Bar to Belgrade: Smoke, Steel, and the Balkan Line

Mountain views in Montenegro from the window of the Bar to Belgrade train.

Part 1

Way back in the 1990s, with postmodern nonchalance, a sulky Noel Gallagher rejected the chance for his band Oasis to appear on the seminal and edgy sound track to the film Trainspotting because – drumroll: he thought it was about trainspotting. Anyone who has seen the film, danced to the soundtrack or clawed their way through the 344 pages of phonetically written Scottish dialect will understand that far than literally addressing its title, Trainspotting is instead a musing on escapism, drug addiction and life’s choices. But would it have been so uncool if the film was actually about trains? With a resurgence in interest in trains and train travel on tv and travel blogs why then, is trainspotting and train journeying still regarded by many as only for nerdy outsiders?

One of the best subsequent films which actually does use trainspotting as both subject and verb is The Station Agent. This film playfully uses the theme of trainspotting as a structure that the protagonist, Fin, played by Peter Dinklage in his breakout role returns to when there is little else to focus on or even live for. Around halfway through the film, whilst trying his best to be invisible to prying eyes, Fin is noticed by the much taller character Joe, not for his short stature but out of curiosity for his patience at waiting and watching for infrequent passing trains. Played by Bobby Cannavale, Joe’s world is suddenly open to the world of trainspotting; like fishing, he is happy to wait for the moment to happen although he fills the space and solitude Fin was seeking with his small talk banter and endless questions. But the subplot isn’t the trains or the act of trainspotting, but about how we may all be flawed or imperfect but can redeem ourselves though the act of friendship and the simple joys of life.

Although not quite of the painted model train and train club obsession myself, I recently caught the train bug however, whilst researching for my Balkans journey and, after watching a 3.5 hour Cabview of Bar to Belgrade on Youtube on a rainy weekend, I knew it was a must do. Unlike the swish and efficient Bernina Express trip I experienced in Switzerland in 2018, this trip was going to be longer – 11 hours if on time, and from most of the blogs I read, this was rare. It was dubious as to how to actually procure a ticket, not all staff spoke English, the toilets were third world standard and catering facilities were limited. Windows may or may not open and you may be lucky with air conditioning (important as I was travelling in Summer). My desire to experience this trip dictated the structure of the final third of my trip – from Mostar in Bosnia and Herzegovina to Bar, Montenegro followed by the Bar to Belgrade train, finishing, after three days in Belgrade with a bus to Novi Sad to go out with a bang with the well patronised four day music festival, Exit.

One advantage of solo travel is that there is no one to question you or make sure you visit the main tourist sites. I was free to spend as long or as little as I wanted in each destination, and to bypass some ‘must-see’ cities. Thus, on my commute from Mostar (Bosnia + Herzogovina) to Bar, I watched on as the evening sun hit the gorgeous sea in Kotor, the jewel in Montenegro’s coast and the bus passed it by, having dropped off the majority of the tourist passengers on the bus.

Evening view of the Montenegrin Adriatic between Kotor and Bar.

I wasn’t stopping in Kotor or even Budva, considered the second best beach destination. My journey was concluding in Bar, the grittier neighbour of the more popular coastal towns. It was the last stop on an eight-hour bus trip, and by now I had grown accustomed to long journeys, so the length didn’t bother me. As we departed Mostar along the winding mountain road, I sat rapturously glued to the window, taking in the bucolic views as the bus wound slowly around the hairpin bends. Unlike me, most of the locals seemed unmoved by the spectacular scenery, far more interested in sleep or scrolling through their phones.

Ruin view on the bus between Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina and Bar, Montenegro.

I pondered how the forthcoming Bar to Belgrade train trip could possibly eclipse what I had just seen, with castle ruins, lush green fields and craggy vertical mountains that the bus slid between to pass the time.

Upon my eventual arrival in Bar, the final few passengers and I disembarked, and I set off along the hot, uneven road towards my guest house. Most of my accommodation so far had been booked through HomeExchange or Airbnb, but Bar had drawn a blank with few options for budget travellers. Although the walk was meant to take only fifteen minutes, it somehow felt much longer. I vaguely remembered reading reviews that mentioned that the last part of the walk was along a dirt road but had not given it much thought at the time.

