After crossing a makeshift footbridge, a la Indiana Jones, we entered what I can only describe as floating hedonism. The boat’s interior was decorated as if we were in a Kusturica remake of Pirates of the Caribbean. On deck a gentrified cameo appearance by a random Danube wave caused the tables to bounce about in sync with the dirty electro sounds which had momentarily replaced the dulcet and soulful tones of the local songstress who had accompanied the improvised offerings of the in-house chef.

Savski Kej: Belgrade

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