Now I am A Real Traveller

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Because I did the thing of saving money on accomodation by using overnight bus and train... two days in a row.

But First, Two days in Sarajevo.


Sarajevo was... fascinating. I have never been in a country that scarred from it's wars.

Ok. It was the hardest hit in the Balkan wars. I know. Yes, Sarajevo was under siege for nearly four years, relieved only by UN Air support and a tiny tunnel. Yes, The town of Srebrenica is in Bosnia. This atrocity and all others were ten years ago, and yet, it feels like yesterday. This is the only country in which there are still landmines in it's cities (only in the outer suburbs but still). This country is so poor that even it's national library (direct hit, burnt for days, thousands of priceless records lost) is still a boarded up hulk.

And it is forever reminding the world of it's status. Almost proudly. Whether it is the impromptu museum run by an Australian Bosnian family(Who, for goodness sake, were in Australia during the war), whether it is the infamous Sarajevo Rose, or the "Don't Forget" signs prominently displayed in Mostar, one has to wonder how the rest of the Balkans have managed to move on.

Still, I now know what actually happened, back then. And I know a lot more about the Austro-hungarian and Ottoman Empires (The Balkans being their negotiating table). And I know that a veneer of peace does not completely hide ethnic tensions (I was warned away, on two seperate occasions, in two seperate towns, from the Serbian area of town).

but to stop talking in generalities, and giving my own interpretation. I visited museums, I wandered around the Turkish Old town, and I spent far to much on souvenirs, just to get rid of my hundred and one spare Konvertible Mark (Now I thought pegging your currency to a stronger one was a sure recipe for economic disaster?)
Which I still didn't. That was ok, though, they converted to far too many Serbian Dinari. Oh, and to leave, I went to that Terrible Serbian area of town (a suburb Most Turramurrans would be proud of), and caught a bus into Belgrade. An overnight bus. With a border stop exactly half way. (Wake up. Surrender passport. Drive 50 metres. Get passport back. Go back to sleep. Rinse and repeat in 30 minutes)

Ah, yes. I arrive at 5 in the morning in Beograd. After ad evil overnight of dozing on otherwise comfortable bus seats. butit doesn't matter on a bus. No matter how many free seats, you cannot lie flat. If I am rambling now, blame that.

Nothing is open, except the train ticket station and some coffee shops, and the toilets (20 Dinar, about 40cents), so I wash my face, hold on (toilets Turkish and Dirty!), and have a coffee and a pastry. No one speaks English. Not the coffee lady, not the toilet lady, not the lady behind the desk at the international train ticket window. So, I head to the park (which is, admittedly built in a old fort very little of which remains), stretch out on the grass, and read my book. I am feeling crankyand tired, but because I didn't like the feel of the train station (or, to be honest, the clean but spartan tram I took to the park. Think about it: it is difficult to make a tram look spartan, but they did it.)

Finally, finishing the book forces me to leave the park. I start walking down the pedestrian street in Belgrade, and suddenly, my world-view changes. This is a international city. It proclaims itself with each add, with the twenty-thousand macDonalds, and the people in them, with their designer brands and fashionable tops (next spring, look for singlet top over round-necked t's). This city is part of Europe , in a way that Sarajevo simply isn't. And it has wide, clean streets, clean well painted new-looking buildings and coffee shops everywhere. And suddenly, people speak English. Every one, with only very slight accents.

I walk down to the Largest Orthodox church in Europe, still under construction (a title which it has held for more than 75 years), then wandered back through the streets, and had my best meal yet. After soooo much meat, I got a light-fried chicken, with about a mountain of light-fried veges. I don't think i have ever enjoyed broccoli that much: it was still crisp.

Satisfied, I went and found my train, and found a carriage with some other backpackers. A Romanian Canadia (Quebecan, non-seperatist) Medical Student, and a Swedish Lit. Student.

We talked, we angste about horrid stories of packs being stolen on this line, we tried to secure our bags, and in the end, we all slept. And nothing happened.

Arrived in Bucuresti, to the best hostel in the world, but that's a story for another day.

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Comments

[Brita]

to the traveller from the student on the couch
hello!! got another postcard today, woohoo! you probably know this already, but Wikipedia told me: "Slavic name Beligrad (a form of Beograd, literally meaning White City)". 'white city' might explain the westernised macdonaldisation haha thanks for your tales, keep them coming o traveller