There are only a handful of rail services from Lublin Airport railway station every day and I was pleased that my flight wasn’t much delayed as I didn’t much want to wait a few hours for the next one. Also, this is an impressive set-up, the entrance to the airport terminal is about two metres behind where I’m standing. Integrated public transport at its best.

I thought that this train looked rather lovely in the sun and I had forty minutes to wait before it left. A Spanish woman came up to me and asked in hesitant Polish when it was departing. We soon switched to English as that’s the only language I can realistically speak and established that her clock was an hour behind local time. She had thought she faced nearly two hours of waiting, so discovering it was under an hour came as something of a relief.

The train is operated by POLREGIO, but carries the Lubelskie region’s branding and coat of arms. For anyone interested, it’s a Polish built Newag Impuls 2 train. I purchased my ticket online whilst waiting whilst waiting for them to open the train doors, but there appeared to be a ticket machine on board for anyone who hadn’t bought a ticket beforehand. I couldn’t see any ticket machines at the station.

Impeccable and I liked that they opened the train thirty minutes before departure. Spotlessly clean, working power points and not one single passenger put their feet on the seats or played music. The rail fare was around £1.50 and I felt that this represented excellent value for money. The journey into the centre of Lublin takes around twenty minutes and there was a guard checking tickets and assisting passengers.

Lublin’s central railway station, although I’ll witter on about this in another post.

This was another success from the Polish rail network. I was given a power outlet, a clean train and no teenager broadcasting TikTok. Perhaps the transport revolution is complete.

Back to the National Museum of Serbia for one more painting, this is ‘On the Train’, painted by Serbian artist Ivan Tabaković (1898–1977) in 1934. What intrigued me, as I obviously need more things to think about, was wondering who these passengers were and where they were going. There’s a figure stretched out across the wooden bench in the foreground and another sitting upright behind. They might be travelling together, or they might be strangers sharing a compartment, with one quietly regretting not claiming the bench first. or perhaps they’ve had an argument, who knows…..

Tabaković had helped found Zemlja, an artists’ group concerned with social hardship, in 1929, although he left in 1932. That doesn’t explain these passengers, but it adds something to my curiosity about them. Are they travelling for pleasure, heading to work or making a journey they’d rather not have to take? The reclining passenger might be exhausted, although perhaps they simply spotted an empty bench and acted decisively, much like Wizz Air passengers sneaking into the exit row seats.

I’m conscious that I’ve read a comfortable journey into a scene that might be anything but comfortable. Wooden seating, heavy coats and someone lying down could equally suggest a tiring trip with little opportunity to rest properly. Having too much time on my hands when travelling, I sometimes construct little histories for fellow passengers, usually on evidence that wouldn’t survive even the most sympathetic examination. Being British, I’m obviously not going to ask them about their life, so I have to imagine these things.

Tabaković’s career also took him well beyond railway compartments. He won a Grand Prix for painting and ceramics at the 1937 Paris international exhibition, and MoMA holds his later work ‘Escape to Universe’. From a wooden bench to the universe is a substantial expansion of travel ambitions. Here, though, he leaves us with two people whose destination remains unknown, and I rather like having to accept that I’ll never find out. I’ve perhaps now spent longer wondering about these passengers than I have about some of my actual travelling companions.

I mentioned in a previous post about the complexity in buying a ticket for this rail service which goes from Barcelona-El Prat Airport to the city centre. However, with the ticket acquired and the train only slightly late, I was hoping for the journey itself to be rather smoother.

There was no shortage of space aboard the train, which appeared to have around six carriages and plenty of available seating. There were no power outlets, something several passengers discovered after conducting the traditional inspection beneath every available seat, but everything was clean and sufficiently functional.

As some background, the airport railway branch opened in 1975 as a dedicated shuttle connecting Barcelona Sants directly with the airport. Stops at Bellvitge and El Prat de Llobregat were added later, and the branch was eventually incorporated into the wider R2 Nord service. The northern section of that route is substantially older, originating with the Barcelona to Granollers railway which opened in 1854.

Around thirty minutes later, I arrived safely at Barcelona Sants railway station. It seemed relatively large but was straightforward to navigate, meaning that leaving the station required considerably less assistance than buying the ticket to reach it.

The rather drab-looking Barcelona Sants entered service in stages during the 1970s and was completed in 1979 as the city’s principal railway station. Its largely underground platforms allowed the surrounding railway approaches to be covered over and helped reconnect neighbourhoods previously divided by surface tracks. The station was later expanded for high-speed services, with direct AVE trains from Madrid reaching Barcelona in 2008.

