From Budapest to the Former Yugoslavia: Majestic Old Buildings, Backyard Gardens, and Bullet-Riddled Walls

During the week-long Semana Santa holiday in Spain Carlos and I flew to Budapest and later took a train to Serbia and Bosnia. A year ago these countries wouldn't have been on my priority list of places to visit, but since Carlos has seen most other parts of Europe and we were looking for something less touristy, we directed our attention to Eastern Europe. We started reading about the wars in the Former Yugoslavia in the early 90s and became more interested in going there and learning about what life is like 20 years later.

When we first arrived we took a bus and then the metro to the center of Budapest. The city is divided by the Danube river into two parts, Buda and Pest. We stayed in the Cotton Club Hotel in Pest. The metro was very retro-looking. The seats were a bit wobbly and seemed like they could be easily dismantled by lifting up the upholstered board that was the seat. The cabs looked very old and boxy on the outside. Sometimes it sounded more like an old wooden, rickety rollercoaster ride. They were painted colors like pale yellow green and light blue. The insides also had retro colors like pea green and fake wood paneling. I later found out that it is the second oldest metro system in the world (London’s is the oldest) and it’s line 1 from 1896 was declared a World Heritage Site.

Each station seemed to have a different chime that sounded as the metro came to a stop. And their chimes were little electronic bells but had that faded, dying sound like when a the batteries to a tape player are just about to give out. Everything seemed to have a layer of dirt and grime like the city didn't have enough funds to keep their buildings, streets, and public transport clean.  This was a little icky-feeling at first, but it also gave the city a sort of exotic, antique air.

photo from the internet

Our hotel was decorated to feel like a hotel out of the 1920s. Downstairs was a big, dimly-lit room with a stage and a 20s-esque atmosphere; the old fashion, elegant lamps, and posters of famous Jazz singers and big bands. There were some random manikins dressed to look like party goers to a jazzy speak easy.

Each room has a theme and ours was Ernest Hemingway as you can see by the paintings.

We spent our arrival day going to the train station and buying our next day ticket to Novi Sad, in northern Serbia. We also walked around Pest and over the Danube into Buda where we bought a apple strudel pastry from the famous tiny Ruszwarm cafe/ bakery. The cafe was small and looked more like an elderly lady's living room with lacy curtains and table cloths. The small display cases were crammed with all sorts of sweet delights. 

After the strudel we had fancy hot chocolates with lots of whipped cream in an artsy café where a man in ordinary clothes and ball cap was playing the piano. It was the perfect little spot as we were tired and it was cold outside.

We had dinner in Koleves, a restaurant in Pest with Hungarian and Jewish dishes. The atmosphere was funky and alternative. There was music downstairs and lots of hard rocker, alternative types were coming in and going downstairs.  I remember I had a delicious pickled cabbage side dish and lamb. Carlos had goulash. Dessert was something with apples and matzo. It was all very delicious!

Before we left the next day we explored Pest a bit more. We came across the Terror House, the former headquarters of the infamous secret police which is now a museum. The exhibits displayed videos and photos explaining the crimes and atrocities committed by fascist and Stalinist regimes. On the outside were small, circular framed photos of men who were killed during the 1956 uprisings. There were candles and flowers.

We noticed that many of the buildings in Pest were very dirty-looking, but also very majestic and grand. I liked to think of them as old, withered ladies who were once young, rich, and beautiful. Most buildings had very ornate, detailed moldings. But they were so blackened they looked like they’d been through a fire.

The streets still had old-timey lights on wires that were strung above and across the streets. It often felt like we were living in another time period.

Train to Novi Sad, Serbia

We passed lots of little train stations with crazy names like this one: Szabadszallas

Just like the metros in Budapest, our train to Novi Sad was also a relic from the past. Boxy, but with nicer and more comfortable chairs, it was somewhat of an upgrade. We mostly had our little cabin all to ourselves and sat right next to the windows. We slept, read, took photos, slept, watched the passing landscape, and finally got to Novi Sad in the evening. We had expected a small town. The guide book made it sound so quaint, but it was actually quite big and unattractive with big, ugly apartment buildings and very few trees. After figuring out what bus to take to the city center and where to catch it and where to get off, we made it to the old part of the city where our hotel was. At the bus stop, we met someone who drastically influenced our experience in this town. His name was Petar.

