Hitchhiking with the Police -- Novi Sad, Serbia

I'm starting this post from the fifth floor of an apartment building near the center of Novi Sad. Tessa reclines on the couch behind me (our bed for two nights), quickly flipping through Dracula and sighing heavily (either from heat, from habit, or from the knowledge that Dracula isn't real). Our host works at his computer, translating an elevator instruction manual from English into Serbian. Or German. Or Turkish. Or Italian. Or one of the other eight languages he speaks.

He sighs deeply. Probably because what he's translating is completely incomprehensible to anyone who hasn't built an elevator before.

We arrived in Novi Sad at three o'clock yesterday afternoon. Our adventure lasted a grand total of six hours and included hitching, walking and flagging down public transportation/Serbian policemen.

Florin (our brilliant Romanian host who knows everything about everything that's ever happened in the Balkans) drove us outside of town and dropped us off at a decent hitchhiking location.

"Hitching to Serbia will be hard. No one crosses the border at Jimbolia. There won't be much traffic on the road."

Well... at least we can try. 

"And there aren't any buses going from Timisoara to Novi Sad. Timisoara is a very isolated city. No trains or buses to Hungary either."

Well... I guess we'll have to try. Good thing we can. 

We waited on the roadside for a good twenty minutes.

It's hard to smile today. Why is it so hard? I gritted my teeth into a contrived grin. Did our last ride momentarily ruin hitching for me? 

My contrived grin, Tessa's blue sunglasses and a healthy dose of human curiosity (you don't see too many western hitching hippies in this area of the world) caused a goodhearted German to pull over.

"Jimbolia?" we asked.

He responded in Romanian.

"English?"

"English. No. I don't speak English. German! I am German Romanian," he proceeded to tell us in perfectly passable English. Which he had learned in the sixth grade and hadn't practiced much since.

Our German Romanian drove us all the way to the border (past his destination) and wished us luck on our journey.

"Danke!" we shouted as we slumped, slid into our packs.

My passport was stamped right away. Straightforward, hassle-free, easy as you please.

I could get used to this...

But Tessa is from New Zealand, and even though kiwis are allowed to go everywhere for as long as they like, people aren't accustomed to seeing kiwi hippies casually walking across Balkan borders.

"I think I'm allowed to be in Serbia..." Tessa said as we watched the passport control officer take her passport into the main station. Where she spent five minutes flipping through instruction manuals and making phone calls before she stamped Tessa's passport.

At least people know what to do with me. 

We crossed the border into Serbia and high-fived.

"That's seven countries in three weeks! I've never moved this quickly before."

And then we started our walk.

Florin had been right. No one goes to Serbia from Jimbolia.

We walked five minutes.

A car approached.

We held out our thumbs.

The car drove past.

We walked five minutes.

Two cars approached.

We held out our thumbs.

One driver flipped us off.

Both cars drove past.

"That's definitely the most negative reaction we've ever received," I wasn't even offended. Just... bewildered.

We heard the sound of a car approaching.

We stuck out our --

We put our thumbs away and folded the sign.

A police car drove past.

"I don't know if  hitchhiking is legal in Serbia," I noted as we turned around to continue our trek from nowhere to another place that looked quite similar.

"I don't know anything about Serbia."

"They have tasty tomatoes. I still remember the taste of the tomato I ate here in 2010."

I caught myself staring off into the fields to take my mind off the throbbing pain in my shoulders.

"Did you just notice the truck?" Tessa asked.

"What?"

"A truck and a car. Just drove past. Where are you?" she laughed because she's from New Zealand. But not really because it wasn't funny.

"Umm... not here. Distracted," I tried not to hang my head.

"You had one job! Watch for cars."

"Yup," my head gave up and hit my chest.

Why does she put up with me? I get lost on my way to the toilet at cafes and I don't even notice when a semi truck rumbles past. 

We walked five minutes.

A car! I HEAR YOU!

I turned around --

-- and put my sign away.

The police car slowed to a stop. The policeman in the passenger seat rolled down his window and addressed us in Serbian.

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes," the younger cop said with a grin. "We were wondering -- where are you from?"

"I'm from New Zealand," Tessa played the trump card right off.

The cops looked at each other and laughed.

"And you?" they directed the question at me.

"I'm from the United States. America," I played what felt like the Queen of Spades.

