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"I’ve just arrived at Nikola Tesla airport. It seems that I’ve gone back in time to somewhere between the late 1980s and early1990s. I remember the airport in Johannesburg looked like this when I was growing up. I’m greeted by teams of smiling taxi drivers, eager to land a fare. “I take you there, no problem. Please, madam, come this way.” The man picks up my luggage and loads it into his vintage Volkswagen Golf which smells as if it it’s running on lighter fluid.
The smell of plin has left my senses, replaced by the smell of centuries-old trees and blossoming flowers.
I decide to get a bite to eat in Skadarlija - a neighbourhood of cobble-paved winding roads, wooden cafes and restaurants shrouded in multi-coloured flowers.
The sun is setting and shades of pink are painted in the sky. The happy chatter and laughter drifting around the smiling faces of well-dressed men and women is drowned out by violins, cellos and accordions. I sit taking it all in without realising that this place will be forever ingrained in my mind.
My roasted veal with porcini mushroom sauce and mixed vegetables is presented to me: Overly generous portions of culinary magic.
I’ve eaten my fill – three times over – and stroll through the area dotted with artists selling their crafts.
I call for a taxi to take me to the splavs, floating cafes, on the River Sava. All along the promenade sit young couples, gazing affectionately into each other’s eyes. I feel dwarfed by the tall people around me; men broad and beaming with health, women slender and radiant.
Vibrant melodies flow from the splav next to me. It looks like a wood cabin and has its name carved in big Cyrillic letters. Sudbina, meaning destiny, is the name, I’m told by a friendly passerby.
I enter and squeeze by the wooden tables surrounded by hoards of people gathering for a good time.
Each song is better than the next. The patrons sing along as they’re seemingly transported to a lyrical world - a world of no worries and better tomorrows. I close my eyes and I’m there, too. Serbian music transcends boundaries, whether they’re linguistic or cultural.
I’m told that I must try the rakija - a local specialty made from fresh fruits and even nuts. Who am I to disagree? I raise my glass to toast with the others. “God bless Serbia,” I say to myself, “for this is the land in which I leave my heart behind.”
What can I say about Serbs? They know how to live!"

(Adrienne Harebottle)