The mood in the taxi was as thick as the air settling over the baking land, portending the huge summer storms breaking over Belgrade's rural hinterland.

We’d been laughed off the phone by most drivers when we gave our destination, save for this man.

We’d assumed his vehicle would be appropriate for the rocky and remote terrain, but this was not the case.

My partner and I have travelled to Serbia to see how this often overlooked Balkan country compares to neighbours such as Greece, and to join an Uvac River tour to experience this pretty and winding waterway for ourselves.

But we hadn't anticipated our accommodation being quite this remote.

Getting to Uvac Nature Reserve

The pursed lips, the wincing, and the whole-body tension indicated that our driver had accepted our fare because he was unfamiliar with the road, not because of his superior equipment or generosity.

The large stones jutting from the middle of the concave track bumped and scraped the underside of his antique but otherwise well-maintained Škoda Octavia.

Every attack on the underbelly of his livelihood caused him to hiss and exhale, usually followed by a tutting inhale.

Together, these noises made him sound like one of the even more ancient WWII-era steam locomotives you can still find in service throughout this region.

To his credit, he was not a quitter.

We crested a hill to find that the descent on the other side was even more craterous.

Our driver slowed, steadying himself.

My GPS told me we were now less than a mile from our destination, and before he could take his foot off the brake and begin what could have been this Škoda's last fare, we told him, “We’ll take it from here.”

The man blinked slowly and nodded gratefully. We paid and completed our journey to the northwestern Uvac on foot.

Greek influence meets Serbian generosity

As we approached our accommodation, we took in its Greek influences, with beautiful flowers creeping up the white edifices and spilling over the columned barrier of the tiled balcony.

After we settled in, our host informed us that dinner was almost ready. She had done us the kindness of preparing all our meals—not something mentioned in the Airbnb's description.

To prepare for our three days in the middle of nowhere, we had purchased three days of supplies.

As it turns out, we were our host's last booking for the year (we visited in August), so we didn’t need the food we had brought.

We all agreed to just eat twice as much at every meal, which seemed an agreeable solution.

Dinner out on the veranda was stunning.

The golden hour sun presided over our view of this corner of the Uvac Nature Reserve.

The radiant glint off the river illuminated a man and his young son fishing on the opposite bank, along with a couple of grown men frolicking just off our own bank. I resolved to follow their lead the following day.

We spoke no Serbian, and our host spoke little English, but this wasn’t an issue.

We were in the middle of nowhere with far too much food in front of us. We also had Vranac wine from our supplies and our host's homemade rakija (plum liquor) in an old Jack Daniel's bottle.

Google Translate facilitated a slow and breezy conversation with our host.

She had two children in their 30s, and this was the family holiday home. I won’t guess her age, but will dare to say she looked good for it; face glowing in the sunset, smoke coiling up in lazy tendrils from the cigarette in her hand.

She asked us about our plans and offered to book us a boat tour along the Uvac for the following day. We gratefully agreed and were told to be ready for 1 pm.

Our host excused herself, leaving us with the remainder of the food, wine, and rakija to enjoy while the sun set.

Swimming in the Uvac River

The following morning, I followed through with my plans to swim in the Uvac.

Even in late August, the river water was cold. I suspect the fresh rainwater from the almighty thunderstorms had kept the temperatures low.

The late morning sun and suspended limestone particles gave the water a cloudy green appearance and made me very buoyant—I was swimming high in the water.

I'm a very strong swimmer, yet I didn’t venture too far either way as I wanted to leave some scenery for the boat trip later.

But a refreshing dip with the steep, densely forested slopes looking down on me from either side was extraordinarily revitalising.

Joining our Uvac River tour

At 11:30 my partner decided she had plenty of time for a much-needed power nap.

But a loud banging on the door ten minutes later denied her this: “The captain is here!”

We were on the boat five minutes after that, receiving separate tickets for access to a remote conservation zone and the Ledena Pecina—a secluded cave system on the banks of the river.

As the only passengers to have so far arrived, we lounged in the intense midday sun.

The air temperature was somewhere around 40°C and had been for several weeks, infusing the lingering summer storms with calamitous energy.

The Uvac River lay calm in front of us, completely still and as thick as paint.

As our boat cut through the ooze, it sent ripples sloshing against the steep sides of the limestone banks.

A mighty storm spoils the fun

After picking up the rest of the passengers further along the river, one of the threatening storms broke over our heads.

In mere minutes, the rain was coming down in shards that hammered our boat's awning, which was being pulled and stretched by the storm's downburst.

The captain scrambled to pull them tight.

The severity of the storm must have taken him by surprise, and he was evidently worried about his vessel and passengers.

With some skill, he deftly navigated us into the shelter of a nearby overhang and turned off the engine.

It was a good idea to seek cover.

The volume of accumulated rainwater was more than the awning was designed to handle, causing it to sag and exposing the back half of the boat to the downpour.

Shortly after we took cover, a lightning bolt struck the ridges above us less than 200 meters away.

I could taste the ozone and felt my bones tingle as the air was quite literally torn apart. It was also deafening.

