For me the trip to Šabac was really a last minute decision. Although I had known for several hours that it was possible for me to go, I still had difficulty deciding if I actually wanted to go as I didn’t exactly expect to see anything worthwhile. In fact, I was still in the process of reconsidering my decision to go all the way to the car. It wasn’t until I was seated in the back seat of a moving Toyota Yaris that I finally knew that I was indeed going to to Šabac. There were four of us going, but the owner of the Yaris was a Hungarian woman on her way to see her boyfriend play accordion at a concert in a small village a short distance from Šabac. This would leave us remaining three, a Greek from Austria, a Slovak, and myself, stranded in the relatively small town, which none of us knew anything about except that we shouldn’t have high expectations, until the concert was over and the Yaris returned for us.
Upon our arrival we began by sitting down for coffee and ice cream in a small cafe in the city’s pedestrian zone which was lined with many cafe’s, pubs, and retail stores. After our coffee we began to explore the small city. We started by finishing a brief tour of the pedestrian zone which boasted nothing which would set it apart from the pedestrian zone found in Valjevo except for the small children which were intrigued by hearing a foreign language spoken in front of them for what may have been the first time. There was one such girl which sat in a swiveling wicker chair doing nothing but stare and listen to our otherwise banal conversation as we finished our coffee.
We continued somewhat haphazardly into a park which might as well have not been named as it did not seem particularly significant aside from a few abandoned buildings
which we found out had served as cafes or hosted concerts sometime in the recent past. We also discovered that the park hosted a pair of abandoned Nazi WW2 bunkers. But the only striking feature of the park was the young Serbian couple walking their young child which took the time to speak with us for a few minutes and to give us directions to and advice about the most important sites to see in Šabac. Probably, they were a little surprised that such a group would visit Šabac at all. I was similarly surprised when they mentioned they had visited the US and knowing all that America has to see, the only state they visited was Georgia.
We quickly dismissed the couple’s first suggestion that we visit the pedestrian zone as we had just come from there. Instead, they advised that we visit the Old Town, which included the river front. I did not know it beforehand but the River Sava flows through Šabac and it was calm, wide, and beautiful. To get to the river we first had to walk for about twenty minutes through the city’s residential districts where we had the opportunity to see many interesting buildings and people which seemed to be leading, from a foreigner’s perspective, interesting lives.
As we approached the river we crossed a set of railroad tracks which were overgrown with weeds and saturated with rust. I imagine they had not been used in over twenty years. The rails ran alongside a large vacant lot which looked as if it must have been used as some sort of waste dump. Although now it appeared to be empty, the signs beside the entrance warned passersby not to enter. The path we were following would eventually lead us to the Old Town, which actually turned out to be a large riverside park.
Eventually, we found our way to the River Sava on the far end of the park. On the left was a ruined fortress filled with signs warning against falling stones and even more graffiti. Despite the warnings we dared to venture into the small fortress where we sat for several minutes and looked out over the serene river. The bright sunlight poured into the otherwise dark, unlit fortress to give us a glimpse of the damp, dusky corridors lined with fallen stones. To the right of the fortress stretched a short, narrow street full of sunbathers and cafes. There was also a sole crotch-rocket painted to resemble scenes from the hit Hollywood blockbuster 300.
After receiving too many awkward glances for taking so many pictures of a motorcycle we returned back from whence we came where we dined, not in hell, but at one of the better restaurants we had yet experienced in Serbia. Godfather’s Ćevapi House (Ćevabdžinica kod Kuma) served traditional Balkan cuisine in the traditional Bosnian style. As we ate we were treated to a drive-by of what might have been one of the most feared bike gangs that side of the Sava.
We left the restaurant in high spirits and saw many other interesting sights, not just architecturally but also anthropologically and sociologically. Despite the good food, better attitudes, and excellent experiences, the night was was more or less ruined by an awkward conversation in an otherwise lovely courtyard belonging to a cafe guarded by a door decorated with bells.