Spring Awakens at Topčider Park, Belgrade.

Spring Awakens at Topčider Park, Belgrade.

March 2021.

Winter was a real slog that year in the Serbian capital. In fact, the cold, wind, rain and gloom were still stubbornly holding their own as grey February trudged cheerlessly into colourless March.

But as the month wore on, things started looking up. First we received dates for our long-awaited COVID vaccinations. So with a spring in our steps we made our way to the Belgrade Fair complex to roll up our sleeves and get jabbed.

The process was quick, painless and free of charge. For all of my grumbles about Belgrade I should always remember that in a time of global crisis the city kept Sladja and I together, safe and protected from illness. For that at least I’ll always be grateful.

Around this time the weather started picking up. One morning we awoke to… lo and behold…. an actual blue sky and sunshine. Thus we knew the day had arrived for ticking off a hugely historic Belgrade park that had so far proved elusive. So off we went for some exploring around… Topčider Park. 

Spring Awakens at Topčider Park, Belgrade.

Located just five kilometres south of central Belgrade, Topčider (pronounced “top-chee-der”) is a vast forest park that has witnessed some of Serbia’s most historic events. Indeed the word Topčider relates to an old Turkish expression which means artillery men’s valley. 

You see, this is where the Ottoman Army produced cannons ahead of the 1521 Siege of Belgrade. The upcoming attack would be just the latest on the city and its fortress as part of the long-running Ottoman-Hungarian Wars. This time, however, they would actually succeed in occupying Belgrade.

Back then Topčider would have been hellishly wild, including large patches of perilous swampland. As we arrived that day, I was relieved to see that those swamps have given way to mowed lawns, stone footpaths, wooden bridges and pretty streams and brooks.

It was Miloš Obrenović, the Prince of Serbia, who began transforming Topčider into something far more presentable. The year was 1830 and Serbia had gained autonomy after The Second Serbian Uprising against The Ottomans, led by Obrenović himself. 

Miloš Obrenović (1783-1860). 

Naturally, the prince wanted to establish a new royal compound for himself and soon settled on a plot of land in Topčider. Because, several historians say, the Turks (who still had control of Belgrade fortress) couldn’t reach large parts of Topčider with their cannons. After two years of construction his royal residence, Milošev konak, was completed in 1833.

As we came upon the old royal residence I immediately felt struck by two things. 1: What a modest building it is. And 2: That it’s completely overshadowed by the absolutely magnificent London plane that stands in front of it.

According to Serbian royal history experts, the tree was planted in 1868, some years after Obrenović died. A buyer acting on behalf of the family bought the seeds from Austro-Hungary. Amazingly, a receipt for the purchase still exists and has been exhibited within the house, which now serves as the Museum of the First Serbian Uprising. 

At 160 years old this is one of the oldest London planes still thriving in Europe. No wonder the Serbian government felt moved to declare it a national monument. It stands at around 38 meters high and has become such a sprawling beast that those who maintain the park have fitted it with metal poles. Presumably so that the poor thing doesn’t collapse in on itself.

Spring Awakens at Topčider Park, Belgrade.

We were keen to have a look inside Prince Miloš’ old digs to see if we could find that receipt. Unfortunately, it remained shut due to COVID, so we had to make do with a loop walk around the exterior.

Along the way, we stumbled upon an absolutely fascinating memorial. Written in 19th century Serbian, I’d have had little to no idea what the stone engravings said had Sladja not stepped in to save the day.

The stone stands in tribute to a Serbian solider by the name of Todor. A man who, the memorial insists, was “an example of honesty and goodness”. In 1885 he was sent off to fight for Serbia in the brief but fierce Serbo-Bulgarian War.

No prizes for guessing that Todor never made it back home. Translating the faded, mossy words for me, Sladja explained that he “died fighting heroically” aged just 24, leaving “his brothers Jakov and Nikola forever in grief“.

Memorial to Todor.

From Prince Miloš’ old residence it’s just a stone’s throw to the pretty Church of the Holy Apostles, Peter and Paul. Obrenović ordered its construction in 1834, soon after the completion of his house. There’s a cool backstory behind the church’s inception, while some historians disagree over the precise nature of the prince’s intentions. 

Rewind back to the First Serbian Uprising in the early 1800s and Obrenović was a high-ranking soldier alongside the revolutionary Karađorđe. As the story goes, Obrenović was charged with keeping several strategic roads blockaded during an important siege on Belgrade Fortress. 

However, instead of protecting the roads Obrenović proceeded to strike a deal with the Ottomans before letting them through. Furious, Karađorđe captured Miloš and took him to an abandoned cemetery in Topčider to kill him. But ultimately decided to spare his life due to the pleadings of other key revolutionaries.

As a result, some historians reckon Obrenović built the church in recognition of “a miracle” that saved his life and allowed him to become prince. Then again, it could also have been an act of remorse. You see, Obrenović later arranged for Karađorđe’s assassination after it became clear his old friend and foe was becoming too much of a political threat. 

Spring Awakens at Topčider Park, Belgrade.

Amusingly, written records of the time detail that the church’s construction was famed for Prince Obrenović’s penny-pinching. Tradesman received very poor and often late pay. Moreover, looted cemetery headstones went into the bell towers. Having toured the interior, we exited back into the sunshine where we met the current prince of Topčider, Catty Catovich XII. 

In what was perhaps a standard case of history-induced hunger, we were now both feeling peckish. Fortuitously, we were just a short walk away from Milosev Konak Restaurant, a traditional Serbian eatery named after Topčider’s royal residence.