After the considerable difficulty involved in buying a ticket, the actual journey had been almost disappointingly straightforward. Renfe had eventually transported me into central Barcelona without further negotiation, machine-kicking or assistance from ChatGPT, so perhaps the system worked after all. I was conscious that I still had to buy a ticket back to the airport, although I remained confident that the process would be easier the second time as what could possibly go wrong?

When I arrived at Barcelona Airport’s railway station to catch a train into the city centre, I had not expected buying a ticket to become the most dramatic part of the journey. There were five self-service machines, but only the second and third from the left were working. Long queues had also formed at the two staffed ticket desks, although one of those was about to close because this was evidently considered an appropriate moment to reduce capacity further.

Renfe operates the trains and its ticketing arrangements did not create an especially reassuring first impression. A Spanish passenger in the queue told me that I could not buy the required ticket through an app or aboard the train, leaving the machines and staffed desks as the only options. I had arrived three minutes before a departure, so my original train disappeared while I was still learning the rules of the challenge.

The next train was due thirty minutes later, which ought to have provided more than enough time. Unfortunately, the two surviving machines were failing intermittently and there were no members of staff nearby to help. One passenger was in tears, while another expressed his views by kicking a machine hard enough to leave a visible dent. Renfe had therefore established a customer feedback process, although perhaps not the one it had intended.

The pair immediately ahead of me finally reached a machine with eight minutes remaining before the next departure. They could not persuade it to sell them a ticket, so a local passenger stepped forward to help. He could not make it work either. Another local then told the pair in Spanish that they needed to hurry, before repeating the instruction in English when the first version produced no noticeable increase in urgency.

One of the pair announced that she would not move until a member of staff came to assist her. She was told to join the staffed queue by multiple people in the queue, but quite reasonably pointed out that she had already waited for nearly an hour and would face another lengthy delay. I watched the departure time approach with the detached serenity of someone who had precisely two minutes remaining and no control whatsoever over events. I say serenity, I was actually a little bit annoyed, but I didn’t feel the need to kick anything. I calmed myself by looking at the craft beer options in Barcelona.

The pair eventually abandoned the machine and joined the staffed queue, allowing me to have my attempt. The kiosk promptly produced an error message, but I was using ChatGPT to translate the instructions and work out which options to select. After some rapid pressing of buttons and only limited internal panic, the machine printed my ticket. Technology had therefore rescued me from a problem created almost entirely by other technology.

I was disproportionately relieved to receive this small piece of paper. I was not in a desperate hurry, but I had only a limited amount of time in central Barcelona and did not particularly want to spend another hour observing the gradual collapse of the airport ticketing system. I photographed the ticket so that ChatGPT could confirm I had bought the correct one, which it did. It had been promoted from translator to unofficial Renfe customer service department within about five minutes and I was very grateful for it.

The automatic barriers accepted my ticket and, in a particularly helpful development, the train was running three minutes late. This was one of the few occasions when a railway delay proved to be considerably useful to me.

And here comes the train. After all the complications involved in buying a ticket, the actual railway journey was in danger of seeming disappointingly straightforward, but more on that in the next post as I like to build anticipation.

Part of the reason for my Balkans trip was to fill some gaps in my travels. I had previously visited Belgrade, but nowhere else in Serbia, while Montenegro and Bosnia and Herzegovina were entirely new countries for me.

The map shows the route we followed and the locations where my photographs were taken. But as something of a reminder for those who haven’t bothered reading any of my previous blog posts, after two preliminary nights in Luton, which remained stubbornly outside the Balkans despite the title of the series, I flew to Belgrade in Serbia. I spent several days exploring the city, including Belgrade Fortress, the Church of Saint Sava, the National Museum of Serbia, the River Sava waterfront and a growing number of restaurants and craft beer bars. I had a final KFC before Jonathan joined me there before we continued south by rail into my first new country, namely Montenegro.

Our journey into Montenegro followed the spectacular Belgrade to Bar railway as far as Podgorica, changing trains at Bijelo Polje. We spent one night in Podgorica before travelling by bus to Žabljak, our base for two days of walking in Durmitor National Park and its beautiful scenery. I’m pleased to note that we didn’t encounter any bears, snakes or lions, so that was a result. The highlights there included Black Lake, the forests and mountain scenery around the town, and the walk to the Ćurevac viewpoint above the Tara River Canyon. From Žabljak we continued to Nikšić, where we explored Bedem Fortress, the Cathedral Church of Saint Basil of Ostrog and several reminders of the city’s Roman, Ottoman and Yugoslav history.

