Despite its name, Novi Sad is far from sad. In fact, its openness, its
charm, and its slower rhythm give it a quiet happiness that softens Serbia’s rough edges, to some extent. Novi Sad offers a side of Serbia that contrasts
sharply with the intensity of the capital Belgrade, pulsating with so much
energy, scarred yet unbroken after centuries of war and destruction. Novi Sad
gives out something else entirely. It feels like a place where things seem to
breathe, pause, and slowed.. Case in point, in restaurants, it's normal to
expect to wait for food to be served, there's no need to rush, as if I have all
the time in the world.
I spent a few hours in the Petrovaradin Fortress, which stands as the city’s sentinel, offering sweeping views of the Danube. I even met a freindly cat right there. In Trg Slobode, or Liberty Square, the neo-Gothic spire of the Name of Mary Cathedral carves a striking landmark. Parks and promenades invite unhurried exploration, along the Danube’s edge, in shaded Dunavski Park, among swans and ducks gliding beneath the branches. It couldn't be less poetic than that, to put things in perspective, I fear. Not far away, the baroque town of Sremski Karlovci tells its story in cobbled streets (majority of details I totally forgot) and centuries-old wines (which I fully remember), gahd I was even honored to try a glass of Bermet. Atop Oplenac Hill, the dazzling mosaics of the Church of St. George cover its walls in vivid color, tracing saints, rulers, and epics. Finally, beneath the church rest the tombs of the Karadordevic dynasty, where Serbia’s royalty lingers.
While Belgrade speaks in urgency, fire, and survival. Novi Sad answers
with serenity, culture, and subdued celebration. And to leave without
experiencing both would be to walk away mid-conversation. In this balance of
chaos and calm, scars and beauty, Serbia reveals itself most clearly. And in
the small irony of its name, Novi Sad stands not as sad at all, but rather as
the city where happiness gathers quietly.
