Disclaimer: This is not about craft beer, but if you want to know about Belgrade nightlife, continue.
Pivopija’s craft beer tasting had gone well. Too well. Those last Italian and Belgium brews had done us in, but Belgrade nightlife is nonstop, and we were not quitting. Zanatsko Pivo’s crew was going to a student club, KST. I had to meet some foreign friends at one of Belgrade’s splavs.
In short, splavs are floating boat clubs. They are a guilty pleasure. In summer, they are the center of Belgrade’s nightlife. First try them, then decide.
After Craft Beer Is Over, Belgrade Nightlife Goes On
Belgrade’s two rivers, the Sava and the Danube, are full of these boat clubs. Many splavs are extremely horrible and full of the type of people that a normal Serb wishes had disappeared back in the dark, chaotic 1990s.
Bad splavs are easy to avoid. Listen for the off-key electronic Turbofolk music which blasts from them at ear-splitting volume (think Shakira with less talent, and more silicon). When you approach the boat, there will be a long line in front, with a drunk fight or two in progress. Men are dressed like low-budget Russian Mafia. Women are dressed like…well, not dressed describes them better.
Fortunately, many splavs have more tasteful clientele. Here are three, for example, I thought of visiting that night.
- Zappa Barka
- Shlep Splav
- Povetarac
For tourists in Belgrade, they are easy to find. From downtown Belgrade, just walk across the Danube River’s main bridge, Brankov Most. On the opposite side, they are the first boats below the bridge on your right.
Zappa Barka Doesn’t Play Frank Zappa
The girl who had brought the Belgium beers to the tasting was going my direction. We hopped a taxi together. She instructed the driver to take me to the riverside, where she wished me luck. I exited the taxi.
A wide, white concrete riverwalk was in front of me. Zappa Barka was on the other side. When I entered, I was disappointed to hear that they were not playing classic rock or anything akin to their namesake, Frank Zappa. Generic funk-techno-hip-soul-house-whatever you hear in clubs throughout Europe was playing. Still, I was here to drink with friends, not critique music. I made a phone call.
“Dear customer, your mobile has run out of credit. Please recharge.”
Dammit. I ordered an overpriced Jelen beer, then patrolled the place twice. There were no familiar faces. On my third pass by the bar, some girls pointed at me, giggling. A quick chat revealed they were from the Ukraine, quite hot, very young, and did not speak enough English for me to bother.
Frustrated, I went next door to Shlep to see if my friends were there instead. One guy, a DJ who happens to know me, was walking up the exit platform. He greeted me, then quickly shuffled me inside past the long waiting line. Lucky me. Relived, I ordered at the bar.
Jelen is even more overpriced than at Zappa Barka.
Shlep is large and often too crowded. Although the music, at least this night, was good: vintage rock and old-school funk. After a few minutes at the bar, I threw myself into the masses. Two laps around the boat revealed no friends. However, the guys from Pivopija are still at KST.
KST Is A Crappy Student Club And That’s OK In Belgrade
Let’s put it out there. Klub Studenska Tehnike is a shitty student club, and I am way past being a student. Yet after craft beer is over, Belgrade nightlife goes on.
KST does have good hard rock music, is cheap as hell and is open all night. Most importantly, it’s only a five-minute walk from my flat. The time was almost 3AM. I could still pop in, then go home if it was dull.
Within a half hour I reached KST’s wooden doors and paid the 150 Dinar cover. I descended the stairs into the university faculty’s basement. There are two club areas: one room which functions as a café during the day, and an outdoor courtyard which is open during the summer. Drunk people were chatting and making out all along the corridor leading to the courtyard. Loud heavy metal from the outdoor speakers reverberated throughout the building’s halls.
At the outdoor bar, I bought an industrial Niksico lager. The courtyard was almost clear. I returned to the hallway and stopped for a moment to sip my beer.
“Sick of you men! Go away! Shutup!”
A blonde girl was haphazardly leaning against the wall and shouting. Was she yelling at me or not? When I turned to look at her, she directed her invective at me. Amused, I questioned her.
“Excuse me? What’s your problem?”
Another girl quickly stepped in.
“Sorry, she’s really drunk and guys are hitting on her all night.”
“Ok, she won’t have to worry about that with me.”
I marched back to the courtyard to check again for the guys from Pivopija. It was almost empty. Nothing.
Do You Speak Sindarian?
Stumbling through the hall entrance, I almost bumped into a pale-skinned, dark-haired girl with blue eyes. Her style fit with the heavy music: all-black goth, pitch black eyeliner and lipstick, steel pentagram necklace. She didn’t look like a Serb.
“What are you doing here alone?”
“Looking for my friends.”
“Me too.”
I tried Serbian. She looked confused.
“You aren’t Serbian?”
“No, American.”
“Ah, my mum’s a Serb, but I’m from Iceland.”
Have I ever met a girl from Iceland? Never. This could be interesting.
Our conversation was brief. Both being drunk, we started making out like the other random sloppy couples in the hallway. My head spun. Figuring, ‘Will I ever met an Icelandic girl again?’, I told her we should leave. She responded, sure, why not, I like bad decisions.
You and me both.
We were almost to the exit. But drunk blonde girl saw us, and began shouting again. This time it wasn’t in English. She was speaking Elvish – that is if J.R.R. Tolkien’s Elves had taken their inspiration from pub visits with drunk, angry, English football hooligans. Certainly, this must be the beautiful Icelandic language.
Surprisingly, my gothic elf lisped back at her in Sindarian. Whatever she said worked in my favor. Drunk blonde gave me a look of disbelief as I left with her friend. While on the way to my place, we stopped at a 24-hour supermarket for more beers. We never finished them.
“So don’t you want to sleep here ’til morning? I make awesome Turkish coffee.”
“My friends hate me. I left them to go hook up with some stranger I met an hour ago. It’s their first time in this country. They have no idea where they are.”
As quickly as she came, she left. Iceland and its black metal scene will have to wait. In the morning, I messaged my friend to ask where he had been last night:
“Dunno, was on some crappy boat…”