Taking shelter

While the storm shattered the air and our eardrums, we got chatting to the couple across from us.

Both were Serbian who spoke superb English. They told us all about their recent trips to other Balkan countries, such as Bosnia and to Albania.

The husband lamented the breakup of Yugoslavia, saying, “We had a great big country, and then the politicians ruined it all.”

I had no choice but to let this oversimplification slide, because he quickly followed up by asking where we were from.

“The UK.”

After some nervous laughter, he said, “The UK is not doing so well right now, eh?”

He wasn’t wrong.

He was referring to rioting triggered by the horrific Southport stabbings, in which three young girls attending a Taylor-Swift-themed yoga class were callously murdered.

Misinformation about the perpetrator and general thuggery had spiralled across the nation, whipping up a wave of xenophobia and violence.

As we left the UK, there was a general sense that it was not safe to be out and about if you weren’t White British.

And so there we were, on our tour of this gorgeous river, exploring the acceptable limits of nationalism.

Visiting Ledena Pećina, which nobody wanted to see

Eventually, the storm passed, and we made it to our first stop, the Ledena Pecina (Ice caves).

Named for their consistently cool temperatures and dating back to at least the previous ice age, these particular caves are extremely long, and are accessible only from the river itself.

My partner and I were already halfway off the boat when the captain asked who wanted to go into the caves.

Nobody else moved a muscle.

Perhaps the storm had washed away everyone's desire to explore.

As it happens, it was only our new friends, perhaps in a show of solidarity, who joined us. Everyone else preferred to stay in the damp boat.

The tour guide reminded us to have our tickets ready and to wait in the cave entrance for our guide.

After ascending the treacherously slippery and narrow metal staircase, we stood at the precipice of a gaping chasm. Water was pouring down and around the mouth of this subterranean glade.

Looking out, I saw our captain hurtling up after us.

I hoped he wasn't about to say we needed to leave because of the weather or because the other passengers becoming impatient.

As he approached, he removed his captain's hat and swapped it out for a miner's helmet. He also brought out a micro ticket punch and asked for the tickets he had just given us.

He punched them, and just like that, our captain evolved into a cave guide.

The cave system is superbly unspoiled. The only light penetrating the gloom was the dying light of our head torches.

Our new friends graciously translated all the facts divulged by our cave guide.

Whilst the passage lined with stalagmites and stalactites was mightily impressive, the star of the show was a natural arrangement at the end of the line, which, as our guide informed us, with an exaggerated wink, looked just like Charlie Chaplin.

And after that display of nature's magnificence, it was time to retrace our steps.

The rest of the tour group was not happy

Back on the boat, sour glares from all the other passengers welcomed us.

An announcement informed us all that it would be a very short journey to our main and final stop—a bank with a high path from where you can look down on the Uvac River.

The storm had passed by now, at least.

The cool air, drained of humidity, was refreshing, and the afternoon sun was hinting heavily at an encore.

Unlike the rest of the passengers, I was in an excellent mood and looking forward to a short hike to see this famously striking river valley from a vantage point high atop the Uvac gorge.

But when we arrived at the foot of the path, the mood on the boat darkened like another storm moving in.

This time, not even our friends will join us on the excursion.

The husband averted his gaze; he blamed some old sporting injury.

Normally, I would give in to the collective pressure of the group.

However, not very deep down, I knew that the reason my partner wanted to visit Serbia was to hike this valley and take a selfie with this beautiful geological feature in the background.

So that decided things.

The captain, having evidently taken a liking to me and seeing my hesitant cowardice, came to my aid by commanding, “Everybody off!”

Later we learned that he had hatched a plan on the spot whereby he vowed to wait for us in his boat while the rest of the passengers joined another boat to take them home, thus allowing us to hike unrushed.

How very nice of him!

We didn't know the precise details at the time but realised we were in luck, and rushed off before anyone could disagree.

A slippery climb up the Uvac gorge

It didn't take long before we realised why the other passengers were so hesitant to scale this valley.

The storm had turned the path into a chocolate-coloured slip and slide. Our only aid was intermittent railing that offered doubtful support.

Placing our trust in the captain not to strand us, we made quick work of our perilous ascent and emerged into a secluded opening enclosed by huge pine and beach trees.

Emerging at the top of the valley wall, we get to appreciate the unique form of the Uvac from on high.

It's slow current as it cuts through the limestone-heavy Karst Plateau gives it a unique snaking shape.

It looks like somebody has held this river at both ends and tried to play it like an accordion.

Geographical feature admired and selfies taken, we all but surfed back down to the boat to find our faithful captain asleep with his hat over his eyes.

I felt incredibly guilty about waking him while fumbling aboard.

We apologised for the wait and offered him some of our packed lunch. He accepted a biscuit and waved away our apologies.

He was quiet and contemplative as he turned the boat around. Motoring past our mooring, he makes a face, shakes his head and gestures towards the rock the other passengers disembarked to earlier.

He tells us there is a saying in Serbian: "Ako nisi video, kao da nisi ni bio," which means "If you didn’t see it, it’s as if you weren’t even there."