Oh, my. What to say?
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Visiting Belgrade for the first time in 19 years was like a drop-kick to my senses. I haven't seen most of my relatives - apart from my uncle Dragan, who has had the opportunity ((Which basically means he's one of the chosen few who got a visa to leave the country during the war.)) to visit my mom and dad in Sweden - in that long, but apart from seeing them, I now realise that I had little idea how much visiting Serbia would affect me again.
I've met one of my uncles in the past ten years, one of the few who could leave the country at that point. The other relatives? I've had spontaneous contact, even more since the fall of Milošević and thanks to the Internet spreading. No more than that.
And by the way, what's happened since last time my family and I visited Belgrade?
- The country was split up four times
- A war raged for nearly two decades
- The infrastructure in Belgrade was bombed to pieces and there was no money to rebuild for a long time
- The population was thrown into deep despair because of the war, their social outlook and the economical situation, while corruption grew strongly
- Milošević ran the country into the ground
- The people overthrew said dictator and reinstated a true democracy ((No thanks to the US, apart from what some may seem to believe.))
Make no mistake; even though I've sweated bullets over how my family in Serbia has survived, I've no idea how they've felt, what they've experienced and lived through. 19 years ago, Serbia was moving from having been dictated through communism to an affluent future, and when the war hit, I was still a boy, hoping for the best for my family living down there; I remember how class-mates and people I didn't know at school coming up to me, asking if I were of Serbian, Croatian or Bosnian origin, thereby judging me by "my nationality". I always answered I was Swedish, which they - who also were born in Sweden - sighed at. Through the start of the civil war, a lot of my peers who were born and raised in Sweden (with Yugoslavian parentage) were affected by their parents' ideas on who to like and dislike based on (irrational) hatred, which caused a lot of grief.
I'd spent some time in Belgrade before, but mostly my family and I resided with my grandmother on dad's side in Valjevo, which means the countryside. Lazy summer days, petting cats, cruising around, learning a few words of Serbo-Croatian (which the language was called back then), swimming, inadvertently turning my body brown, eating freshly killed animals, loving the most wonderful cuisine I've ever had. Those were the days.
Now that there are two airlines that fly from Stockholm to Belgrade, I can afford plane tickets and hence, X and I packed our bags last Monday and took off for a week of fun in the sun. Before we left, forecasts mentioned 26 degrees Celsius and clouds for Belgrade. I wore a shirt, a jacket and a pair of jeans before we left our apartment in Stockholm. ((Stockholm was 12 degrees Celsius when we left, which I hope may explain things.)) In hindsight, X was more sensibly dressed. When we landed and left the plane at 3pm, appx. 35-40 degrees Celsius and hot air hit me like a brick bat; I quickly removed my jacket and panted all the way through customs. I started feeling nervous about seeing my dear brother Zoran, and as we made our way to the arrivals part I saw him waving. The feeling is undescribable. I remember him smiling and I fooling around in his boy's room in Belgrade 20 years ago, playing a live album by The Rolling Stones repeatedly while he showed me a barrage of games using his Commodore 128D, impressing the hell out of me. Now here he was again, 20 years older with a shaved head, but with the same smile.
Hugging my brother ((Cousins are called brothers or sisters in Serbia.)) took me back, but not too much; I really wanted to know what he's like nowadays - I mean, even though we keep in touch regularly through IM, meeting someone physically -- you know. Zoran escorted us - and gentlemanly took charge of grabbing X's luggage - to his car, swore at somebody driving too slow and then hit the highway.
After chatting for a while, he called Miki - his brother, and therewith also mine - and passed the phone to me. Oh yeah. What a blast from the...present? Argh! Reality dawned on me as Zoran drove into the centre of Belgrade and en route pointed out the old building where he and his family used to live. "Do you remember how there were no houses next to it? All these have been built in the past few years. Nothing's been done in this town after the war for 12 years; nobody even lifted a screwdriver and now, everything is being built instantly and costs a fortune." Apparently, purchasing an apartment in central Belgrade costs appx. 50,000 Euro per square meter, and industries are fighting for space to start up there. It's apparent that Belgrade is rebuilding itself, especially in Novi Belgrad (=New Belgrade), the part of Belgrade where most is being build.
Zoran dropped us off at the hotel, we checked in at the old bugger, also known as Hotel Union; I'll say one thing about the place - having a fan installed in your room during a stay in hot Belgrade is a definitive must. I don't think we would have survived the nights without one.
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X and I quickly went to Knez Mihailova, the main walking street in Belgrade. I'm not exaggerating when I say that it beat any street I've found in Paris or Stockholm when it comes to shopping, possibly seeing eye to eye with Oxford Street in London. We went through many a sniženje (=sale) and picked up a buckload of clothes, shoes and what have you not, cheaply. For instance, a Mango vest for X, 16 USD. A couple of Camper sandals for me, 50 USD. Gah. I love convincing X to pick out new clothes. Biiiirthday Grrrrrrrllll!