Initially, we were unsure if it would even be open. But it appeared they had partially reopened after closing during COVID. I say partially because we couldn’t go inside. Rather, the waiter gruffly told us to sit in the covered garden terrace where next to nothing had been prepared for guests.

Unimpressed, we ordered a couple of sandwiches and went back into the park to devour them on a bench. Mine was decent, an egg and bacon concoction that hit the spot.

I remember telling Sladja how it might be nice to go back to the restaurant once they’d fully reopened. But just a glance at their reviews reminded me that, as a Belgrade resident, I really should have known better.

Spring Awakens at Topčider Park, Belgrade.

With our sandwiches despatched, we returned our attention to Topčider’s various trails, picking off numerous spots of interest.

Take the Female Harvester Monument, for example. Made in Vienna by the renowned Austrian sculptor Christof Fidelis Kimmel in 1852, it has the distinction of being Belgrade’s first ever park monument. It depicts a life-size woman clutching a sheaf of wheat in her hands. Cast in zinc and covered in copper, it is a handsome chunk of 19th century Neoclassical realism.

We also stopped to admire Topčider’s tribute to the German-Swiss forensic scientist Archibald Reiss. In 1915 Reiss was a highly respected university professor and published writer when the Serbian government employed him to investigate and document war crimes committed against the Serbs by German, Austro-Hungarian and Bulgarian forces.

In an amazing and somewhat odd development, Reiss felt such a bond with Serbia and its people that he even joined the army and served for a period in Albania. After the war he decided to settle in Serbia, helping to establish the country’s first police academy and Red Cross centre.

Archibald Reiss (1875-1929).

Today Reiss lies buried in Topčider Cemetery. He has several streets named after him across the country, in addition to a Belgrade primary school that bears his name. The Serbian sculptor Marko Brežanin created the bronze monument in 1931.

Next, we picked out a choice bench near the Stone Obelisk, another landmark commissioned by Prince Miloš Obrenović. He asked the sculptor Franz Loran to create this simple truncated pyramid in 1859 to celebrate the start of his second spell in power. 

The prettiest section of the park is surely down by the ponds with its wooden bridges and aimless fish. Pausing to drink in the scene, it felt like spring was starting to awaken. A sensation that brought a sudden surge of renewed hope for the year ahead and beyond.

In such moments it’s easy to understand why so many locals treasure Topčider Park, with its peacefulness and history. One regular patron was the Nobel prize winning Yugoslav author Ivo Andrić, who often came here to relax, reflect and scribble ideas for his next book. 

“Topčider is my favorite place”, he once wrote, wistfully. “Where I ate bread and drank wine in the sweetest and calmest manner”. Wow… definitely makes me wish Sladja and I had prepared a picnic basket.

Spring Awakens at Topčider Park, Belgrade.

Just when I thought we had seen everything, Sladja had a delightful surprise up her sleeve. “I wanna show you something cool” she told me. So off we went, back through the park and onto a walking trail that runs alongside the Topčiderska River.

With the landscaped park behind us our surrounds quickly became wilder. The river bubbled along noisily, lined by parallel stretches of woodland. Here and there, we spotted neglected wooden gazebos, one of which we paused at to grab a selfie

Further on, we crossed a quite spectacular wooden bridge. Spectacular because it was a miracle the thing was still standing. Ignoring its wonkiness and the various missing planks, we crossed it in order to check out what we thought was a mysterious looking sculpture.

But we couldn’t figure out what it was. An artistic expression? A play tunnel for kids? A mini climbing wall?

In any case it took us about fifteen minutes to reach the surprise destination. Dating back to 1884, Topčider Railway Station occupies an understated but hugely significant spot in Serbian history. After all, this is where the country’s first train service took place. And where Yugoslav leader Josip Broz Tito kept his famous Blue Train when it rested between state visits. 

Topčider Railway Station.

Apparently, The Orient Express used to rumble through here in its heyday. But it didn’t stop at Topčider, which means famous passengers such as Gandhi and Einstein would’ve only seen the station flash by their window.

Against the odds, Topčider survived immense bomb damage during the first and second world wars. After several restorations it got back on its feet, welcoming the likes of Britain’s Queen Elizabeth II, The USA’s Jimmy Carter and Libya’s Colonel Gadaffi, who all either arrived or disembarked from Topčider Station.

By the 1980s the station had fallen on very hard times and for a while all services were suspended. But in 2018, following another revitalisation project, it came back from the dead with a single service to the Montenegrin town of Bar. As fate would have it, we saw the train to Bar that day sitting quietly on the platform.

Sladja was keen to take me inside the station office to see an amazing antique of Serbian history. So in we went to say hello and ask if we could take a photo or two. The woman behind the desk was not exactly friendly (par for the course), but did allow us to have a brief look and take the photo we needed.

Topčider Railway Station.

What a great way to end the day’s adventures as we stood looking at what might be Serbia’s most famous clock. It was given to King Alexandar I of Serbia by his wife Draga Mašin sometime after their marriage between the summers of 1900 and 1903. We can narrow down this time period because both king and queen consort were assassinated on the evening of the 10th of June 1903 by their own army officers in a coup d’état. 

I’m so glad we got to see the station that day. In October 2021, just seven months after our visit, Topčider Railway Station closed its doors again and has been out of operation ever since. If this indeed turns out to be the end of the place I can only cross my fingers that they’ll try to preserve its history in some way. An onsite museum would be a great way to go, I think. Here’s hoping…

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