We left Montenegro aboard an impressively dilapidated minibus and crossed into Bosnia and Herzegovina near Hum. The exciting journey passed through Foča before depositing us at East Sarajevo Bus Station, rather farther from central Sarajevo than its name had encouraged us to expect. In Sarajevo we visited the site of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, travelled by cable car to Mount Trebević, walked along the former Olympic bobsleigh and luge track and spent an extensive amount of time in the National Museum of Bosnia and Herzegovina being inspired by their unusually expressive stuffed lion.

The next coach journey was no less beautiful and followed the River Neretva through Konjic and Jablanica to Mostar. We crossed the reconstructed Stari Most, saw buildings still carrying damage from the Bosnian War and visited the Sniper Tower, the Partisan Memorial Cemetery and the city’s unexpectedly prominent statue of Bruce Lee. Mostar combined beautiful Ottoman architecture with much more visible evidence of recent conflict than anywhere else on the trip and I certainly learned a great deal of history during the trip.

From Mostar we travelled into Croatia, following the Adriatic coastline past the Baćina Lakes, Drvenik, Makarska and Omiš. We had one evening in Split, where we explored Diocletian’s Palace, including the Silver Gate and the Vestibule, before eating at Tunaholic. Jonathan and I parted company the following morning and I continued alone to Zadar, where I walked through the historic centre, ate pizza and eventually reached the airport after discovering that the airport buses had collectively abandoned card payments. Not that I’m going to dwell on that, nor on the rather unimpressive airport itself.

Looking back, Durmitor provided the finest scenery, Sarajevo the most thought-provoking history and the journey from Mostar to Split the best views from a coach. Mostar made the strongest visual impression, while Belgrade remained the city where I could most easily have spent longer. Jonathan was notionally responsible for transport, while I managed snacks, complaints and the ongoing classification of arrangements as sub-optimal. It was an effective division of labour.

The trip covered four Balkan countries and eight principal destinations using aircraft, trains, coaches, buses, one questionable minibus and a cable car. There were beautiful railways, mountains, historic cities, excellent museums and some memorable food, accompanied by extreme heat, collapsing seats and occasional uncertainty over whether the transport arrangements existed in quite the form advertised. I then flew from Zadar to Warsaw before continuing towards Georgia, because returning directly home would apparently have represented an unacceptable outbreak of simplicity.

All of this means that my remaining European unvisited destinations are Iceland, Kosovo, Moldova and several city-states that I have somehow managed to miss so far. I’m hopeful that in 2027 I can visit all of those and maybe start travelling more long-haul again, something I haven’t done for a few years.

One of the most prominent and visible landmarks in Nikšić is Bedem Fortress, standing on a rocky hill immediately west of the modern city centre. Its surviving walls are also known as the Ramparts of Onogošt, preserving the name by which Nikšić was known for much of its earlier history. It is free to enter and there’s no information desk or the like, although there was a lady with a hosepipe and a cigarette watering the plants.

The hill has been strategically important since late antiquity. A Roman military settlement called Anderba was established in this area, close to routes connecting the Adriatic coast with the mountainous interior. Later traditions associate the site with Anagastum, a fortified settlement whose name gradually developed into the Slavic Onogošt. This made it a sensible place for Jonathan and me to begin, as the walls offered an early view across the city we were about to investigate.

Onogošt became an important fortified settlement during the medieval period and gave its name to the surrounding district. Control passed between regional rulers as larger medieval states divided and contracted around it. The town was governed by the Kosača noble family during the fifteenth century before the Ottoman Empire took control of the region in 1465. The flags provide a conspicuously modern statement of identity above walls which have belonged to rather a long succession of rulers. There was little interpretation around the site, so visitors are largely trusted to arrive with historical knowledge or develop some with the assistance of a mobile signal. I used AI to provide Jonathan with a running commentary as we walked, thereby becoming a tour guide who was learning the material only seconds before delivering it.

