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Published: July 11th 2008
In the words of Ian Oliver, translated on the internet, "Behold, come down percussion hammer".
PROLOGUE
Serbia, Serbia, Serbia. Ah Serbia. In order to fully appreciate our experience the reader should imagine a constant stream of beautiful, leggy, 6ft1 women.
Now, with that in mind, the blog may begin.
We arrived in Belgrade after a lengthy 13 hour overnight train journey, in our own 3 person sleeper cabins, which we were slightly ill at ease about, particuarly as we stood on the platform surrounded by a gaggle of very suspicious looking characters. They, we later discovered after later observation by means of the train window, were in fact smuggling all manner of goods. Despite our shuddering terror, the journey turned out to be thoroughly enjoyable.
From the moment we arrived in Belgrade we could tell it was worlds apart from Bucharest. It exuded a mind shattering classyness and had an air of cosmopolitan sophistication that we did not expect. Despite some occasional bomb damage (way cool!), the architecture was consistantly grandiose and frequently complete.
Our first excursion into the city centre led us to the conclusion that it was far smaller than was initially expected, which
is just what flopsy was hoping for. After, a particuarly good lunch at a resturant on the main drag, we wandered aimlessly and stumbled upon a rather delightful fort. Putting the UK to shame, it turned out to be entirely free, except for a miniscule fee for the museum (about 60p). As our (soon to be uploaded) pictures show, the castle was extensive and full of surprises, from decommissioned tanks ("that would be a T34 that would"), naval apparatus ("that would be your standard boat"), and discarded profilactics... lovely. This was further enhanced by the fact that we gained a combined total of 650,000,000,000 Dinar!
That evening we decided to hit the town to blow our earnings, beginning at a particuarly exotic Irish pub (with a particuarly exotic waitress). However, the night was cut short by our discovery that Tuesdays, internationally, are the worst night for partying.
The second day brought an attempted adventure over the river, into what is known as New Belgrade. Unfortunately, the promised Fine Art museum proved hard to locate. After, an hour of searching we were all becoming restless. Flopsy perked up when he spotted a large building but his probing investigation led
to an anti-climax as it turned out to be closed for renovation (although not inhabited by the undead).
After, this lengthy non-event we headed back into the town centre, taking lunch in a quiet side street and wached the world go by(see prologue). That evening we returned to the fort, following an international dance procession, and had a few drinks. Picture the setting; sunset in a bar on the top of a castle in Belgrade, overlooking the Danube. Victory indeed is eternal.
Toodle-oo.
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Craig
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Sarajevo
I think you'll be in Sarajevo by the time you read this. Will you go to the spot where the Archduke was shot. Naturally photographs of chaps play-shooting will have to be taken!