I Visited Belgrade in Winter and Didn’t Expect to Fall in Love

If you’d asked me a year ago where I’d end up totally smitten, Serbia wouldn’t have even made the list.

Honestly, it wouldn’t have made the preliminary list.

I didn’t know much about it, other than something-something Balkans, Nikola Tesla, and that Novak Djokovic is from there.

But two weeks after stepping foot in Belgrade, I found myself googling things like “Retiring in Serbia” and “Can foreigners own properties in Serbia?.”

This wasn’t just a vacation, it was an unexpected love story with a place I never saw coming.

So here I am, waving a metaphorical Serbian flag, urging everyone I know: Go before the secret’s out.

Go before they start charging €14 for rakija in Belgrade like they do in Split.

Go while it still feels delightfully undiscovered and delightfully real.

Winter in Serbia: Cold Hands, Warm Heart, and Great Hair Days

Let’s get one thing straight: I love winter. Like, really love it.

Give me red noses, visible breath, and coat weather any day over tropical stickiness.

Cold weather brings out my best self: cozy, layered, clear-headed, and rocking fabulous hair that doesn’t get greasy within 4 hours.

Every day felt like an opportunity to layer up in cute winter outfits.

I was thriving. In my big coat, scarf, and boots, I looked like I belonged in a moody Eastern European art film and yes, I romanticized it fully.

Walking through Belgrade’s wide boulevards while snow flurries threatened to start? Pure main character energy.

Belgrade: The City That Grew On Me (Like Rakija Burns Your Throat Then Warms Your Soul)

Belgrade doesn’t try to charm you like other European capitals.

It’s not going to seduce you with fairy-tale architecture or dainty window boxes full of geraniums. It’s going to slap you awake with Soviet-style blocks next to crumbling Austro-Hungarian buildings, and then casually offer you the best meal of your life for under five euros.

I started in Republic Square, right in the thick of it.

Street musicians. Pigeons. A guy selling socks next to a kid breakdancing. It was chaotic in the most energizing way.

After a few days, I moved to an apartment in Terazije, where the building looked like it hadn’t seen fresh paint since Tito was still around, but inside? Air-conditioning, chic furniture, and a shower with excellent water pressure.

Serbia’s a masterclass in not judging books by their bombed-out, post-war covers.

I mostly walked, Belgrade’s very walkable, if a little unpredictable.

One minute you’re walking past a centuries-old church, the next you’re dodging a rogue scooter and someone yelling “bravo!” at a stray dog doing absolutely nothing. I didn’t even bother trying the buses or trams. When my feet gave out, I used Car:Go, the local Uber-but-not-Uber app. Affordable, fast, and sometimes the drivers let me practice my broken Serbian without visibly wincing.

This wandering is how I found myself at Kalemegdan and Belgrade Fortress: a sprawling hilltop park where history is stacked in layers: Roman walls, Ottoman gates, Austro-Hungarian cannons. You can see the Sava and Danube rivers meet from here, which is weirdly moving even if you don’t know much about rivers. It’s a place to people-watch, sip coffee, and accidentally join someone’s wedding photoshoot.

Not far from Republic Square is the National Museum of Serbia, the kind of museum where you can go from prehistoric artifacts to medieval icons to modern Serbian painters without ever being elbowed by a tour group in matching caps. I didn’t expect to linger, but the sheer range kept me wandering for hours.

Then there’s the Temple of Saint Sava, which feels more like a cosmic experience than just “visiting a church.” The white marble exterior is dramatic enough, but inside, the gold mosaics are so intense they make your eyes water a little. It’s still being finished, which adds this strange feeling that you’re watching a masterpiece in progress.

For a different flavor of history, I went to the Museum of Yugoslavia: part history lesson, part pop-culture nostalgia trip. There’s a whole section dedicated to Tito, with gifts he received from world leaders (including some truly weird ones), plus relics from the Yugoslav era that make you want to binge-watch documentaries. It’s political history, but with just enough quirk to keep you engaged.

A local guide named Tatjana burst out laughing when I tried to say “Hvala” (thank you), apparently, I made it sound more like “Koala.”

Let’s Talk About the Food (And Yes, More Rakija)

It started innocently enough, some flaky burek with cheese here, a couple of grilled ćevapi there.

But then I met sarma, cabbage rolls stuffed with meat and rice, simmered until they taste like a grandma’s hug and my life changed. I am now officially Sarma’s Brand Ambassador for Asia.

There’s also pljeskavica (Balkan burger), gibanica (cheese pie), and prebranac (baked beans, but not like the ones from a tin, more like beans that spent three hours at a spa retreat before hitting your plate).

You cannot write about Serbia and not mention rakija. This isn’t just a drink. It’s a rite of passage. It’s liquid culture.

I drank plum, quince, apricot, and even a homemade walnut version that felt like swallowing both a forest and a campfire. I’m convinced rakija is how Serbians bond, heal heartbreak, cure colds, and possibly time travel.

