Front view of one of the '60s' Bloks in New Belgrade, Serbia.
“I guess it doesn’t want to be pretty. It’s just massive, powerful, and it doesn’t give a fuck what you think about it. I can respect that, even if I don’t like looking at it.” anonymous Serbian friend of Darmon Richter, the Bohemian Blog
Belgrade was set to be the penultimate chapter of my Balkan journey, the climax of all my Brutalist obsessions, where I would summon the nerve to confront the darkest, most brooding and towering socialist suburbs. The Bloks of New Belgrade had long loomed in my imagination, their stark, monochromatic façades the iconic images of any Brutalist reference I had ever seen. At last, I was preparing to step into the infamous Novi Beograd, or New Belgrade, as it was christened when these monolithic apartment complexes first arose.
I had already stumbled upon unexpected gems of Socialist apartment Brutalism, often softened by Modernist touches and intricate geometric patterns, in Tirana, Skopje, Sofia and Nis. Yet I knew Belgrade would be different. Here, the concrete would not simply shelter, it would dominate, impress and perhaps even intimidate.
Blokovi at ground level.
Most visitors to Belgrade seek out its ancient gates and fortresses with Roman ruins dating back to 3rd century BC, and there is only cult interest in visiting the parallel city across the river. Modern by comparison, the city opposite the old town was consequently named Novi Beograd (New Belgrade) when building was complete in the early 1970s. When construction of New Belgrade began in 1948, the area designed for the future urban expansion was divided in 72 blocks; these blocks came to be known colloquially as Blokovi (The Blocks).
Another amazing Spomenik discovery on the New Belgrade side of the river.
As a trendy left-winger, I had always wanted to believe that these apartment blocks, considered ugly by many and often dismissed by guides as a ‘soulless concrete sham,’ were in fact fully functioning, environmentally friendly, and appealing to people from all walks of life. I was therefore delighted to discover that planned cities such as New Belgrade provided kindergartens to care for the children of workers, including women, and that there was a canteen on every floor. In many socialist countries, such as Lithuania, shuttle buses even transported workers to their workplaces, as they were not expected to own cars. Looking back at the postwar 1940s, it is easy to see how these new cities were regarded as Socialist Utopias.
With only three days in the massive city, I had inadvertently procrastinated and left visiting the Blokovi until my last day. This added the extra stress of making sure I returned to my apartment in time to catch my bus to Novi Sad for the four-day Exit Festival. Reaching New Belgrade was easy enough if you knew how to navigate public transport. I had found this rather challenging, frequently being waved away when trying to purchase a tram ticket from the main station. Having already exhausted my private tour budget on another excursion, during which I visited a Spomenik or two while sitting in the front seat of a genuine original Yugo, I decided, out of principle and in the spirit of budget travel, to take the plunge and venture into the unknown, asking the public for help.
I headed to a tram stop where I thought the tram to New Belgrade might depart. Unsure which side of the road to stand on, I asked an innocent-looking teenager for guidance. She chirpily replied in perfect English that she was also going to New Belgrade and generously invited me to walk with her to another tram stop. We talked the entire way, and when I asked if I could pay once on the tram, she replied, ‘Yes, but nobody does.’ I guiltily fare-evaded for the next half hour, absorbing the transition from the crowded, bustling streets of central Belgrade to the surprising spaciousness and calm of New Belgrade.
The iconic Hotel Yugoslavia, viewed from the tram.
I eventually worked out that I was heading towards the renowned Blocks 61-63, which were previously the domain of the Yugoslav army. These blocks: Bežanijski blokovi are also known as "Oficirski blokovi" (or, in English, "The Officers' blocks") Consequently, a large portion of the inhabitants of the Bežanijski blokovi are the families of the retired army officers who bought out their apartments from the Army. Most aerial views of New Belgrade focus on the 60s blocks because of their imposing and rigid geometric presence. From the air they appear gigantic but at ground level there is actually plenty of space between buildings, nothing like the high rises of New York. The population is quite diverse with artists, intellectuals and bus drivers living in the same building as doctors and lawyers. The Serbian band Riblja Čorba wrote the song Neću da vidim u Bloku 65 (‘I don’t want to live in Bloc 65’) but for me, rather than urban ghetto, I found Blokovi a peaceful suburbia with evidence of parks and only half an hour by public transport to the main centre of Belgrade. I would prefer to live there and commute to Belgrade proper than live in the crowded city across the river. And the excellent Museum of Contemporary art is also on this side.
On the way to Blokovi, communist high rise with Exit Festival poster.
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