Petar, a 20 year old? student at the local University and native of Novi Sad, was eager to educate us about his city. Using his a translation website on his computer we were able to communicate. He brought us to our hotel and then suggested we have drinks at the bar around the corner. Wanting to appease our kind helper and being curious about the locals, we said yes and hauled our tired selves, luggage and all to the bar. He was well manicured with slicked gelled hair and blue eyes. He showed us his modeling pictures where it seemed shiny muscles were photo-shopped in. 

Well, Petar was a character. He informed us that we were sitting next to a table where one of Serbia’s most famous singers was sitting. Goga was her name. Look it up on youtube- http://youtu.be/J2OdwhD-5L4

She was busy chatting it up with some girlfriends so we didn’t get to ask her too much. We did tell her that we had just learned she was one of Serbia’s most famous singers and she corrected us, saying she was a famous singer of Yugoslavia. As a side note, she looked quite different in real life compared to woman in the video.  She did have gigantic breasts though.

While chatting with Petar on the computer we soon realized that there was no way for us to refer to him as ¨you¨. His keyboard didn’t include the letter y. So we had to refer to him in the third person, Does Petar like living in Novi Sad? It was all very surreal.

After convincing Petar that we were tired and needed to check in to the hotel, we rested in our communist era room with a window looking out on the central square. We met Petar later as he had told us he would give us a tour of the city. He offered it, but it felt more like he was asking us to please come with him.

He boldly told us to eat quickly as he didn’t have much time before he would have to catch his bus to go home. So we choked down some pasta, sausages, and salad and then began our epic journey all over Novi Sad. Due to his poor level of English we couldn’t quite understand everything he was telling us about all the old buildings and the history, but we developed a knack for gleaning what information we could and then sort of assuming or guessing the parts we didn’t. Lots of  ¨yes yes¨s and ¨okay¨s.

And he took us every where. Carlos and I were both tired, but we didn’t want to be rude and most of the time it was fairly interesting. We walked through the city’s park and Carlos was standing on the grass at one point and Petar told him to get off as the Park Police might have to enforce their anti- grass stomping rules. Around 11 pm we were still going further away from our hotel. Over the river and up through some dimly-lit streets where shady people were clustered in corners. We were a bit concerned and then saw other people around too. Couples strolling and two girls going for a run.

Petar informed us of the corrupt government officials, the druggie running for president, the different music groups, etc. He also told us about when NATO forces bombed the three bridges and an oil refinery in Novi Sad. He said he had learned how to swim under one of those bridges. When he told us this he seemed to become more animated and emotional.

After seeing the National Theater and nearly begging to go back to the hotel, we finally said our goodbyes.

The next day we were eager to move on to Sarajevo. 

We took a train from Novi Sad to Belgrade and from there a bus to Sarajevo. We waited in Belgrade for an hour before our bus left. What we saw of Belgrade was mostly ugly and treeless. It looked to be a depressing city.

In the train on the way there we met a young guy with shoulder length wavy hair and a big, round face. He seemed a little nerdy and quiet. He was a professional musician who played traditional Serbian flute music. We told him we had met Goga and asked him what he thought. He rolled his eyes and said that her music was what Serbians called ¨Pink Music¨: boring, electronic, poppy and lacking in depth or feeling.  He was a kind person and I wish we had asked him to play one of his many flutes he was carrying.

In the bus we passed through poor farmland before driving through the piney mountains. The forests looked beautiful, but it was night and I was distracted but the uncomfortable motion. The mountain portion of the ride was along twisty, up and down roads. Carlos got a little nauseous, but managed to keep from barfing.

Once in Sarajevo we took a cab to the hotel and didn’t leave until the morning we were so tired.




Sarajevo

The center of Sarajevo is divided into two parts: the old town with ancient mosques and narrow, stone streets between one story stone houses and the other side which has grand buildings built during the Austro-Hungarian period.

There mosques in the old town are modest and humble compared to the towering Cathedral in the other side of the city. Each mosque has a minaret next to it and from the top a loud speaker projects the call to prayer several times a day. Sometimes an actual person goes to the top and sings the call to prayer through his cupped hands or a loud speaker. I thought it was a beautiful sound- like a song.

Our first day in Sarajevo we discover the most important dish, Cevapi.

It’s basically a kind of pita bread stuffed with minced beef and lamb and raw onion. Cevapi is the Turkish word from ¨kebab¨ so I guess it was brought to Bosnia during the Ottoman occupation. It was tasty the first time around, but got old real fast as it was one of the only dishes served in the many restaurants in the Old Town.

to be continued...