Pro tip: Never turn down rakija but definitely eat something beforehand. Take it from me: I started sipping rakija at 9am to fight off the freezing cold, and by 10am, I was tipsy… all because I skipped breakfast. And no, I’m not an alcoholic, just really, really cold.

There was a neighborhood bakery right near my apartment that became my morning ritual called Skroz Dobra Pekara - Skroz Dobra Kuvana Jela.

Warm bread. Pastries that flaked like dreams. Friendly aunties behind the counter who started recognizing me after Day Two and eventually just handed me “the usual” with a knowing nod.

I don’t know if they adopted me or I adopted them, but it was mutual and beautiful. 

Tip: Always go in, even if you don’t know what anything is. Just point and smile. Serbians appreciate enthusiasm.

Winter Fashion and Zero Grease

Let’s talk fashion.

Serbian women are chic, even when it’s 2 degrees out. Think sleek coats, leather boots, flawless eyebrows, and not a shiver in sight.

It inspired me to actually try, and I loved putting on an outfit that didn’t involve sweating through it by 10am.

Also, and I cannot stress this enough, my hair was amazing the entire time.

Winter is the dry shampoo of seasons.

No tropical humidity = no frizz, no greasiness. I was living my shampoo commercial dreams.

SIM Card Drama (Resolved)

I had originally planned to get an eSIM, but finding one for Serbia was like finding a polite taxi driver in Naples.

So I went old-school and picked up a Yettel SIM at the airport. Cost me less than $10, came with plenty of data, and worked like a dream, even in the random village where I got lost trying to find a fortress.

Pro tip: Skip the eSIM. Go physical. Go Yettel.

The Chicken Sandwich Incident

Ah yes, customs. I had brought a chicken sandwich from Istanbul (because I’m a practical woman who plans ahead for hunger), but apparently that was a red flag.

I thought I was in serious trouble, visions of Serbian jail and headlines like “Bali Woman Arrested for Poultry Smuggling” danced in my head.

But the customs officer just laughed.

“We’re not uptight like the Australians,” she said. “Your sandwich isn’t going to start a disease.”

We ended up chatting. I told her I was from Bali. She asked, “Why come here when you live in paradise?” And I said, “Because sometimes paradise is just your office, and Serbia feels like a very cool field trip.”

Nikola Tesla Museum

If you’re even remotely nerdy, you’ll love the Nikola Tesla Museum. It’s compact (read: tiny), but it buzzes with scientific charm.

They do guided tours with live demonstrations, including a Tesla coil show that made everyone jump like cartoon cats.

Our tour guide, Alex, had the driest sense of humor I’ve ever encountered in a scientist.

He explained electric currents like he was doing stand-up in a physics lab. Unintentionally hilarious.

And no, I didn’t buy the fridge magnet. I bought a Nikola Tesla tumbler. Yes, a tumbler. Like a true tourist-slash-science fan hybrid. I carry it with pride. It sparks more conversations than my passport.

Tip: Bring cash. They do not accept cards for tickets or merch, and you will want something.

Bumble Date in the Balkans

Now, what’s a solo travel story without a little romantic subplot?

I went on a Bumble date with a local guy who made me question whether I had wandered into a parallel universe or accidentally walked onto the set of a Balkan rom-com.

He took a day off work just to show me around town.

We went to the zoo, strolled for hours, and talked about everything from life stories to bits of Yugoslavian history he thought I should know.

At one point, when I started shivering in the cold, he brought me to a cozy pub and ordered warm rakija to heat me up.

I excused myself to the bathroom, but really, I was sneaking off to pay for our drinks. He had already paid for my zoo ticket, played tour guide all day, and brought homemade wine just for me. I thought it was only fair.

He was horrified.

Apparently, in the Balkans, men always pay for the date.

Me? I’m a Bali girl used to splitting bills or dating guys who proudly say, “you pay for yours, I’ll pay for mine.” I genuinely never minded that, until I experienced this.

This new, old-school, incredibly thoughtful kind of care.

It completely caught me off guard.

Later that night, we went to dinner. There were fresh lilies on the table, I instinctively reached over, picked one up, smelled it, and said in passing, “What a beautiful flower.”

We shared all our food, and before each bite, he let me taste his first. He explained each dish and its background like a proud local. My ex hated sharing meals, so this felt borderline revolutionary.

At some point during dinner, we got on the topic of work and, naturally, salaries.

Turns out, I make more than him.

When the bill came, I told him he could pay at the table and I’d give him cash later at my place, just to keep up appearances.

He refused. “It’s no good for me,” he said, and waved it off like it was unthinkable.

On the walk home through Knez Mihailova, we passed an older woman selling flowers on the street. He stopped, turned to me, and said, “Pick the ones you like.” I did. He paid. No questions. No hesitation.

I am head over heels.

Smiling cheek to cheek all the way back to my apartment.

He opened doors. Bought dinner. Gave me flowers just because I casually admired some lilies. When I tried to pay, he looked like I’d insulted his ancestors. When he found out I earned more, he smiled and said, “I still want to treat you.”

