Liman I


Schtrandt Beach in Neusatz harbors a dichotomy of memories, transforming from a festive daytime haven to a night-time sentinel guarding tragic and sinister historical echoes from 1942, wherein its sands and the darkened Danube whisper tales of joy, sorrow, and haunting remnants of a somber past to those who linger in its shadowed embrace.

As night settled on Štrand Beach, the festive atmosphere of the day receded, giving way to a palpable heaviness. The waters of the Danube, which once glistened under the sun, now darkened to a shadowy hue, and the whispers of the past began to grow louder.

Long gone were the days when fisherman Jakov Rajs ferried eager beachgoers across the river, selling crayfish and exchanging local gossip. The echoes of children's laughter, once resonating from the Schwimmschulen's wooden raft, were now drowned out by a haunting melody, a lullaby sung by ghosts of a tormented past.

The sands of Štrand held memories of a time not just of innocence and joy, but also of a sinister chapter in its history. Where once stood kiosks, juice shops, and the alluring scent of 'Polar' cakes, now remained an invisible imprint of the terror of 1942. The ground seemed to remember the weight of the feet of Serbian and Jewish citizens, led to their tragic end at the banks. The chilling wind seemed to carry with it the desperate pleas, whispered prayers, and final goodbyes of those doomed souls.

On moonless nights, some claimed they heard faint cries from the river's depths, the sound of lifeless bodies being dragged beneath the ice. Others swore they saw apparitions, shadows of the innocent, walking the banks, forever bound to the place of their untimely demise. They were reminders of a time when the beach turned from a place of recreation to a site of execution.

The trees, which once provided shade to swimmers, now stood as silent witnesses, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, trying to grasp at the memories that floated away with the river's current.

But the Danube itself remained the most enigmatic entity. It had seen centuries of history, and in its depths lay secrets that could never be unearthed. Every ripple, every wave seemed to hold a story, a fragment of the past, forever embedded in its flow.

Štrand Beach, under the cloak of night, transformed from the heart of Novi Sad's leisure to a solemn monument of memories, both cherished and dreaded. As dawn approached, the sinister aura would retreat, making way for the laughter and joy of another day. But the echoes of its history would forever remain, reminding those who listened of the dual nature of this riverside haven.