Arriving in Serbia by car, you might pass half-destroyed buildings – silent reminders of a recent conflict. It’s a country a little wounded, but striving to rebuild.
Loud and quiet at the same time. Humble and tough. And yet, incredibly hospitable.
You can look out from your hotel’s attic window, with a view of the entire city. Listen to music drifting from afar. Watch birds fly over the rooftops.
In Belgrade, the night begins late – in clubs, bars, on the banks of the Danube and Sava. Life here has its own rhythm.
In Serbia, everything carries weight. Even people’s smiles can carry an echo of the past.
It’s hard to feel lighthearted here – and it’s no surprise. It’s a country that has been through a lot.
Coffee is drunk slowly, often in silence. Rakija – strong, homemade – is served at the table with bread, cheese, and endless stories.
An old man sits nearby with a guitar. He quietly strums. Nothing needs to be said – everything has already been said.
Serbia has a Balkan rhythm – a bit wild, a bit romantic. The streets are alive, the walls speak. You see ruined facades, but also freshly painted windows. Past and present – together, without pretense.
And when you’re there, you feel a bit like you’ve come to visit a grandmother you haven’t seen in a long time.
It’s a country of people who live with passion – they cook, play, laugh, and reminisce with the same intensity.