Where do these men exist in my timezone, please?

We didn’t keep in touch because well, geography and emotional unavailability, you know, but for one beautiful evening, I got to live out the kind of date that I honestly didn’t know still existed.

And that, truly, was enough.

A Day Trip to Novi Sad (ft. Wine, Monasteries & the Cutest Filipino Couple Ever)

I booked a Viator tour to Novi Sad, thinking it would just be a chill day out of Belgrade. But it turned into a full-on highlight reel of my trip.

First off, shoutout to the sweetest older Filipino couple who immediately waved at me with that “you’re probably one of us!” energy. (Sorry guys, Indonesian here but close enough!) We instantly became the Asian trio of the tour, swapping snacks, taking turns with the best photo angles, and bonding like we were long-lost family on vacation together.

Our first stop was Krušedol Monastery, tucked away in Fruška Gora, aka “The Serbian Holy Mountain.” This peaceful little spot has some serious history, built in the 1500s to keep Serbian culture alive during Ottoman rule, home to original frescoes, royal tombs, and enough stories to fill a Netflix docuseries. It’s one of 17 Orthodox monasteries in the area, but definitely the VIP of the bunch.

Then we rolled into Sremski Karlovci, which looks like it was styled by someone who really loved the Baroque era. Think pastel houses, cobbled streets, tiny palaces, and churches on every corner. This town was once the heart of Serbian religion and education and it’s where the peace treaty with the Ottomans was signed in 1699. Big history energy in a very cute package. We saw the Chapel of Peace, then wandered past the Four Lions Fountain, Karlovci Gymnasium, and some seriously aesthetic churches.

But let’s talk about the real reason I was excited: Bermet wine tasting at Vinarija Kiš. Bermet is this sweet, strong, spiced dessert wine (15-18% alcohol, so don’t let the sweetness fool you). It’s been served to emperors, royals and even made it onto the Titanic. We got to taste a few types, hear stories about secret family recipes, and laugh about how it’s supposedly a “man’s wine,” but here I was, loving every sip.

Next, we climbed around the Petrovaradin Fortress, nicknamed the Gibraltar on the Danube. It’s huge, dramatic, and packed with stories from the days of the Austrian Empire. The views from the Clock Tower were 10/10, looking out over the Danube and all of Novi Sad like you’re in a fantasy novel.

Novi Sad itself was a vibe, easygoing, super walkable, and full of charm. We passed through parks, admired the Bishop’s Palace, popped into the Cathedral of St. George with its stunning iconostasis, and strolled down the main street like locals. I was fully ready to move in by the time we reached Liberty Square, surrounded by pastel buildings, the Town Hall, and the kind of cafés that make you want to write poetry for no reason. We even saw the city’s synagogue, one of the largest still standing in Europe.

Novi Sad is the laid-back, underrated little sister to Belgrade. Less chaos, more charm. Definitely don’t skip it and if you get lucky, your tour might come with homemade wine, secret monasteries, and your own bonus travel family. 

Tennis Surprise: Serbian Open Edition

I had no clue the Serbian Open was on until I quite literally stumbled into it. VIP tickets? $30. Yes, you read that right.

I saw Stan Wawrinka, my one-handed-backhand hero, in action. He grunted. I swooned. Life was complete.

I also caught Shapovalov, who plays like he’s trying to impress his future self.

And met Chris O’Connell, a super chill Aussie player who was just walking around like he didn’t just play elite-level tennis for a living.

It was random. It was thrilling. And I still can’t believe I paid less for a VIP tennis seat than I did for airport coffee.

St. Mark’s Church

I went to St. Mark’s Church to light candles for people I’ve lost.

I’m not particularly religious, but there’s something deeply grounding about ritual, especially in a space as vast, quiet, and beautiful as that.

The candlelight bouncing off stone walls. The hush in the air. The slow pace of everything. For a moment, the trip’s buzz paused, and I just was. It’s now one of my favorite memories.

Parks, People-Watching, and Practicing Presence

I didn’t spend every day museum-hopping or fortress-climbing.

Some days, I just sat in parks. No headphones. No phone. Just me, the occasional squirrel, and a cast of characters straight out of a Balkan sitcom.

That stillness? That’s what I remember most.

Serbia lets you be. It doesn’t rush you. It doesn’t care if you have a checklist. It just exists, unfiltered and sincere.

I came to Serbia because I wanted something different. I left with stories I’ll be retelling for years.

From flaky pastries and flaky elevator buttons to unexpected Bumble romance and budget VIP tennis, Serbia gave me everything I didn’t know I needed.

It’s raw, real, and rich in ways that no postcard can capture.

So here’s my advice:

Go to Serbia before it gets too shiny.

Go while it still has dirt under its fingernails and rakija in its veins.

Bring a coat. Bring an open mind.

And maybe, just maybe, bring some extra room in your suitcase for a Tesla tumbler.

Thank you for reading and now back to happily roaming!