How far would you go for a good beer?
I have motorcycled, completely drenched in rain, through Thailand’s tropical storms, evaded police at the Polish-Ukrainian border, biked up a mountain deep in the Costa Rican jungle, and escaped a bar full of angry Czech nationalists just to drink any beer that’s better than industrial lager.
Now, in Serbia, I trekked up a muddy, lonely mountain to find an elusive homebrewing festival called the Fruskog Gore Pivski Marathon. In English, here’s how to survive the Fruska Gora Beer Marathon.
How To Survive The Fruska Gora Beer Marathon
Serbia’s online homebrewing forum, Kucno Pivarstvo, organizes the Beer Marathon. Regularly, Kucno Pivarstvo hosts gatherings where they share their homebrews, craft beer stashes and collective hangovers. These events are in remote parts of the Serbian wilderness, and are usually by private invitation. I suspect to protect the general public from the debauchery.
This spring’s gathering was at a big cabin on Fruska Gora, the only mountain in the providence of Vojvodina, near Serbia’s second largest city, Novi Sad. Fruska Gora is known for its historic Orthodox Christian monasteries, built deep in the forests to keep them hidden and protected during the reign of the Muslim Turkish-Ottoman Empire.
In the spirit of that history, I shall keep the location of the festival secret. I probably can’t find it again anyway…
Like the American craft beer scene in the 1990s, the new Serbian craft beer scene can be closed and cultish. As a failed homebrewer and a foreigner, I wasn’t sure if I would be accepted into the homebrewing fold. After waiting some weeks, and with only two days remaining before the festival, my Serbian beer geek buddies, Phil and George (American names) of Zanatsko Pivo, informed me that we would take a morning train to Novi Sad.
We Set Off for Novi Sad
Novi Sad is only 90 minutes by bus (or two hours by train) from Belgrade, and it’s a wonderful city to go to anytime. After the festival, I planned to spend the following Sunday there. I’ve spent many relaxing weekends in Novi Sad –even playing in one of their craft beer bars, Skripa Pub– and wanted to find some new craft beer bars on my trip.
First, on the train, Phil opened opened his bottle of Romania’s Bereta Brewery’s Juicebag, a Nelson Sauvin Dry Hopped IPA. I have a weakness for Nelson Sauvin, so the strong grapefruit and mandarin aroma tingled my taste buds right. It did not disappoint. This was only my second Romanian craft beer, and dare I say the best beer of the trip. We’re off to a good start.
When we arrived in Novi Sad, it was raining. And now we have to climb a mountain?
Next, we had time to buy a few bottles at Beeraj for the festival, and visit Skripa Pub for a quick pint. After a few hours, the rain lightened up and we took the single bus line out to Fruska Gora. A little past the town of Sremska Kanemica, the view on the two-lane highway became decidedly more rural. The mountain rose ahead of us. We had to notify our driver in advance of our stop so that he would not drive past it. He left us by the side of the quiet, winding country road. Lush forest surrounded us. Somewhere off in the distance, a cow mooed.
Out here our mobile phones didn’t have service. But at least the rain had stopped.
Quest for The One Beer to Rule Them All
With no functioning GPS, we had to explore like true pioneers. We looked across the road, and saw a lone farmer standing in a dewy field. He stared at us through his sunburned face while chewing on a blade of grass. We greeted him, and (Phil and George) asked in Serbian if he knew of a cabin on the mountain. After much villager’s banter, he slowly pointed across the field to a rough dirt trace that meandered up a hill.
Did I mention the recent rain? Already, the slick, wet grass in the field was soaking through our shoes. The trail was worse. It was muddy, and automobile tracks had formed deep ruts filled with water. Phil’s first step in the mud almost left him without a shoe.
Well, the first half hour passed easily enough. The path sloped up gently and went through pleasant, open grassy meadows. We skipped from one green patch to another to avoid stepping into the muddy mire on the trail. Yet that easy trek did not last long. Gradually, the forest grew thicker and the puddles increased. Soon, we were facing a leafy entrance into a dark woods. Through the greenery we could see that the path inclined steeply up the mountain. Tall rocky outcrops peeked through the trees.
“Guys, this is an epic journey. We are on a quest for the one beer to rule them all. Come my Fellowship.”
Naturally, beer geeks are geeky in many ways.
You Shall Not Pass For Beer
The mountain told these geeks they shall not pass. Frequently, we slipped, and rocks often covered the trail as we went further uphill. I was the only one wearing hiking boots, so I led the way to test difficult spots. We found long sticks, which we fashioned into staffs so that we would not lose our balance when jumping across large puddles. While one hand held the stick, the other constantly slapped at mosquitoes. The humid air and exertion made us sweat profusely.
Those homebrewers better have amazing beers at that cabin.
