Travel writer Laura Sanders shares her experience of joining a group of fellow solo female travellers for our 7-day multi-activity holiday in Serbia, which launched earlier this year. Read about her most memorable moments and anecdotes from the trip below – including how a mountain ranger saved her life from an ancient Balkan ailment with a hairdryer and a pair of socks.
In the lead up to my week-long adventure in Western Serbia, I was met with a lot of ‘is it safe’s?’ and ‘you’re braver than me’s’. For many who were around in the 1990s (I was teething), mention of any former Yugoslavian country conjures up harrowing images from the six o’clock news. And while I’m not naive enough to think all is completely rosy now, it’s evident from past trips to the Balkans that life has moved on by a whole generation, and people aren’t their politics. Having ticked off Croatia and Bosnia, I was keen to experience more of this unique region, and so jumped at the chance to join Undiscovered Balkans on their inaugural tour in Serbia.
From hiking through lush mountains and kayaking rushing rivers to sharing laughter over rakija with locals who would have gladly given us the shirts off their backs (and socks off their feet, more on that later) — my personal and professional mission was to override these old memories with fresh images of Serbia, its bucolic beauty and warm, genuine people. Well, mission accomplished.
A walk on the wild side
The first morning, my comrades and I (a group of intrepid women aged between 29 and 65) were whisked straight out of Belgrade for a river hike on the Gradac, one of Serbia’s cleanest waterways and an example of the striking karst landscapes I’d see throughout the week. I felt like a child again wading through the streams and feeling the soft river bed squelch beneath my feet, spotting trout and the occasional snake (harmless).
We came to a wild swimming spot where our guide Alex did a fantastic Tarzan impression as he swung into the water from a rope swing and I followed, rather ungraciously. By this point, this group of loose women had clocked that Serbians shared the British sense of humour and wasted no time in cranking up the banter with Alex (poor guy), even calling ourselves Alex’s Angels.
Feeling refreshed and ready for some food, Alex and his angels hiked the rest of the way through the woods and out to a horse ranch where a home cooked lunch of trout, salad, fresh bread and an abundance of other goodies awaited us. Horses trotted in the field as we munched. This was agritourism at its finest and we were only just getting started.
Trešnica Gorge
We arrived in a traditional farming village in Trešnica Gorge tired but eager to meet the family who’d be hosting us for the next few days. Home to just a few hundred people, the village sits on the frontier of the Dinaric Alps and is characterised by cattle grazing in wildflower meadows and dense forests.
For the next couple of nights, we’d bed down in a cosy cabin just up the hill from the family home, where we’d congregate for meals. Climbing a wooden ladder up to bed, late night giggles with my roommates and surrounded by the outdoors – it was like being a girl scout again, only with booze.
We were truly integrated into the family. When it was time for dinner, we ambled down the hill and followed the smell of bread and stewed meat the rest of the way like a child returning home for supper. We ate in the family’s dining room where a young Vuk, aged three, played with his toys while his mother and grandmother prepared dinner. Great grandfather, Luca, joined us at the table, taking on the unofficial role of rakija pourer at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Coffee and rakija for breakfast every morning had seen him age well into his 80’s, but I hadn’t got the hardy insides for the Serbian farmers’ breakfast and so settled for some homemade nettle tea with my morning sustenance. Luca was never seen without his partisan hat and he was the type of person you’d find yourself laughing along with despite the language barrier.
Mountains, rivers and lakes
The next hike was on dry land to enjoy a myriad of viewpoints around the Trešnica Gorge. We rambled through dense forests of black pine, ash, beech and junipers, through wildflower meadows and past farmers going about their day. Not one other tourist was in sight. We were visiting in May, but even then it’s one of the country’s best kept secrets. In fact, it’s the first time I’ve had a tour guide ask us not to tag our location on social media in some places to prevent overtourism, which I highly respect them for. The highlight had to be watching the rare griffon vulture soaring right in front of us from Alex’s secret birdwatching spot – definitely one to keep off Instagram.
Our walk back to base was through the village, where one elderly couple who rarely see outsiders passing by insisted we come in for a drink. Within minutes, their whole pantry was laid out on the table: chocolate biscuits, sweets, little mini rolls sort of packaged cakes – it reminded me of visiting my grandparents. Tea, coffee and rakija (of course) were on the go just as quickly. Their kitchen, lounge and bedroom was all one room and the walls adorned with photos of children and grandchildren all grown up and moved away. Cooking smells filled the warm space as rain poured outside (the downside to shoulder season, showers).
By the end of the afternoon, we had done just about enough hiking to burn off breakfast, ready for the feast (and Luca’s rakija) that awaited us.
The following morning, we kayaked down the Drina to the infamous Floating House in the nearby town of Bajina Basta, a pretty little town popular among locals who come to see the attraction or holiday in one of the 21st century floating holiday homes on its shores.
My lucky escape from promaja
It’s a bit of a weather lottery in Serbia in May. It can be gloriously sunny with highs in the mid 20’s or, as we experienced for a couple of days, cool and showery. Considering the Tribuca
gorge we were due to go canyoning in the following morning had filled with fresh, cold rain water and I’d been chilly enough sitting dry in a kayak the day before, I opted instead to hike up the nearby Bobija mountain with half of the group while Alex took the dare devils canyoning. I didn’t regret my choice as it gave me plenty of opportunities to use my camera. We clambered to far-reaching vistas across the valleys, stopping to admire wildlife like salamanders and munching on wild strawberries.
But even then, I hadn’t escaped the cold well enough for one mountain ranger’s liking. We’d gotten a bit wet at the end of our excursion and I’d clumsily stepped in a deep puddle, soaking my feet through. One of the rangers, who the locals call Father Peter (no religious references), invited us into the mountain hut for a beer while we waited for the canyoners to pick us up when he noticed me sitting beside the fire in my wet boots. He gasped and leapt into action, as though I’d gone into cardiac arrest.
He was deeply concerned that I would catch promaja (like the British saying “you’ll catch your death”). My life in peril, he hurried off and returned with a hairdryer and a pair of his socks, which he insisted I put on while he dried mine. So there I sat, beer in hand wearing socks and sliders five sizes too big, while a man dried my socks and stoked up the fire (my other half got a lesson in how to treat his woman like a princess when I returned home).
Thanks to Father Peter, I lived to tell the tale and we moved on to Tara National Park, home to forests which could give Canada a run for its money.
Full circle
I stood at Banjska Stena viewpoint there, probably the most touristy activity we’d done all week (minus the Šargan Eight train ride to follow), as I had done some eight months ago when I had been on assignment in Bosnia and hopped across the border for the day. I’d now experienced life and travelling on both sides of this stretch of the Drina River, a still, turquoise thread meandering through the canyon beneath me. The place that had been a mystery to me back then was now another piece to the Balkan puzzle unlocked. I pondered this as I gazed across at Bosnia on the other side, where the afternoon call to prayer started echoing across. It was incredibly peaceful and I wanted anything but to return back to the city and be plugged back into modern life.
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