They cracked up harder.

"We had a bet," the talkative cop explained to us. "He thought you were from Romania and I thought you were from Ukraine. We both lost."

"I don't know which of you lost more," Tessa grinned.

"Where are you going?"

"We're trying to get to Novi Sad."

"Well, we can take you to the next town."

Are we hitchhiking with Serbian police? Is this really happening? 

It was definitely really happening. So I guess we learned that hitchhiking is legal in Serbia.

"Now you can tell all of your friends that Serbian policemen don't go around hitting people with sticks and shooting them," the more reticent driver commented as we hopped out of the car at the main bus stop of the next dot-on-the-map sort of a village.

"So. We're at a bus stop. If a bus comes that goes towards Novi Sad, should we take it?"

"Yeah, that would be great. But we don't have any Serbian money left."

"We can ask if they take euros."

"Okay. Why not."

A bus came a few minutes later. The ticket taker spoke no English, but he took our euros and gave us change in Serbian dinar.

Perfect. 

"I think what we're learning is to always try. The worst anyone can say is no. But maybe they DO take euros."

"And maybe policemen DO give rides to stranded girls who look like they're from Romania or Ukraine."

We disembarked at Zrenjanin, a town in between the border and Novi Sad, and officially the longest little town Tessa and I have seen in our entire lives.

We were dropped off at one end of the longest little town.

We trudged to the other end of the longest little town.

We stood for what seemed like an hour (but was probably only half) in the blazing sun, watching cars whiz past. The most discouraging part of the whole whizzing business was the lack of eye contact.

I just want to be recognized. That's what makes standing on the side of the road with a sign fun. Seeing the faces of the people in the cars. The reactions. This dead-pan crap that makes me feel like I don't exist is the worst. Even getting the middle finger was better. 

Finally, a small car carrying two Serbian men in their twenties pulled over.

"Thank-you, thank-you!" we gushed. "Novi Sad?"

"Taxi?" the man driving asked.

"No," my heart fell into my floral flip-flops. "Autostop."

"Only five euros," the passenger told us.

"For each or for both?"

"For both."

"Five euros to Novi Sad isn't bad at all," I cast Tessa a quizzical glance. "Should we?"

"Sure."

We did. On the way, the other passenger (who spoke remarkably good English) asked us where we were from, what we were doing in Serbia, where we were going afterwards, etc., etc.

It was amusing to see how utterly flabbergasted he was by the fact that Tessa and I have been traveling alone for so long.

"You are very brave," he shook his head. "It is unusual for us to hear stories like this."

"We've just met a lot of nice people."

"But not all people are nice."

"No, not all people are nice."

But I'd rather live like they were. 

Our "taxi" dropped us off at the main bus station in Novi Sad. Tessa paid him the change we'd been given on the bus to Zrenjanin and said, "this is all the Serbian money we have," when it turned out to be about four euros.

He waved us off and turned to coerce more people into his car.

We're in Novi Sad! 

"That was the most haphazard, bumbling hitchhiking adventure thus far," I noted as we went to change twenty euros into dinars. "Germans, cops, buses and ilegal taxis. Well done, us."

We found a cafe that supplied internet with espresso and lemonade. I nearly fell over in my haste to sit down. Walking across the longest little town in the world had proven to be very tiresome indeed, and both of us were feeling exhausted and dehydrated.

I didn't know lemonade could taste this good, I tried to savor my sour drink but my body wouldn't let me. I think my glass of refreshing lemonade spent a grand total of three seconds on the table and half a second in my mouth before it disappeared forever.

We contacted our couchsurfing host and told him we were in the area. He immediately wrote back that he was at home and to just come by whenever.

Yes! Not having to wait three hours is okay with me. 

So we paid the lemonade bill and walked for fifteen minutes and then up five flights of stairs to meet our host.

Tessa and I have made a list of points we use to rate cities.

Novi Sad might be winning.

