"Have the city to yourself..." a Belgrade Travel Page by RockTadgers

Bombs are going off in London, and we're being serenaded by a gypsy band in a traditional Serbian restaurant. It's a strange feeling, seeing breaking news on billboard-sized screens in the centre of Belgrade, one of the places on our itinerary my family were terrified about me visiting.

Tony Blair looks aged ten years over night, and like he doesn't really know what to do with himself as the Serbian capital blares and honks around us. The first instinct on hearing about a terrorist attack on OUR capital is to call home and make sure everyone's safe. It proves a real ordeal, as the local telecommunications aren't what they could be. It's difficult getting a line through to England when you need it the most.

It felt strange reassuring family that we were safe in Belgrade while bombs were exploding in our Underground. I'm in Belgrade and I'm safe. Don't worry, we're going to stay put until we know what's going on. Let's face it, Serbia doesn't have the most sparkling recent history, and Belgrade has one of those hairy-sounding names, like Beirut, Bosnia and Baghdad.

As usual, the reality in far different from expectations. True, the city does look pretty grim and delapidated in places, with that battered, threadbare Eastern European look that has all but been erased from Prague and Budapest. Some buildings are still shattered after NATO's bombing campaign against the city.

It has none of the picturesque, snowglobe beauty of Prague or cosmopolitan grandeur of Budapest. It's churches and palaces are impressive but functional. The shanty-like riverside looks like all the people in the smarter parts about it in Stari Grad have just tossed all their rubbish and bric-a-brac down the side of the hill. Even the prettier parts look like Prague might if that city ever had a closing down sale.

What Belgrade does have going for it is a vibrancy that the other two often lack. Belgraders are proud, friendly people, and they like living their lives out in the open, among others. There are countless cafes and outdoor bars, packed until late regardless what day it is. The long strip of Knez Milhova is constantly thronging with people, young and old, parading up and down, chatting, eating popcorn and ice cream, ritualistically drinking from the fountain, checking each other out. It never stops. There's a pair of lovers on each street corner, and the benches of Kalmegedan gardens are continually occupied by canoodling couples.

There's a surprisingly high police presence on the streets, but a lot of them are just like tooled-up local bobbies, strolling around wishing the citizens good day. Even the cigarette vendors smile and crack a joke.

The Belgraders are proud of their city, and are always eager to chat and find out what you think of it. It's a difficult one to answer without making it sound like you thought it was going to be terrible. They are gleefully defying Westerner's pre-conceptions, and are exhaustively making up for lost time.

It's rare to hear and English or American voice on the streets, and it feels at times like you're the only foreigners in the city. In that respect, Belgrade's functional ordinariness may work in it's favour. It's hard to see how travel companies could pitch the city to a coachload of German sightseers or a couple looking for a romantic break. If there's plans to develop tourism here, it's difficult to imagine which pictures they'd use for the brochure.

Without any captivating beauty or major sights to pimp out to tourists, it looks like the Belgraders will keep their city for themselves for the time being. Stigmas are hard to wash out, and word-of-mouth takes a while to travel. So the fortunate and intrepid traveller who gambles on the Serbian capital will get to taste it pure.