Various mushroom tagliatelle

The Various Mushroom Tagliatelle concocted by the excellent fellow in the Italian restaurant on Svetog Save, near to Hotel Slavija in Belgrade, was intensely substantial. The food was stodgy, but extremely welcome, even if the novelty of trying to make it disappear soon wore off. I felt bad nodding assent but not taking up and having no intention to take up the elaborately expressed invitation to dine again the following night, given the restaurateur's pride in giving me food which, as he boasted, “didn’t have killing”. The combination of dining alone and feeling like a saturated puffball weren’t entirely unpleasant, but dissuaded me from returning.

Food and dining

Sick Nick - Montenegrin lager - palatable. Comfortably superior to the appalling rubber taste of Delhaize Premium (see below).

Delhaize Premium - on my first night in Sofia, I settled into the hotel with a self-catered meal and a couple of Delhaize Premiums, a pernicious Belgian pils which tastes of rubber. (The prevalent theme on Delhaize’s write ups on the ‘Ratebeer’ website is of cardboard; things must have taken an even worse turn in the factory since then, as mine were definitely ‘rubbery’). Opening a can of Delhaize Premium leads to loads of froth. Oddly, and somewhat worryingly, this frothing pauses. I thought it had stopped - it had stopped - but after sitting for a while, it started frothing again.

Šopska Salata - pulses will hardly be set alight by a conical pile of tomato and cucumber topped with grated traditional Bulgarian cheese, but in one of my three restaurant visits, this was actually pretty good. Enjoyed in a TexMex in Sofia.

Serbian drinking yoghurt - top marks; it may have looked wholly unappetising dumped in a steel jug at the Hotel Slavija, but it was great. Unsweetened and a good consistency. Hardly a ‘shoe in’ for gastronomic awards, but by some distance the best food I encountered in the Balkans.

Balkan dining

My first Adriatic meal was taken in a pleasant enough themed eatery in Bar called Las Ramblas, with steaks and cocktails named after famous landmarks in Barcelona; Steak Parc Guell, Cakey Familia and Pickpocket Risotto especially eye-catching. Las Ramblas also gave me the first hint of a music policy not solely focused on high octane, high drama disco. Well, so I thought, munching away on Roast Espanyols to the accompaniment of L Reed’s Perfect Day. I wondered if one of Lou’s edgier moments might be aired later or whether, as a Las Ramblas customer, I might even be treated to one of Lou’s accomplices or contemporaries, or perhaps a spiritual successor of some description. Hopes were dashed, however, when Reed was dumped in favour of the earnest squawking and tinny condensed evaporating drums of some unwelcome summertime smash.

Shopping

First, to declare my interests. I don’t like shopping. Never have. Not very much, anyway. I can while away a little time in music shops and a little more in bookshops, though these visits are few and far between. Shopping, however, is a necessity on a self-catering budget jape, and with other amusements thin on the ground and with the joy of the unknown in previously unchartered and what I hoped would be ‘excellent supermarkets’ it was an activity I was keener on than usual. So, rather than sulk, I entered places of procurement with a steady gaze and honourable intentions.

Food

Food was my main shopping item, rather unsurprisingly. In Bari, I went for convenience at the ferry terminal and ended up paying over the odds for a flat, warm sandwich (or ‘panini’), a bag of crisps, a beer and a near total invasion of my personal space by the food concession manager’s chums (left luggage, senior newsagent, crappy shop holder and other assorted semi-official, loud port people).

In Bar, Belgrade and Sofia I frequented ok-ish supermarkets. Nothing in any of the countries’ guidebooks suggested memorable cuisine, especially for vegetarians, although I humbly offer the following observations and recommendations:

Dried bread and perma-cheese roll - holidays don’t start until I’ve assembled one of these horrors from hurriedly bought convenience ingredients. In Bar, my moisture-free lunch attracted one of a number of stray dogs hanging out near the promenade between the main drag and shoreline. I was able, however, to exit without attracting excessive canine interest.