In reality, the entire route was industrial, featuring a narrow footpath barely a metre from a busy highway, where I found myself jostling for space between speeding cars and overgrown thorny wild roses, luggage in hand. When I finally reached what must have been the dirt road, I still doubted that Google Maps was leading me to a guest house, especially after passing an industrial bin smouldering with burning rubbish.

For context, many parts of the Balkans are quite literally littered with rubbish. As recycling has yet to take hold, everything is thrown together, and it is common to see people, often Roma, sifting through the metal bins in search of cardboard or recyclable cans that might be sold or reused in some way.

The industrial view from my budget guest house in Bar, Montenegro.

At last I saw what appeared to be the place in question, according to the picture on google. There was some sign of life in the form of a red faced beer drinking man sitting at the table out the front; when I asked him if this was Guest House Lalic, showing him the picture, he spoke no English but gestured for me to go next door. Puzzled, I stood next door but was still sure he was actually at the place I was looking for. With no signs and no other people around (they were probably escaping the heat and the burning bin), I could do nothing but wait. Eventually an enthusiastic elderly man followed by a woman, neither speaking English, emerged from a first floor room and welcomed me in. Using an online translator I learnt I was about to be ‘upgraded’ to an upstairs apartment, away from the Czech couple downstairs (the red faced one) and to my delight, it was air conditioned. The view was industrial and unfortunately I could not enjoy the balcony due to the smoking bin but the price was good: 29 euros or AUD$47 for two nights (by contrast, two nights at the iconic Princess Hotel, with beach rather than bin views cost around 200 euros per night). I love a bargain.

With only one full day out in Bar the following day, I had to be strategic. To reach the renowned Old Town would mean more than a one hour walk, normally doable, but the road was not pedestrian friendly and the temperature was soaring. It was time to try my taxi skills, by confidently enquiring as to the price of the journey rather than waiting at the end and potentially being overcharged. 5 euros each way was money well spent when it meant that I could enjoy both the old town sites and then downtown, walking the 30 minute journey back to the guest house in the evening after enjoying beer and a meal with a beach view.

Viaduct view from Old Town, Montenegro.

Whilst I didn’t visit the so-called oldest olive tree in the world, but I did stumble upon a magnificent sight: a glistening gold-domed Orthodox church, brand new yet adorned with traditional painted icons lining its interior. Another highlight was King Nikola’s Palace, built in 1885, which, despite Google claiming it was closed, turned out to be very much open for visitors.

Beach view from King Nikola’s 1885 Palace, Bar, Montenegro.

Church of St. Jovan Vladimir, a Serbian Orthodox Church, built in 2016.

Inside the Church of St. Jovan Vladimir.

With plenty of socialist architecture on the way home, and no luggage to compete with the thorny roses on the footpath, the 30 minute walk home was easy. Picking up on the orange blinds of the apartments was another, quite different church. Though not as grand or imposing as St. Jovan Vladimir, the Catholic Cathedral of St. Peter glowed beautifully in the light, its warm orange tones catching the sun in a stunning display.

The Cathedral of St Peter's.

I also needed to purchase my Bar to Belgrade ticket which meant another industrial walk past the bus station to the train station nearby. In a case of ‘computer says no’, two middle aged women grappled with the computers trying to work out how to print my ticket. Eventually the ticket details were sketchily filled in by hand. Less reassuring was their answer that there was no first class. Having read that only in first class do you get air conditioning and seated toilets, I mentally and physically prepared for 11 or more hours of discomfort.

As I bade farewell to my Montenegrin host the next morning, I thought it fitting to offer a small gift; the air-conditioned room had provided two well-rested nights, even if the sheets resembled Grade 5 sandpaper. Delighted by the gesture, she called her husband to drive me to the station. We still couldn’t exchange more than smiles, but I chuckled inwardly at the irony as I settled into his convertible sports car, gliding through the gritty surroundings on our way to an equally grungy train station.