We trailed around Belgrade a lot, checking out places like the park/fortress Kalemegdan, from where the above picture is taken, the Sava Temple, Skadarlija and other delights; even though there are a lot of old buildings crowding next to new ones, the bombing of Belgrade really made me thought of Blixa Bargeld's words, that can somewhat fit into the situation: "Destruction is not negative. One must destroy in order to build."
I wasn't as prepared for meeting part of the family, though. We took a taxi with Zoran to his abode, which is also Miki and their parents' living-space; a few years ago, they had an architect draw a house for them, where they claim one floor as their own, respectively, and now are living in their dream house. It's extensive, light and customised to their every need. Anyway, as the taxi driver stopped at the house, Dragan was there. He's the uncle I've spent the most time with, and he's such a wonderful person. He was standing there with Zoran's two-year-old child, Relja. I was flabbergasted. We got out of the car, and I greeted Dragan totally insufficiently, even though there was no way I could meet him in a manner that could feel enough to me, having not seen him for so long. Smiles. Love. Then Mira, his wife. I've not seen her in 20 years. "You're...older!" Ha! We came in and met Katarina, Zoran's girlfriend, whom we had seen a couple of days previously at lunch; she's absolutely charming and nice. We all sat down. I think it was Mira who had made vegetarian pizza for us, and Katarina made Serbian coffee; I've not tasted the latter in a long time, and I strongly recommend it.
I was awestruck with how weird it felt sitting there, talking with my wonderful relatives who were now significantly older, as was of course I. "So, what have you been doing for the past 20 years?"
Miki then turned up and Rada - his wife - as well, with their one kid in the house; absolutely breathtaking. The "Yugoslavian" family around me again. Aah! I've spent quite a lot of time with Miki in Belgrade and it was magnificent to catch up with him again, as well as with Dragan, Mira, Rada and Zoran. Relja ran around everywhere, playing with his family's massive hound that seems to be able to take any type of abuse without even flinching. X, Zoran and I had beers and laughed, reminisced, talked about everything and nothing, and he drove us back to the hotel at the end of the night.
Before then - and during three glorious days - X and I experienced Ada Ciganlija. It's the biggest beach in Belgrade, with two stretches of beach on either side of a clear, unmudded lake, littered with people and life-guards who toot their whistles often. We baked our bodies in appx. 40-50 degrees Celsius for hours on end, and I'm still paying the penalty by having flakes of dead skin still rough it off my body. Ada was brilliant. I'd give a lot to be back there again. We just lay there, wasting away while drinking a lot of Knjaz Miloš mineral water, eating ice-cream and reading away. X read through the masterpiece "The Only Living Witness" while I read through the weird, good and bitter "Kraftwerk: I Was A Robot". Apart from burning the soles of our feet to shreds while walking to and fro the water, Ada is the best beach I've visited. It's got it all. Even the music was great at times! The first morning we got there - early - the local radio-station blasted Mystery Jets' "Two Doors Down", Happy Mondays' "Kinky Afro" and James "Sit Down", among others. Not to mention The Roots' "Birthday Girl", which suited perfectly with X - we celebrated her birthday during that first day in Belgrade, yay! Actually, the entire week was like a long celebration for me.
Moving about in Belgrade using the cabs was special, to say the least. It felt slightly more dangerous than Paris, but a lot cheaper. Ha! What am I implying? That the idea of dying is more OK when you've not paid much for it? Endgame. Anyway, I shot a lot of taxi action using my mobile phone, plus a little from Ada, Kalamegdan and our hotel room in it, all ~21 minutes:
We also met my uncle Velja, who recently came back from a six-month stint in China. He told a lot about how the country is growing even more, especially now that single-child parents are allowed to have two children. May not sound like much, but it makes me cringe from thinking how I'd feel to be a city planner in that country right now. Velja brought his two kids, Lidija and Tanja, who were both charming and nice; Tanja was more than tired, as she'd just come home from the EXIT music-festival; her dad called her a couple of times to get her to come and meet the Swedes. Aww. Poor her.
As the stay in Belgrade ended, I felt exhilarated and sad; I've never felt this bad about having to leave a place that is not my home in a long time. X and I are most definitely coming back next year, especially as she's not content with my not having kidnapped her. Of course, kidnapping is something done against somebody's will, but... We'll see!
Part of me wishes we'd met more relatives, but at the same time, booking up our trip with meeting everybody isn't anything I'd wish upon anybody, and I'm certain there will be more occasions for that in the very near future.
I love the Serbian clan of the family, and I loved the trip there; X's excellent to travel with and we share the same mind on how to spend time while vacationing. To remember Beograd, we've still got memories, clothes, souvenirs, and...sljivo.