4 words to describe this ride: Tough Roads, Serene Estuaries
Belgrade has been witness to many changes—empires, countries, cultures, religions—but one constant is traffic. The way out of Serbia’s capital was treacherous.
“[Cyclists,] Please use pedestrian sidewalk to pass the bridge!”
Eventually, cars gave way to unpaved dike roads. These roads were home to territorial dogs that loved nothing more than to chase cyclists. The trick is to stop riding and put your bike between you and the hound then firmly say something like “No!” I was chased three times today.
“Attention: at certain times of the year the cycling path is full of nasty thorns that will even the strongest tire!” I have no doubt that a cyclist lobbied for this sign
Today’s road quality was the worst of the entire trip. Roadside memorials for mowed down motorists abound in Eastern Europe and in particular, Serbia. After a couple hundred of these solemn gravesites, riding through quicksand was still better than cycling with cars.
After what felt like an endless ride punctuated with stops to pull branches out of my spokes, I arrived at the ferry crossing in Stara Palanka. Just after the ferry stop on the left was a pension with a restaurant. That’s where I stayed. It was no two-star hotel but it was a clean room with food.
Dinner was frozen fish nuggets. Frozen, as in they arrived at the table still cold and solid. My host took the fish back and let them swim in the hot oil a while longer.
My room had posters up of all of Serbia’s basketball stars. In other words, all of my favorite Sacramento Kings players were looking right at me. Since there is a dearth of hoops-talk in Dublin I ignored the fact that my hosts didn’t speak English and started talking Serbian basketball with them. The language barrier was no problem at all. Peja plus three fingers, Vlade plus a mimed behind the back pass, Djokovic plus “best Serbian,” and so on.
Tomorrow I’ll ride through the Danube Gorge.
Today’s Miscellany
Something must’ve made me happy here. Perhaps I’d just finished with the hay road, or maybe I was reminded how lucky I am
I started the day off right with Serbian pastries (one cheese — good cheese: salty, tangy, and not so much firm as it was taut — and one cherry) and some coffee in the Bohemian District after a restless night in the hostel. The guy in the bunk beneath me sounded more pug than human.
Breakfast in Belgrade
Bloom Cafe is a short walk from the Bohemian District. I headed there for coffee number two. Situated on a corner with wide-open floor to ceiling windows, Bloom is a fantastic place to sit and watch the city go by. Some of its signage (“Bloom where you are planted”) is defeatism disguised as motivation. Where’s the courage in that? Some places suck and you’d be better off blooming elsewhere. But don’t let my cynicism discourage you. Bloom’s coffee is really good and the staff is friendly.
Belgrade Fortress
After Bloom, I made my way to Republic Square where the free walking tour met. The tour was good with a caveat. It took me through the fortress, past the French Embassy, back down the bohemian street, and pointed out the city’s lone mosque, which I had missed earlier. But the guide only talked about Serbia as a victim. There was no mention of Milosevic or the country’s role in genocide. Others on the tour thought maybe the history was too recent to bring up. I don’t believe that being dishonest about history now or waiting to talk about history until it is more convenient ever makes it easier to speak the truth later on. America’s inability to confront its own role in the genocide of the native people comes to mind as an example of such cowardice.
The walking tour ended near Mayka Veg Restaurant, which I recommend. I ordered a Serbian red wine and the Belgrade Steak.
The steak was impeccably seared and seasoned. Its marinade includes just a touch of sugar that carmelized to create a magically savory-sweet seitan slab.
This taste of sugar kicked off a craving for a bonafide sweet so I ventured over to Poslasticarnica Suma. If you go to Belgrade without stopping here for a treat or six then you’re are the worse for it. The vegan Forest Cake, a chocolate cake with marzipan and a forest fruit jam, is fantastico. I ordered an almond praline too.
The co-owner of the shop is a friendly woman in her 20s whose name I didn’t catch. We had a nice conversation about her business, the heatwave, and Belgrade’s…lacking…bike infrastructure.
The next time I hear, “NYC isn’t Amsterdam” in response to calls for improved bicycle infrastructure I’ll respond, “And it isn’t Belgrade either!”
Back to the sweets. The almond praline had orange zest that took it to the next level.
Ever a glutton for stomach aches, I decided that upon finishing my cake and praline the only sensible thing to do was to order the obscenely decadent vegan chocolate carob cherry cake—Ooey and gooey and tart and rich and delicious.
After staying a while at Poslasticarnica Suma to recover, I snapped out of my prediabetic coma and caught a second wind that carried me to the Serbian National Museum. It’s worth a visit if you’re interested in the region’s ancient history or if you want to see Serbia’s largest public art collection.
The museum’s four or so floors somehow gave me the illusion of hunger despite the 10,000 or so calories I’d ingested just a couple hours earlier. So I mosied over to Tel Aviv Hummus for what I expected to be a quick dinner.
