Back to the Balkans Ten years after the Dayton Accord, Simon Calder journeys through Serbia and Montenegro, and wonders how such a beautiful region could have been riven by so bloody a conflict
Published: 18 February 2006 First, you get peace: the final day of the Rome talks that finalised the application of the Dayton Accord was 10 years ago today. Next, you get reconciliation and reconstruction - though looking at some of the shattered cities in the former Yugoslavia, both will take a while yet. And then you get Deep Purple. On Monday, the geriatric giants of rock will play Belgrade Arena. In the 1960s, when Deep Purple were in the vanguard of progressive rock, Yugoslavia was a remarkably cohesive and - for a Communist country - tolerant place. "There is among her newly integrated people an air of enthusiastic adventure which is somehow infectious," explained the BP Touring Guide to Europe at the time. It also asserted that "a holiday in Yugoslavia with rod and gun can be extremely rewarding," but I chose not to test that claim. Instead, I checked my bag to ensure that I had "no more than 20 records to accompany a portable gramophone" (as my guidebook advised) and set off on a journey through the country formerly known as Yugoslavia. Mist, not smoke, rose from the water at the confluence of the Danube and the Sava rivers. This is the point where the biggest city in the Balkans began. Belgrade's origins lie in a Celtic settlement on a bluff with superb views across the plains. Today, the horizon is scarred with chimneys and tower blocks, but the drama of the location remains. Beneath the ridge, skeletal trees accompany the Sava to the point where it merges into, and amplifies, the artery of eastern Europe. As the Danube continues its stately progress towards the Black Sea, you can understand why the Romans, Slavs, Turks and Austrians took turns to command these heights. Nowadays, the gently decaying stratum of history known as Belgrade fortress, draped upon the high ground, is the preserve of tourists. Or, more accurately, a tourist. His name: Nick Snaith, a retired teacher from Tyneside. On a five-day journey through the former Yugoslavia, Nick was the only genuine tourist of any nationality that I encountered. Sure, you hear plenty of foreign accents and English speech. Invariably, though, they turn out to belong to people who are helping to repair the physical damage from the grotesque civil war and (even more challenging) resolve the complexity of conflicts in the region. To explore an intriguing and often beautiful corner of Europe in splendid isolation, go now. More pragmatically, you will find extraordinary value for money, especially in Serbia. Prices for everything from beer to beds are lower than in any other European country. And, from the old lady in the grounds of Belgrade fortress who sells souvenirs (but presumably only when Nick and I are around), you can get an exchange rate of around 250 billion dinars to the pound. She sells fiscally worthless banknotes that are valuable in understanding the recent history of this benighted city. In the economic cataclysm that accompanied the painful, protracted collapse of Yugoslavia, inflation was at one stage increasing by one percentage point every half-hour. The climax of this financial frenzy was the 500bn-dinar note, which was worth about £3 when it was printed (but half as much the following day). Thanks to tourists keen to possess a banknote that reads like a very long and very odd phone number, these bills are now recovering in value: the going rate is €3 (£2.20). You can spend the real thing in the fancy shops along the Kneza Mihaila, or in the cafés that face each other across the cobbles of Skadarlija, the old Turkish quarter. But I had been tipped off about a traditional restaurant called "?". Just as I was wondering about the usefulness of my rusty Russian in asking, "Can you please tell me how to get to '?'?", a young woman came up and asked, with a smile and in excellent English, if she could help. Every local I met was helpful and friendly, in a manner that seems to elude many Slavs from the more northerly lands. Anyway, I was soon ensconced in a cosy, smoky den, tucking into a dish that was a lot less mysterious than the restaurant's name: freshly grilled kebabs served with a salad that whispered of spring. And that name? The tavern used to be called "By the Cathedral", but when the Orthodox Church objected to the irreverent reference, the landlord responded by changing the name to "?". The notion of "?" pops up all over Belgrade, and indeed the Balkans. How can a beautiful, blessed and multicultural region have been riven by so bloody a conflict? When will the contorted wreckage from Nato air strikes on the city be made good? And where's that Marshal Tito? Only the last question is easy to answer. The late leader of Yugoslavia rests in a hillside mausoleum in the southern suburb of Dedinje, close to the Red Star stadium. But these days, the name of the man who held the nation together for half a lifetime has been more or less erased; to see Tito's resting place, you have to ask for the "House of Flowers". As the arrows on the pathway testify, in the Eighties strict controls