Tram ride

Tram ride - I did the same thing in Dresden once. Then, as now, I got on a tram to see where it would take me. How I’ve travelled. The idea was to boldly strike into some undiscovered hinterland ignored by the Dulovics, Cooks, Dorlings and Kindersleys of this world and get a flavour of the “real city”. Still, the concept of the ‘real city’ remains exactly that - a “concept”, because I don’t think I’ll ever immerse myself in a place enough to become part of it. Even in High Town in sunny Luton; there are active, visible and no doubt enriching Polish, Irish and African communities, though my interactions are restricted to half a dozen ‘cosy’ retailers and a couple of other establishments (i.e. the pub), where things are as they always have been; white former working and new clerical middle class, middle aged and male.

Anyway, enough of that. Back to Belgrade. I hopped on a tram, exasperated with how long I had left in this damp place which still suggested some promise, but which I felt I’d exhausted as far as I could. At the end of the line was a district called Banovo Brdo. There was nothing there; Dulović and chums may or may not have been there, but if they had, they were absolutely justified in not writing it up. Banovo Brdo had a nice looking park and a fairly bustling shopping street, but nothing else - no lost bohemians, muttering radicals, pop-ups, neo-fascists, Communist kitsch or destitutes. I might as well have been in Uxbridge; pleasant enough but with nothing to commend it or remember later, except a decent public transport service.