At dinner, I met a former Russian figure skater with a big chip on his shoulder and a college student named Tali, from Brooklyn who studied in LA. The Russian Jimmy MacElroy mercifully left after explaining that he had a really cool place to be.
Tel Aviv Hummus
Then Tali invited me to the pub crawl at her hostel. Not one to turn down an opportunity to relive the hostel pub crawls of my college days, I said, “Let’s do this.”
Spotted this leaning tower of third-degree burns across the bar
A wretched shot of rakija and the pub crawl was off and running. I recognized a few of the guys on the crawl from this afternoon’s walking tour, We shared a couple drinks and me some other characters along the way. One was an American guy named Josh whose “parents went through shit in China” and who “speak[s] Mandarin and doesn’t take shit” and who, apparently, really likes cocaine.
The pub-crawl’s penultimate stop was near my hostel so I peeled off and finished the night with what else but a pastry.
Today’s Miscellany
Make sure to take out some cash in Belgrade. You’ll need it tomorrow and there aren’t any ATMs on the route.
The ride from Novi Sad to Belgrade is hell. If you aren’t hell-bent on cycling every mile then I recommend taking a train instead.
I tried to avoid this leg’s crushing hills via a detour but I must’ve missed a turn. I ended up on a longer route with bigger hills through the Serbian National Forest, which included a monster 8%, 10km long winding hill climb with heavy truck traffic.
A brutal, brutal climb out of the Serbian National Forest
During the climb I was more or less irate and mumbling angry things at myself and the signage (or lack thereof). But by the time I reached the top I felt a sincere sense of accomplishment. Just a couple weeks ago I was hopping off The Green Machine to walk up hills that were a fraction this climb and now I concurred it from the saddle. This alone was worth the climb but it is the descent through the forest is what makes this detour special.
The forest offered a moist crisp breeze after the hot traffic-filled climb. There’s no pleasure without pain, or something. Deep in the forest is an abandoned Soviet cable tower that was striking and strangely beautiful. There is a hotel nearby the tower too.
Farther along today’s route is another detour that the EuroVelo signage urges you to take. Ignore them! It’s for a “weekend village” with nice views of the Danube. I assure you that these views are no nicer than any of the hundreds of other times you’ve seen the river by this point. The detour’s signage is unclear, and, of course, the climb up out of the detour is not only steep and unpaved, it is also filled with bloodthirsty mosquitos!
Part of the not-so-quaint detour
There’s heavy traffic from this detour on until about 10km outside of Belgrade where the EV6 signs took me off onto a quiet side road that led to a river path into Belgrade. The maps told me to take a cyclist elevator from the bridge that crosses into Belgrade back down to the water. The elevator was out of order and regardless it looked like a death trap even if it had worked. So I rode straight into Belgrade city center from the bridge.
Once I made it into Belgrade, I found a park bench, kicked my feet up, and searched for a hostel. The Happy Home Hostel was nearby with good reviews and a price tag of 10eur. That’ll do!
There’s no designated bike parking at the hostel, which almost put me off of the place but the attendant offered a rarely used door to which I could affix my bicycle.
The silliest spot I’ve left my bike so far
The host initially seemed short and just this side of rude. I convicted him of all sorts of crimes against hospitality. Then during his unwitting appeal, he informed me he’d just received terrible news and wouldn’t be able to give me the wifi info for a bit. The guy wasn’t being rude, he was suffering and trying to keep it together. A good reminder for not to ascribe malintent where another explanation would do.
After getting cleaned up it was onto the Happy Cow app, as always. Mandala Restaurant had the kind of reviews that only a masochist would ignore. And holy shit where they spot on. This is one of the best restaurants I’ve ever been to.
The way into Belgrade
I sat down at the restaurant, which was quite literally out of a movie set. There were a cast and crew filming some soap opera just a couple of meters to my left.
A spicy Sazerac cocktail — this is my first cocktail of the trip somehow — and a carrot lox tartine to start. The tartine is large enough for two normal people or for one glutton, like me. You’d be an idiot not to order this dish.
Now, as a mushroom connoisseur, I’m used to a certain experience at restaurants: I order a dish named Mushroom X, only to find that despite being named as the lead, the mushrooms were in fact cast as extras. This is a form of fungicide that I simply can’t bear, and luckily for me, Mandala Restaurant agreed. I was treated to a heaping portion of grilled oyster mushrooms for the main course. They were slathered in a sweet BBQ sauce, with roasted potatoes, blistered cherry tomatoes, leeks, and you get the idea.
Then I ordered the chocolate berry for dessert. Another great call by me. Although I must admit to a sneaking suspicion that the success of my order had less to do with my prescience and more to do with the skill of Manadala’s chef and line cooks. Anyway, this dessert was gorgeous — a massive portion fit for three normal diners or, again, one glutton. Ganache, cherries, raspberry sorbet, and cookie crackers that if I’m honest would have been an addition via subtraction.