Receipts

Steam locomotives

Trains from top right to bottom right; then the green one bottom left and than middle left:

Locomotive FS 740, Pescara
Tito's Blue Train locomotive, Belgrade
47.05 tank engine, Sofia
"Sutorman", Borsig 7610/1910, Bar

More tourism

Sofia doesn’t appear to have quite the same recent historical turbulence, but neither city has packaged an identity for selling on; neither, therefore, feels ‘touristy’. In the UK, we’ve had centuries of political and social consensus allowing national and cultural obsessions to develop and inform the navel gazing which has spawned a collective narcissism and pop culture, and a hothouse for attractions to erupt with all manner of trivial themes. So there. In ‘not so well off’ economies and in cities recovering from purges and invasions, tourism struggles or simply doesn’t exist.

A city without tourism is easier to imagine than to experience. Belgrade’s fort is spectacular, but the Tesla Museum comes closest to being a bona fide ‘tourist attraction’, complete with interactive exhibits and Tesla groupies (once the tour finished, the Museum’s four smallish rooms were assailed by a lone snapper, swooping display cases with tablet rigidly held out like a pillow ready to tackle a bloodless, tough old relative threatening to re-write their will). But it seems very odd in this accommodating and communicative stance.

The other odd thing about the Tesla Museum? It’s located in Belgrade for no other reason than Tesla was, by birth, Serbian. The inventor’s effects (including, somewhat mawkishly, his ashes) have been brought back to the city, and, err, that’s it. He apparently visited Belgrade once, but did none of his sciencey magic here, or anything else remembered by the museum or biographies. Until the museum was erected in rememberance.

Examples of tourism in Belgrade and Sofia:

(Bar actually may have a tourist winner in Stari Bar - its old town. I didn’t visit…. I did, however, visit Café Mozart - very nice too - though the only thing I could find linking Mozart and Montenegro was another Café Mozart, up the coast in Budva).

Belgrade has a fair few attractions, though most of these - including the Contemporary Art Gallery and National Museum - were closed.

Tourism

Generally speaking, “tourism” receives a bad press. It’s similar to being a Goth or voting Tory; a fair few do it, but usually do so with a sense of shame. I suppose the stereotype tourist is a brain-wiped member a descending crowd of Japanese or Americans with waddling, pastel coloured clothing, bum bags and noisy cameras consuming everything in its path.

Money extracting traps are, quite understandably, set for this type of person. As a result, and because of the ‘tourist’ stigma, those who see themselves as more esoteric or spiritual travellers are often reticent about activities which, however shabby and clichéd might, nonetheless, lead to learning about places they visit. But if ‘tourism’ includes visiting museums, historical sites, galleries, churches and the like, I’m “in”. Scorning the tatty obtrusive elements of overbearing tourism is one thing, but losing all its context and benefits seems reckless.

While every culture has a history, it doesn’t follow that every country or culture has an appetite for, or expertise in telling its stories. Or, indeed, in selling or ramming them down visitors’ throats. The UK is brazenly adept at wringing every last penny out of such opportunities. The same could be said for most Western Europe countries. In Blighty, we promote and people flock to such unpromising places as Madame Tussauds and Tower Bridge to have their wallets lightened and pictures taken next to cheerfully sanitised, blatantly odd icons. Making very little go an extremely long way seems to be the modus operandi behind the successes of contemporary phenomena like the Harry Potter Experience, or, from further afield, other novel attractions like museums dedicated to quilts (York), chips (Bruges) or barbed wire (Kansas).

At the time of visiting, neither Belgrade nor Sofia seemed geared up for tourists. Belgrade is still recovering from multiple invasions; it’s telling that among the city’s biggest draws are NATO’s 1999 bomb ruins, which look eerie in an otherwise slightly bland but perfectly pleasant part of the city.