The Ottomans developed Onogošt into an important military stronghold within the Sanjak of Herzegovina. Its position allowed troops stationed here to monitor routes across the Nikšić plain and defend the approaches towards the interior of Montenegro. The fortress was enlarged and strengthened over several centuries, creating the walls and defensive enclosures which dominate the remains today. This long curtain wall contains small openings which allowed defenders to observe or fire upon anyone approaching the fortress. The lower entrance is now protected by a metal gate, although it wouldn’t be hard for anyone to sneak into this fortress today as there are numerous holes in the walls.

Only fragments of many internal buildings remain, leaving doorways and windows opening onto rooms which no longer exist. This is atmospheric and added character to the whole arrangement, although it’s hard to imagine what they used to look like.

From higher ground within the fortress it is possible to appreciate the extent of the ruins and the scale of the site. The vegetation has been allowed to establish itself across much of the site and this does add to the attractiveness somewhat. Nikšić gradually replaced Onogošt as the town’s usual name during the Ottoman period. The name was already recorded during the sixteenth century and became the official form during the eighteenth century.

The elevated position provided defenders with extensive views across the plain. Modern Nikšić has since spread around the fortress and the current town is now visible in the background. As an aside, and it’s not immediately obvious from the photos, but there was quite a smoky feel to the city, it’s not clear what was from nearby forest fires and what was just linked to pollution, but I’m assuming that it was mainly the former.

Some sections have received paths, steps and white railings, although preservation across the fortress is uneven and it would be possible to have a rather sub-optimal fall. As ever, I was very careful and I’m pleased to note that there were no incidents.

The railway passes directly below the western side of the fortress. Nikšić later became an important industrial centre, particularly during the Yugoslav period, and its rail connections were developed to serve passengers and heavy industry. The line once continued through Bileća towards Bosnia and Herzegovina, but closed in 1976.

A narrow path follows the outside of the fortifications, with the wall rising on one side and the railway and open ground below on the other. This section gives a clearer impression of the defensive advantage created by building on exposed rock. Attackers would have faced steep ground before reaching walls occupied by people who were unlikely to entirely welcome them.

Montenegrin forces besieged Nikšić during the war against the Ottoman Empire in 1877. After sustained bombardment and the exhaustion of supplies, the Ottoman garrison surrendered in September of that year. Montenegro’s control of Nikšić was internationally recognised by the Treaty of Berlin in 1878 and that was the end of Ottoman rule.

The end of Ottoman rule also brought the end of Bedem’s central role in the town. Instead of continuing to develop within the fortress, Nikšić expanded across the plain below. Prince Nikola commissioned a new urban plan from the architect and engineer Josip Slade, whose 1883 design created the broad streets and radiating layout still evident in the centre.

Parts of the fortress have been stabilised and adapted for visitors, performances and cultural events. This former internal area now includes stone seating, allowing audiences to watch events in some interesting surroundings. Some of the work has been criticised for perhaps not being entirely in keeping with the most up-to-date architectural standards, but it has kept the building in use.

A larger open performance space has also been created within the walls. Bedem has hosted concerts and festivals, giving the old fortress a civic purpose long after its military usefulness disappeared. It is an effective setting, although performers must compete with several imposing walls and the likelihood that at least part of the audience is mainly inspecting the masonry. I would inevitably be part of that section.

These steps lead through another surviving entrance in the fortifications. The mixture of repaired masonry, weathered stone and straightforward metal handrail is typical of the site. There has been enough restoration to make much of it accessible, but not so much that the fortress has lost its sense of age. I proceeded with some caution as I didn’t want to have an incident with an unprotected drop. There were a few other visitors meandering around the site when we were there, but it certainly wasn’t busy.

My final view was from beneath one of the surviving defensive towers, where the walls appear to grow directly from the limestone. Bedem is not a polished attraction filled with displays, reconstructed rooms and strategically positioned gift shops. Its appeal lies in being able to explore the ruins, see how the fortress commanded the surrounding landscape and follow the physical remains of Nikšić’s earlier identities.

The site contains layers of Roman, medieval, Ottoman and Montenegrin history, although the visible structures are principally associated with the fortified town developed under Ottoman rule. It could certainly benefit from more signs and conservation, but its roughness is also part of its atmosphere. All very lovely given that there was no admission charge and it was a fun way to spend half an hour.

Located near the railway station was the Hotel Evropa which was convenient as I arrived around one minute after leaving the train. Jonathan was staying at an apartment around ten minutes away, which all meant that we had time to explore the delights of Podgorica.

The room was clean, basic and cheap, so that was all rather positive. The receptionist was helpful, although there was a bit of a queue to check-in, likely with others coming from the railway station as well.

