The blue skies of yesterday are gone and we wake to a rather grey and dismal sky. The thunderstorms in the night have cleared the stuffy air but replaced it with pungent farm yard smells. So fresh they make your eyes water.  After a shower and breakfast we pay our campsite fees, in Euro’s and head off towards Novi Sad.

We hit the east side of the city and there is a bracing, nerve-shredding excitement to Novi Sad street life. Its Saturday and crowds are forming especially as we near the river.  At the heart of the old city, road repairs cause chaos. Dust from the shuffle of flip flops over unpaved roads swirls and smogs our view. The traffic is infiltrated by hundreds of people weaving in and out of the crush, dodging from market stalls to kiosks to shops. As we look around it looks like we are parked right in the middle of a huge jumble sale with home made stalls and mats laying bear all their old trinkets for sale. Everything from chickens to car bumpers to chain saws.

We are much relieved when we leave the crowds behind. A thousand hands touching Vin is quite nerve wrecking. But just as we are feeling secure we have to cross the old railway bridge with slats of warped and bent steel and timbers.  The original bridge was bombed by NATO in 1999 and the replacement is still under construction. I brace as we cross and glance down to which I can see a lot more of the dirty waters of the Danube than I’d like to. Under the weight of the traffic it bounces up and down and by mid crossing I am feeling quite nauseous. Never have I been so happy to reach the other side of a bridge.

As Vin rolls over off the bridge and down the hill, the city narrows behind us. A few kilometres down the road and we pull in to a fuel station. A perplexed attendant fills Vin with 5000 Dinar (just over £1 per litre) whilst I nip inside to pay. I return to find the same perplexed look. We are not quite sure if its the motorhome that stumped him or our British accent but its certainly added an element to his day that he never expected. 

We pull over to a parking bay and young boy shouts “hellyo”. Distant laughter follows and the boy scarpers towards two men. “You Englizh?”  Craig winds down his window “Yah”. We spent the next half an hour engaged in a conversation with the locals. Light hearted and good, friendly exchanges until they discover we are from Manchester and then we took on celebrity status. Manchester United, cries of happiness and dancing on the spot. 500 photos later we escaped with smiles on our faces.

Our journey to Topola is cut short when we grind to a halt. Without any warning we hit an unmarked road repair. We attempt to follow a local on an alternative path but overhanging trees and mud terrain cause us fo reconsider.  Ummm, what now? We back track and chose a route through Fruška Gora national park. A small but dense forest with monasteries dating back to 16th and 17th century dotted on ever peak.  Sounds idyllic but with threats of heavy rain and thunder storms, probably not the best route.

Just before Irig, we follow the signs to Novo Hopovo Monastery. The modern and brightly painted monks quarters surround and protect the 400+ year old St Nicholas. Inside the cloisters the orthodox monks calmly go about their daily duties. They play a vital role in preserving Serbian Orthodox culture through religious artwork and holy relics. St Nicholas, is known for its 17th century frescoes and a fine iconostasis by Baroque master Teodor Kračun. Inside,  a monk clears wax from the candle holders and another copies religious manuscripts whilst we gaze in awe at the paintings (click to enlarge photos).

The monastery is free to enter but as a way of funding they sell homemade honey, trinkets and brandy.  Craig has already tried the quince brandy, so he opted for the premium plum version at mild 50 percent proof.  At a £5 a bottle a nice aperitif for our journey over the coming months. Unless of course Craig has a stressful day and it will be chinned in one!  As we leave the monastery and the heavens open. We take shelter and pause for a spot of lunch whilst the worst of the weather passes.

We continue our journey to Topola along a mixture of motorways, highways and country lanes. As we pass the capital of Serbia, Belgrade and head south on the main road to Rakovica we pass an horrific accident. Two cars have collided with such force that the police have sectioned off the road. It is not clear what caused the accident but we wouldn’t be surprised if its due to overtaking on a blind bend. Serbian’s seem rather obsessed with waiting until they can’t see the road ahead. Tailgating and near death experiences are a clear common trait.

The last jaunt of road to Topola is a two lane highway. It is also a country road with farm vehicles, and indeed farm animals, crossing it whenever they feel like it. We say two lanes but in fact everyone drives in the middle lane. The right is kept clear causing us endless confusion until we stop at some traffic lights. Honking horns and furious drivers soon told us we were blocking their path. The penny dropped, the right hand lane is for turning right only. 

The 200 kilometre journey was full of action. At any given time we’re sharing the road with cars, trucks, battered buses, tractors, bicycles, scooters, horse drawn carts, chickens, dogs, motorbikes, pedestrians and unattended horses. By the time we arrive at our destination we are rather shattered. We parked up off the main road and along an avenue of trees and bushes. We are just inside the grounds of the kings park and it feels rather calm and quiet. All ready to explore tomorrow.

Our Bumble wild camping spot Topola N044.253150, E020.676973

Welcome Committee, isn’t he just adorable