At one point, the path tilted right at a sharp angle where it was impossible to find secure footing. Large rocks were everywhere. What wasn’t covered with rocks was soaked in mud-churned water. So we stepped off the trail and went straight through the woods, brushing our sticks ahead of us in case of snakes in the undergrowth. Eventually, we found the path again at a higher, smoother place. We continued, full of doubt as to whether we were going the right way.
Finally, the trail leveled out onto a drivable gravel road. Faint voices reached our ears. Our GPS worked again, and revealed our mistake. We had wandered on an unmarked route, when, back at the bus stop on the highway, a short walk of two hundred meters in the opposite direction would have taken us directly to the head of the trail we stood on.
The journey to the Fruska Gora Beer Marathon was epic. Epically stupid.
Anyway, such a strenuous climb makes any beer taste infinitely better. We descended a driveway to a cabin complex where a concrete terrace spread before a glorious view over the mountain. The smell of Serbian barbecue grilling and the sound of drunken shouting filled the air. Everyone wanted to know where the hell we had been.
And would we drink a beer already, jebiga?
Kucno Pivarstvo calls it the Beer Marathon for a reason. All 50 plus people at this gathering had brought their own beer. Everyone had been drinking since early morning. But there were still three kegs, and two tall fridges filled with bottles of homebrew. I started with a keg of pumpkin stout. It was the first pumpkin beer I had encountered in Serbia. Although a little cloyingly sweet, it still tasted great after the long trek up the mountain.
Will We Survive The Fruska Gora Beer Marathon?
Things quickly progressed (regressed?) from there. Being an American grants you a certain elevated status, since most brewers know the USA’s role in the so-called craft beer revolution. There were many traditional European styles – German Weisses, Czech pilsners, English porters – but most of the beers were Serbian takes on American IPAs, APAs, sours and California Commons. Brewers offered me their beers in exchange for my “professional” analysis.
I am not a Master Cicerone, but after 15 years of drinking craft beer, I can say when a beer sucks.
For now, it’s best to keep the, “What toilet did you brew this in?,” opinions to myself. I could not keep track of all those beers. The first offer was a fruity Berliner Weisse, which, although not sour enough for my tastes, had a refreshing grapefruit aroma. After that came a string of APAs, IPAs, porters and…
I made no snobbish palate-saving attempt to start with lighter, sessionable beers and work up to heavier, dark beers. I plopped down at a table, and drank whatever people offered me. One of Phil, George and I’s contributions was from a Slovenian brewery, Komunajzar Piva, which makes Yugoslavian-themed beers. Cracking open our bottle of Josip IPA ignited a spirited argument about the pros and cons of Josip Broz Tito’s former Yugoslavia.
Yes, if you are in the Balkans, you will debate history and politics. Just don’t take it too seriously.
Shouting Serbian Songs For Beer
Meanwhile, a guy was walking from table to table strumming a guitar. As I have a band myself, I asked to play a tune. That tune became one more, then one more, then one more; each one accompanied by a drink. I knew a few Serbian songs. Even my half-assed attempt to remember the words raised raucous shouts from the crowd. Everyone already knew the lyrics.
Then, as with any proper Serbian party, someone opened a bottle of homemade rakija brandy. Rakijas are typically distilled with plum or quince, but this was something new: apple with several spices. It tasted of American apple pie and I went into it with gusto.
As the Serbs like to say, I’m pijan kao dupe – drunk as ass. Where’s the food?
Pijan kao dupe = Drunk as ass
The barbecue grill was almost finished, but I managed to grab a few Balkan spiced sausages, known as cevapi. Typical Balkan food was not the only thing available though. Burlan Federlong Brewery provided chili con carne for the festival. I have been to their brewpub in the village of Ovca, where their owner, Daniel, grows chili peppers for making killer spicy food. I wolfed down some hot chili, praised Daniel, and went back to singing with the guitar.
A Friendly Police Escort Down The Mountain
The sun was down and Phil and George had to catch a bus to return to Belgrade. We had no idea of how to get from Fruska Gora back to Novi Sad. Stumbling down the mountain’s narrow muddy road at night was impossible in our seriously inebriated state. Fortunately, the owner of the cabin had a great idea.
“Get in this police car.”
What the hell? When I’m drunk I run away from police cars.
The plainclothes policeman was escorting another car down the mountain. This car was a luxury Mercedes-Benz S Class, and its drunken driver was suspiciously too well-dressed for an alcoholic shindig in the woods. Phil explained that he was “an important political man.” The policeman welcomed us to bring our open beers in the car. He told me, “Welcome to Serbia.” I didn’t ask questions.
So, I finished the Fruska Gora Beer Marathon happily drinking in a police car. Tomorrow can only get better. Welcome to Pivoslavija.
For a guide to the best craft beer bars in Novi Sad click: here
