Belgrade: Food & Culture Walking Tour with Rakija & Lunch

4.92

(139 reviews)

What’s the experience like?

We stepped out onto the cracked pavement of Belgrade just as the city was waking up—our guide, Milica, waved us over with a grin that felt like an invitation to something secret. The first stop was a tiny bakery tucked between two faded buildings; I could smell warm dough before we even got inside. She handed me a piece of burek so flaky it scattered crumbs down my shirt (I tried to brush them off but gave up). There was this old man in the corner, nodding along to some folk song on the radio—he raised his coffee cup at us like we were regulars too.

Walking between stops, Milica pointed out street art and explained how Cyrillic letters worked—she wrote my name on a napkin and I tried copying it, but mine looked more like spaghetti than script. At one point she ducked into a shop for something sweet; I didn’t catch the name but it tasted like honey and walnuts. We talked about Serbian slava traditions—how you always bring bread or wine as a gift—and she laughed when I asked if rakija counts as breakfast (apparently yes, sometimes). The weather kept shifting between sun and clouds, which somehow made everything feel more alive.

Lunch happened in a kafana where the tables were covered in red-checked cloths and there was a band playing quietly in the corner. Milica showed us how to order a song (you slip them a note, literally), and then we toasted with plum rakija—it burned going down but left this warmth in my chest that stuck around. Someone from another table started dancing after their second glass; nobody seemed surprised. I still think about that view through the window: trams rattling past, people waving at each other across the street. We ended up staying longer than planned because nobody wanted to leave just yet.