The hairdryer looked like it had seen better days. To be honest, it looked as though it had survived several previous hotel refurbishments and possibly the dissolution of Yugoslavia.

I also decided that maintaining a respectful distance from the electrics would be prudent.

The breakfast was excellent, lots of fruit, bread, tomatoes and I had plenty of orange juice, apple juice and coffee. I even went outside onto the terrace which was a little decadent even for me. I’m not sure that I usually eat so much fruit, but it was all fresh and tasted decent so I

And so I waited on the outside terrace for Jonathan to appear. The temperature was a little warmer than I’d like, but it was cool in the shade here and we only had a short walk to the nearby bus station for our onward journey.

I rather liked this hotel, it had some historic charm and the staff were friendly, it was mostly clean, there was air conditioning and nothing annoyed me so that’s one for the win. The hotel had modest standards and, fortunately, I was able to meet most of them. The room cost just under £40 for the night including breakfast and so I would happily stay here again. As a side issue, I’ve realised that there is now an airport bus from Podgorica airport which runs 24 hours, so it is very likely that I will get a direct flight here in the future.

We safely arrived at Bijelo Polje which I’ve wittered on about in my previous post and this is where we changed trains to get to Podgorica.

It’s fair to say that this didn’t look like the most decadent train that we were switching to.

The passengers began boarding with considerably more enthusiasm than the appearance of the train appeared to justify.

It was a compartment train and the rail operator hadn’t really burdened themselves with cleaning it. It was quite hot, but fortunately for those of us sitting by the window there was some cooling going on, so that improved matters a little.

The views were impressive and I should mention at this stage a little more about the Belgrade to Bar railway line. This line was conceived in 1952 as one of socialist Yugoslavia’s grand national projects, intended to connect the federal capital directly with the Adriatic coast. Serbia and Montenegro were each responsible for constructing their sections, which opened gradually between 1958 and 1976, so there was obviously no great hurry.

The final rails were joined south of Kolašin in November 1975 and President Josip Broz Tito formally opened the completed line on 28 May 1976, with electrification following in 1977. Building its 476 kilometre route through the Dinaric Mountains required 254 tunnels and more than 400 bridges, making it Yugoslavia’s most expensive infrastructure project and it was evident from the terrain just how challenging this must have been.

The short section passing through Bosnia and Herzegovina was the location of the Štrpci massacre in 1993, while parts of the Serbian route were badly damaged during NATO’s bombing campaign in 1999. Years of underfunding allowed the track and equipment to deteriorate, contributing to slower services and culminating in the Bioče derailment in Montenegro in 2006, which killed 47 people. Reconstruction of the Serbian section began in 2016, but trains still take substantially longer than the approximately seven hours achieved when the complete line was new. But at least it is working again and it offers some of the more beautiful views that I’ve seen from a train.

We shared the carriage with a group of friendly young Germans who were heading off on a long walking trip. We encountered them again the following day, but more of that in another blog post as I maintain my increasingly complicated network of narrative cliffhangers.

The large window on the side of the train gave extensive views of the valley as we started to approach Podgorica, it really was quite beautiful. This sort of view went on for much of the journey, it wasn’t just for a short stretch, all something of an engineering marvel. By this time I had long since eaten all my snacks that I had acquired in the morning, but fortunately still had sufficient drinks to keep me hydrated. This train wasn’t blessed with anything like a vending machine and it was something of a clunky beast that made all manner of noises as it trundled down the track. This wasn’t a long rail journey, it took around three hours and so was shorter than the first section.

I struggled to open the door when it was time to leave, but another passenger and Jonathan came to my assistance. It required what I considered to be an unreasonable amount of physical effort, although everyone else appeared to regard it as the routine operation of a door.

The locomotive that got us safely to Podgorica. We were on time and I was ready to go and walk the 100 metres to my hotel before we had chance to head into the centre of the city.

The two trains had provided a rather lovely experience and the total fare of around £20 felt exceptionally reasonable. It was my first proper visit to Montenegro and the first time I had experienced border controls taking place before the train doors were unlocked. The journey had beautiful views, fascinating history and a splendidly rickety second train that made enough noises to ensure that no-one became complacent about reaching Podgorica. A marvellous and memorable experience.

I’ve already written about the railway station that is now known as Belgrade Center and here’s our train arriving at the platform only ten minutes later than scheduled. The train had three carriages and Jonathan had warned me that there was no buffet car or food option on board, so I was carefully carrying my snacks. The rail service goes all the way to Bar on the coast, but we decided only to go as far as Podgorica as we didn’t want to arrive late at night.

