Kate Hennessy : Freelance Writer

Sarajevo: October 23, 2008

A vivid orange slice of Sarajevo rooftops flashes into view, below us in the valley. Then it’s gone. After six hours on the bus, encircled by the misty blues and greens of the gentle Bosnian countryside, Sarajevo is bright and arresting, a shot to the arm.

First glimpse of Sarajevo; it came out of nowhere

The lethargy of bus travel suddenly shed, I crane to see it again. A few seconds later, the rooftops are back, multitudinous, and Sarajevo stays in sight as the bus continues to wind down the mountain pass. It came from nowhere and now it is everywhere – rooftops gathered in the valley and crawling up the mountain sides towards the bus: houses everywhere.

It is like the others, a simple house clad with utilitarian, light grey cement and a terracotta tiled roof. One of the first houses on the hill as we wind down. The side that faces the road, the entire square of it, is riddled with tiny, ragged holes. It flashes into sight just briefly and, like the first glimpse of Sarajevo, imparts its image deeply before it’s gone.

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October 24, 2008

At Ostrog Monastary last night I ate a grape from a vine at Upper Cave Church. Prior to trekking up, I’d heard women pilgrimaged here to eat the grapes which are supposed to bring fertility. On seeing the vine, I nearly believed it. If ever there were a magic grapevine, this was it.

Ostrog is a major Balkan pilgrimage site in Montenegro because of St Basil. Things got interesting after the (already very good, very devout) Basil died in 1671. His body had not decomposed after eight days and a grapevine began to grow above Upper Cave Church, at far too high an altitude. People with various maladies began to miraculously heal. Apparently St Basil’s body remains under a shroud in Lower Cave Church.

Ostrog Monastary – built into a sheer vertical cliff in Montenegro, divided into Upper Cave and Lower Cave churches.

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October 17, 2008: Budapest

I woke up on Day One at in Budapest feeling totally irrepressible. No-one in the world to answer to, except myself. Could this possibly be the first time I’d ever had that sensation? I’ve always dwelled deep in a pack of friends and family, so I wasn’t sure how traveling solo would pan out. But if the elation I felt that first morning in Budapest was anything to go by, things were gonna be just fine! I had a guide book, a day pack, some cheap maps and a blue sky to wander beneath. I’d stopped feeling as though I was disrespecting the locals if I spoke politely in English to those who understood me. Life felt so sweet and simple.

Pest-Buda cafe

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October 20, 2008: Novi Sad, Serbia

Today I walked across the Varadin Bridge in Novi Sad. As far as bridges go, it’s nothing amazing. But it’s a moving experience all the same because it’s not the original Varadin Bridge. The original was bombed by NATO on April 1, 1999, as part of Operation Allied Forces during the Kosovo War.

Varadin Bridge, Novi Sad

The day after Varadin Bridge was destroyed in 1999, I turned 22. I had been accepted into Poli Sci at Berkeley so I was living back at my parents’ house and working double shifts as a waitress to save money. I’d hurtle up and down the Great Western Highway seven days a week in my rusty old Dato, immersed in dreamy thoughts of California.

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Belgrade: October 22, 2008

‘Beo’ means white; ‘grad’ means city. White city. And I was lost again.This time, worse than Budapest. About 3 hours worse. It was the Serbian Cyrillic alphabet on the street signs that really did me in. Hungarian was hard enough.

Part of the problem is that it’s a city with so much raw energy I kept losing focus. It’s true Beograd isn’t beautiful. Neither is it white. But it’s got incredible life force and, if you’re feeling resilient and energetic, it’s a fascinating place to wander. The outdoor cafes swarm with people-watchers at all hours drinking coffee / pivo, and the volume of people on streets rivals New York. I only spent two days in Belgrade but I’d love to return.

I went out with some fellow travellers on the second evening and we ordered a litre bottle of Montenegrin wine (which came with a serrated beer-lid top!). It cost about $4. As we returned to our hostel at about 11, the city was filling and filling. Every time I woke up in the night, I’d part my curtains and look down onto a street scene that, but for the darkness, could have been the middle of the day. If I do return to Belgrade, I’ll absorb the city by night.

Here’s my time in Belgrade in pictures…

Tito's grave

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