were needed to manage the thousands of people paying their respects to the man. In 2006, things are looking busy when Nick and I turn up on the same day. A red carpet leads to the plain white marble tomb, inscribed Josip Broz Tito. He was more equal than others, as witnessed by the nearby museum pieces: his personal Rolls-Royce, for example. A white shirt is embroidered with the adoration of the Slovenians - who proceeded to shake off their association with the fragile federation, and remained on the sidelines as their former countrymen tore up the map and the lives of millions, before eventually throwing in their lot with the EU. The fragmentation continues, with talks this week seeking a solution to the Kosovo "?" - which goes, approximately, now that the once-oppressed Albanians have the upper hand, what shall we do about the now-oppressed Serb enclaves? It looks as if Serbia could be left with only Montenegro in the same team. Yet the 45-minute flight from Belgrade to Tivat, on the coast, takes you to a location that barely feels like the same planet, let alone the same country. Your dinars - even new ones - are not welcome here, and instead you must spend euros. In the time it takes to reach cruising altitude and immediately start descending, winter in the Serbian capital is displaced by spring on the Adriatic. Tivat is nothing special - though the locals I spoke to claim it will be, just as soon as Ryanair starts flying in from London. And when might that be? When we become independent. In diplomatic quarters, that could be as early as the summer. Meanwhile, an impressionistically hazy sun filters down on to the ancient walled town of Kotor, at the head of a mighty fjord. The exact geopolitical circumstance seems unimportant as you ride aboard an absurdly cheap bus through a warm version of Norway, swerving around a fjord with water as smooth and silver as mercury. The serene surface is interrupted only by islands so delicate that they look like skimming stones frozen in time, often decorated with a dainty church. The further south you go, the more the grip of Serbian orthodoxy (in both senses) seems to relax. At Sveti Stefan, the old monastery is a fancy hotel, while nearby construction of new apartments and hotels is rattling along faster than a Montenegran bus. "Russian mafia money," one local assured me, before prophesying another Balkan war, involving Kosovo, Albania and Montenegro. As you near the Albanian frontier, minarets start to appear, pointing elegantly towards a benign sky. Palms start to jostle with pines for a patch of ground, though without the violence witnessed in recent territorial battles. * On the outskirts of Bar (a town, not a pub), my hitch-hiking was accompanied by the ringing of church bells and the calls to prayer. With the conjunction of mountains, quaint towns and exquisite coastline, Montenegro seemed to share nothing in common with Belgrade - except the kindness of its people. At the final frontier town of Ulcinj, I found a port that was doing an excellent impression of a backwater. I negotiated a lift to the border, but before the "taxi driver" (that is a fluid term hereabouts) would take me there, he insisted on providing me with lunch. "For everyone who likes something a little out of the ordinary and seeks a refreshing change of scene," was the BP Touring Guide's summary at the time when Deep Purple were given to wrecking their equipment on stage. Thankfully, both the band and the former Yugoslavia appear to be getting past their self-destructive phase.While Monday night's gig in Belgrade is a tribute to the survival instincts of rock's dinosaurs, a visit to the Balkans this spring provides something more profound: a testament to the endurance of the human spirit - plus the chance to become a half-trillionaire. TRAVELLER'S GUIDE GETTING THERE The writer paid £237 for a flight on Austrian Airlines (0870 124 2625; www.austrian airlines.co.uk) from Heathrow via Vienna to Belgrade, returning from Tirana, Albania, through Opodo (www.opodo.co.uk). The main airline serving Belgrade is JatAirways (020-7629 2007; www.jatlondon.com), with six flights a week from Heathrow; British Airways (0870 850 9 850; www.ba.com) has three flights. Other airlines offering connecting flights to the region include Lufthansa (0870 837 7747; www.lufthansa.com) and Czech Airlines (0870 444 3747; www.czechairlines.co.uk) GETTING AROUND The rail network is limited, and the main form of public transport in the region is the bus. Fares are low; a two-hour, 100km journey costs the equivalent of around £5. Flights between Belgrade and Tivat operate once or twice a day; there are more frequent links to the unappealing Montenegran capital, Podgorica. STAYING THERE Star Hostel, Kolarceva 3, Belgrade (00 381 63 196 7961). Beds cost 920 dinars (£7) including breakfast and unlimited internet use. MORE DETAILS Tourist information in the region is sketchy. Bradt Travel Guides (01753 893444; www.bradtguides.com) has cornered the market in guidebooks, with a city guide to Belgrade and country guides to Serbia and Montenegro. http://travel.independent.co.uk/europe/article346080.ece Serbian News Network - SNN [email protected] http://www.antic.org/