Bar, Old Town.

Part 2

Being prepared for the worst after my experience of obtaining my hand-written ticket the previous day, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that despite purchasing a second class ticket, my dog box style carriage was air conditioned, my seat was ideally on the left side, a window seat and facing forward, perfect for window viewing. The only other passenger to share the entire trip was an elderly woman who spoke no English but smiled pleasantly throughout the journey. The train exterior was heavily tagged (with graffiti) and we walked across the railway tracks and heaved our luggage up the steep steps to the train interior. But this was the Bar to Belgrade, perhaps the only other train apart from former Yugoslavia’s leader Josip Tito’s Blue Train to use this track. I was about to experience 254 tunnels, 435 bridges on the 476 kilometre journey from the Adriatic to the Serbian capital.

Boarding the Bar to Belgrade train.

Unlike the bullet trains of Japan and Taiwan, the Bar to Belgrade drags along slowly and at times I felt I could just about be jogging alongside it at similar speed. This however afforded perfect views for tourists like me. Starting in Bar enables you to pass along the pristine jade coloured freshwater Lake Skadar before arriving at Montenegro’s capital, Podgorica.

Lake Skadar, between Bar and Podgorica, Montenegro.

Things get really interesting then as the train ascends steep mountains eventually travelling over the Mala Rijeka Viaduct, the longest bridge along the Belgrade Bar route, standing some 200 meters above the Mala Rjieka river. The viaduct took four years to build, opening in 1973.

The end of Lake Skadar, Montenegro.

When constructed it was the highest railway bridge in the world, surpassing the record height previously held by the Fades Viaduct in France. It held the record until 2001 when the Beipan River Shuibai Railway Bridge, a concrete arch bridge, was completed in Guizhou, China. Multiple railway bridges under construction in China will also be higher. Interestingly, the surrounding highway is being built through a Chinese loan, but with Montenegro’s debt increasing, there is talk about how they will be able to repay the loan. Maybe that’s why so many locals catch the Bar to Belgrade train.

Fortress Ruin alongside Lake Skadar.

The Mala Rijeka Viaduct.

Bridge construction along the Mala Rijeka Viaduct.

Looking down from the Bar to Belgrade train.

Entering one of the many tunnels; it's so slow it's safe to stick your head out the window.

Vineyards between Montenegro and Serbia.

Among the Balkan locals I met on the train was a group of rowdy young men. Having already exhausted my supply of homemade sandwiches and polite smiles with the elderly woman opposite me, and with the view shifting from steep rocky cliffs to a kind of Serbian bleakness, I decided to wander back to the café car. There I discovered that coffee (Turkish, no milk, plenty of sugar) and beer were the only real options, so I ordered both.

The waiter, slightly embarrassed by the noisy crowd, gestured for me to sit in the quieter restaurant section, but I preferred the bar. Even with the occasional smoker leaning out the window and me being the only woman in sight, it felt more alive. One of the lads had earlier asked if I spoke Russian, which sent the others into fits of laughter, so I suspected at least one spoke English.

I began bravely with “Are you Russian?”
“No, Serbian,” came the reply, and the one with the best English took over.

After a few exchanges, he asked if I supported the legalisation of marijuana. I wasn’t sure if it was a trap but said that, on balance, I did. He grew suddenly serious and confessed that he wished it were illegal because he was addicted and wanted to quit.

I asked how they could afford their trip home since none of them worked. Luckily, they had enough friends to help them out and put them up along the way.

I finished my Balkan beer and returned to my carriage. More than an hour had passed, yet nothing at all seemed to have happened in my absence.

One of the many aqua lakes visible from the train.

At Bejelo Polje in Montenegro the trains stopped as the Serbian border guards boarded the train for the passport check. Throughout the journey, I was oblivious to the fact that I passed through not two but three countries as the train passes through Bosnia and Herzegovina, even there was no stop there for passport checking.

Oasis may have missed their chance to be associated with the hippest reference to trains in the 90s alongside other Britpop bands, but it’s never too late for the rest of us to discover the cool of train travel.