student city in the centre-north of Romania. We are staying in a room we found on Airbnb. We cook something and we inflict ourselves pure pain with the young Di Caprio in the embarrassing and trash movie "The Beach". The next day we see a bit of the centre of Cluj, which unfortunately is quite empty, as the university is closed. The area around the the old fortress is nice, but what I appreciate the most is Cimiterul Centrale, a green and "anarchic" cemetery (reminds me of Pere Lachaise cemetery in Paris), where we also bump into a funeral procession. Not too far off there is a beautiful church and a nice little area, where we get a kebab before hitting the road again.
The countryside we pass through, spaced by the typical conical sheaves of this area, reminds me of a book I read before leaving for this journey. It’s called "The Enchanted Way", and it’s the tale of the real story of a young English traveller and his special relationship he develops with the land of Maramures, his enchanted way. Enchantment created by intact agricultural practices and traditions, coming from ancient times and unspoiled despite the mingling of Romanians-Gypsies-Saxons, but not in front of globalization.
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| The salt mine of Turda, picture from rollingstone.it |
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| Modern art in a square of Cluj Napoca, picture from Monitorul de Cluj |
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| The countryside in the Maramures region of Romania, picture from gmgalasso61.wordpress.com |
We drive for the whole afternoon as we want to get close to Budapest, where the Sziget festival is taking place. We have 3 tickets in our pockets, valid for the next day. We sleep in some sort of Magyar court, near the border with Hungary. The furniture, the landlady and the atmosphere of that place are some of the most traditional things we see during our short balcanic trip. We are completely out of any touristic route and we really needed a deviation of that kind.
And then we leave Romania and enter Hungary. We stop by at a service station, where we enjoy a typical hungarian breakfast: fried eggs, sausage and spicy salami. So we enter Budapest around lunchtime and we head directly to Obùda island, also known as "the island of freedom". We expect a big mess around the island, but everything seems quiet and we can even find a free parking spot close by. We wonder where the drill is, but there is none!
We reach the entrance of the festival, where we fail in our attempt to sneak in some alcohol (masked as ice tea). But we are lucky enough to meet three girls from our own high school. Later on, we’ll also unexpectedly meet other friends. On the other hand Sziget has become a meeting point for the so called "Erasmus generation". Thanks the central location and its impressive lineups, this festival is a just a great magnet.
We reach the entrance of the festival, where we fail in our attempt to sneak in some alcohol (masked as ice tea). But we are lucky enough to meet three girls from our own high school. Later on, we’ll also unexpectedly meet other friends. On the other hand Sziget has become a meeting point for the so called "Erasmus generation". Thanks the central location and its impressive lineups, this festival is a just a great magnet.
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| Sketch and description of the Obuda island in Budapest from BUDAPEST - WordPress.com |
The red thread of the Sziget Festival, not only musically speaking but for all activities proposed, is: fun. At first it was born to celebrate freedom, a Woodstock 2.0 so to say, and then it necessarily turned into a commercial event. On the other hand a strong organisation and a financial solidity is required to satisfy the needs of 500 000 people and implement a musical programme with stars from all around the world, if you don't want to end up like this.
We settle down in a garden next to the car and we take home a few precious hours of sleep. We take the road again after trying out another Hungarian breakfast, more sober than the previous one. It’s a Sunday and it's August but the streets we drive through in Hungary, Slovenia and Italy are traffic-free. We start reading familiar names of places. We get to Modena Sud after eight hours of travelling, on time to grant N some rest before he turns up for work the following morning.
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| The bridge and the entrance gate to the Sziget festival, picture from ilovedunakanyar.hu and, in video, one of the most memorable moments of our Sziget |
From this trip, we are left with: a cardboard filled with names of people met along the way and names of unpronounceable cities; a pile of coins with different currencies; some confused memories, as smoky as the air in Sarajevo's Kino or as the fog on the top of the Transfăgărășan.
I’ll never forget: the inside of Enne’s car, each of us with his favourite seat (the one in the back for me, together with crumbles and dirty t-shirts but with enough space to lay); the Croatian wind, followed by a sunset able to warm up our goose bumps on the skin; the vibrations inside a Suzuki at full speed while playing ACDC under pouring rain; the street-stands, the bullet holes and the white graves of Sarajevo; the adrenaline of a wild dance at the sound of a trumpet players orchestra;
What I would change is: the rhythm. And maybe even the vehicle. Because it would have been cool to explore these places slowly. But you don't always have a month of free time. So for this time it was good like that, with a skeleton of plans and a working car. But I promise myself to return to the balkans and go around without a vehicle, or maybe a bicycle.
I carry with me an atmosphere -a bit crazy, a bit filthy, a bit trashy and funny, surely fascinating- in a word: balkan- which characterised the places we visited, the people we met and even the food we ate. I think about that time and I can't help it but smile, and there's also some bitterness in it...as I'm also carrying a pinch of longing inside me.
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| And finally special thanks to my travel mates: to Vacca (for planning a good part of this trip) and to N (for sharing with us his Suzuki shuttle and for shooting the majority of the pictures you've seen in this article |
Translation from the Italian version: Giovanni De Maria and I