1. Picnic Parks
2. Ice Cream
3. Cheap wine
4. Cheap cheese (I judge cheese based on its stink. Tessa judges cheese based on its texture. Together, we like stinky, half-way firm cheese)
5. Scenic old people (preferably playing chess or telling animated stories)
6. Ability to couchsurf (preferably not in Norwegian prisons or with type 3)
7. Cute munchkins to watch (small enough to pick up and run away with, should they be cute enough)
8. Green markets (we like comprehensive green markets. Where you can by iPhone earbuds, melons, screwdrivers and puppies)
9. Free/cheap interesting historical monuments or museums (I think England will always win at this one)
10. Awesome, inexpensive fast food (with special emphasis on burek)
11. Quality of cappuccino (bonus points for fluffy foam and nestlike seating)
12. Walkability/bikeability/bikes to rent
13. City rivers, city lakes or city seas (I adore water in and around cities. It orients me and I don't get quite so lost)
14. Access to wifi (this sounds silly, but our lives are dependent on the internet, at this point in time)
15. If available, straightforward public transportation
16. Free public turtles (enough said)
17. Festival city! Even if festivals aren't on the current agenda, cities that promote music and art and food and people getting together to celebrate and have a good time are lovely places to be. 
18. How easy it is to be gluten-free (this is just for me, though. Tessa likes her gluten. France ruined her)
19. Ease of hitching in and out (none of Skopje's spaghetti road business)
20. Stray dog population (so wild camping is less frightening. No one wants to fall asleep thinking a cute puppy might eat them in the night)
21. Interesting cemeteries
22. Sunsets
23. Second hand clothing shops and bookstores

Novi Sad is preparing for its annual festival called "Exit". This award winning music festival takes place inside a fortress.

Out of 360 festivals if 34 different countries, Exit was voted the best by the EU Festival Awards.

So. Full festival points.

There are dozens of exquisite looking ice cream parlors lining the many walking streets and alleys.

So. Full ice cream and walkability points.

Full points for picnic parks. We bought some cheap, not half-bad rosé from an "idea" supermarket for our picnic.

Full points for cheap wine.

Full points for city turtles.

Full points for cute children to watch.

Full points for body of water. Hello, Danube.

Full points for free drinking water.

Full points for scenic old people.

We haven't tried the cappuccino, but the abundance of coffee shops with nestlike chairs makes us assume that some decent coffee is bound to be found in this city.

Full points for markets. We took bus 5n to get to the market, but it was written as 5h in some places and 5n in others. This is not straightforward. Half points for straightforward public transportation, Novi Sad.

Full points for cheap cheese.

Full points for cheap, delicious fast food.

Novi Sad does have a large population of stray dogs, but most of them are cute and well-cared for. Like in Istanbul, people seem to regard the strays as community pets rather than pests.

Full points for bikeability/walkability. This city has bike lanes everywhere and drivers respect crosswalks.

We're not sure about ease of hitchhiking points. We spent an awfully long time getting in (six hours for 170 km), but we came from Romania. Where there was no traffic at all. Had we hitched from Belgrade, I assume the journey would have been much simpler (but the policemen might not have been as friendly).

I think I'll give Novi Sad half points for ease of hitchhiking.

Full points for WiFi. It's free in many parts of the city.

Its eyeballs aren't nearly as good as Sibiu's, but at least it's trying.

Full points for cheap/free interesting historic things. This is a fortress called Petrovaradin that sits just across the Danube from Novi Sad.

Full points for fountains.

Ice cream is spectacular here. My friend Maud had suggested I meet up with one of her friends from South Africa (who now owns a Greek bakery in Novi Sad), and after an hour of amiable chatting and gifting Tessa with enough baked goods for three days of feasting, she took us to one of her favorite ice cream shops. 

Rum raisin mixed with honey almond might be the pinnacle of all that is good in ice cream. 

If you're passing through Novi Sad, say hello to Olja at her Greek bakery called "Mokis". I couldn't taste any of her baked goods (Novi Sad has zero points for gluten-free), but they looked and smelled divine. After you eat pastry stuffed with spinach and feta, ask her to point you in the general direction of her favorite ice cream. 

Tessa and I finished our ice cream and then meandered back to our host's, weaving in and out of charming little streets along the way. 

"I feel like we've just had the best kid day in the world." 

"Yup. Markets. Fortresses. Picnics. Ice cream. Doesn't get much better." 

We're not brave. We just have priorities that allow us to enjoy the simple things. 

   

Novi Sad even knows how to "put a bird on it"

We weren't out at sunset and we saw no cemeteries, but bookstores are nearly as prolific as ice cream shops and I think Novi Sad gets a solid A according to the city rating plan of Tessa and Aimee.