Budapest (pronounced Buda-pesht) sits on the Danube River, and although its just over 2 hours flight from London, its a world away. We land to a foot of snow and below freezing conditions, a functional rather than fashionable post communist train system and a welcoming Hungarian hostel. The lights of London have faded and the dust is settling - its time to take a step back and relax.
Hungary does not possess many natural resources, except for mineral springs which bubble up everywhere around the city. It’s strangely comforting to be sitting in steaming warm baths while snow settles on the poolside paving. Perching myself on a seat in the spa, I soak the tiredness away. If you are ever in Hungary, the baths are a must. We also try the communist response to McDonalds – the communist hamburger. It’s a deep fried piece of dough around 10 inches across piled high with sour cream and grated cheese, and then your choice of flesh. From one meal, you have three different types of fat – I can feel my eyebrows getting fatter already!
Once night fell, we grabbed a couple of fellow country men and went looking for beats and the local brew. Szimpla, a bar in the Jewish quarter, reminds me of bars in Berlin – dark, dank, a bit dirty, but oh, so cool… and funky people everywhere.
Belgrade is somewhat different to Budapest. As we cross the border from Hungary to Serbia, I’m looking for remnants of the war and get the feeling that poverty is still quite close to Serbia – there’s lots of damaged buildings, rubbish lying around and the farms don’t look as healthy as in Hungary. Its dark by the time we pull into Belgrade, but the smell reminds me of Bangkok - an industrial diesel oil crossed with overcooked cabbage.
A local welcomes us to ‘stinky Belgrade’, and we jump onto a tram for the trip to the hostel only to get hopelessly lost. I’m already tenuous about Belgrade, and here we are, stuck on a street corner unable to speak or read the language (Cyrillic characters!) with NO idea where we are. We hail a taxi which parks on the tram lines to pick us up. I pull out the map and explain where to go… but a tram comes and the driver speeds off. I suggest we walk, but Steph won’t hear it. We hail another taxi, and this guy knows where we are headed, nearly 3 kms away. I was all for walking, but I’m glad Steph talked sense into me.
After a leisurely breakfast the next morning, we set off to explore. There’s a football game on in the afternoon, with two Belgrade teams meeting in what promises to be an interesting match. On the way there, we notice lots of police in riot gear and as we get closer to the stadium, the police concentration increases. Looks like they are expecting an interesting game too… Arriving way before the kick-off, we decide the game is not for us and head off to explore the other sights of Belgrade.
I’m particularly interested in the history – just 10 years ago, NATO jets tore up the Serbian sky, the latest chapter in nearly 600 years of simmering tensions in the Balkans region. I sense an underlying tension in the air - many of the Serbs I talk to express anger and resentment at the 1999 NATO strikes. Along one of the main roads, a relic from the war – a bombed out building – remains as a haunting reminder of a war.
A local welcomes us to ‘stinky Belgrade’, and we jump onto a tram for the trip to the hostel only to get hopelessly lost. I’m already tenuous about Belgrade, and here we are, stuck on a street corner unable to speak or read the language (Cyrillic characters!) with NO idea where we are. We hail a taxi which parks on the tram lines to pick us up. I pull out the map and explain where to go… but a tram comes and the driver speeds off. I suggest we walk, but Steph won’t hear it. We hail another taxi, and this guy knows where we are headed, nearly 3 kms away. I was all for walking, but I’m glad Steph talked sense into me.
After a leisurely breakfast the next morning, we set off to explore. There’s a football game on in the afternoon, with two Belgrade teams meeting in what promises to be an interesting match. On the way there, we notice lots of police in riot gear and as we get closer to the stadium, the police concentration increases. Looks like they are expecting an interesting game too… Arriving way before the kick-off, we decide the game is not for us and head off to explore the other sights of Belgrade.
I’m particularly interested in the history – just 10 years ago, NATO jets tore up the Serbian sky, the latest chapter in nearly 600 years of simmering tensions in the Balkans region. I sense an underlying tension in the air - many of the Serbs I talk to express anger and resentment at the 1999 NATO strikes. Along one of the main roads, a relic from the war – a bombed out building – remains as a haunting reminder of a war.
One year ago, ethnic Albanians in the mostly Muslim Serbian state of Kosovo declared independence. Understandably, this is a source of contention with many Serbs, who have lived for generations in the Kosovo region. I always think there are 2 sides to every story, so it stands to reason that Kosovo is our next stop.
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