There were seat reservations on the tickets but websites said that they were widely ignored, so we ignored them and so did numerous other passengers. Some passengers demanded their seats from other passengers, a guard appeared and there was some movement around the train, but Jonathan and I found seats that we liked and stayed in them as no-one laid claim to them.

It transpired that the train got quieter and so we moved down to a quieter carriage where I could eat my snacks and Jonathan could throw bread all over the floor or whatever he was doing.

This is Valjevo, which was struck during NATO’s 1999 bombing campaign against the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia.

This is Kosjerić and it’s an active railway station, although the building looked abandoned and appeared to have been extensively vandalised.

The train crossed through the town of Užice. This was the centre of the short lived Republic of Užice, a large area liberated and administered by the Yugoslav Partisans during the autumn of 1941.

The seats were broadly comfortable, there was power available and the train was air conditioned so that delighted me. Our tickets were checked a couple of times, but that was efficient as they just scanned the QR code and all was well. There was a vending machine on board, similar to what we had experienced on Georgian trains earlier in the year.

Passing through the railway station at Branešci.

This reminded me of some of my journeys across the United States on Amtrak trains in terms of the scenery and slightly slow pace.

The scenery was already beautiful and became increasingly dramatic as the journey continued. The railway briefly passes through Bosnia and Herzegovina near Štrpci which was quite exciting as it was technically the first time that I had visited this country. However, since I was visiting the country properly later on in the trip, I decided not to count it.

The train was nearly empty towards the end of the journey, so there was plenty of space. There was Wi-Fi during the journey, although as we crossed into Montenegro I could use roaming so matters improved somewhat.

We arrived at Bijelo Polje railway station in Montenegro which was the end of the line for this particular train and we were greeted by a man selling cans of drink from his bag. We weren’t tempted, but another passenger was until he realised that this guy wanted €6 for a beer. He didn’t sell much.

After that we had a passport check from Serbian border control and then their colleagues from Montenegro, with the doors of the train then being opened after the formalities were complete. I realised Jonathan’s passport is a bit dilapidated and I was excited to see if he would be arrested, but he wasn’t, although that would have made for a suitably exciting blog post. Despite another two walks through the train by the drinks seller, the €6 beer remained in the bag, suggesting that even a captive railway audience has its limits.

It was then time to switch trains for the second part of the journey, but more of that in the next riveting instalment. I also have numerous videos of sections of these journeys, but that’s something to delight my two loyal readers with later on.

Belgrade Centre railway station, usually known as Prokop, is now the Serbian capital’s principal rail station, although its name is slightly aspirational about how central it actually is. The station lies south of the historic centre in the Savski Venac district, partly beneath a large concrete deck. Construction began during the 1970s, but progress was intermittent enough to make it one of those infrastructure projects that appeared determined to outlive everyone responsible for building it. It was all a bit sub-optimal and rather like HS2 in the end, although they did get there.

I arrived at the station from the non decadent side and thought that it was all a bit basic. It transpired that this was the old section of the building which hadn’t really been modernised.

This is the decadent entrance that has been constructed. Passenger services were introduced gradually, with the station taking on a larger role from 2016 before officially replacing the old Belgrade Main station on 1 July 2018. That elegant station had stood beside the River Sava since 1884 and was once used by the Orient Express, but its platforms and railway land were cleared as part of the Belgrade Waterfront development. I went to see that station on my last trip to Belgrade and it’s something of a ghost building now, a former transportation hub just sitting empty. This meant that the city’s main station moved away from the traditional centre and into Prokop, leaving arriving passengers to discover that Belgrade Centre is more of an institutional aspiration than a useful central location.

For several years Prokop operated without a proper station building, leaving a rather unfinished first impression for the capital’s principal railway gateway. A modern glass and steel terminal finally opened above the platforms in October 2023, providing ticket offices, waiting areas, shops and improved access. It is now certainly decadent.

I purchased snacks for the journey from a nearby shop in a housing estate, before I realised that there was a shop at the station building itself. On the bright side, I likely paid a little less for my bag of healthy snacks. This is where Jonathan joined me as he had gone on something of a journey to get to the station, a story that I’ll tell later on.

And here are the platforms and our service was the 09:45 service to Bar.

Ready on the platform for our journey to Podgorica, but more of that two-part journey in the next post.