Once we came to see a medieval fortress — and it was closed.
“Damn it!” my wife said and pulled up her hood. Whenever she swears, the weather always turns bad. A light drizzle started literally a minute later. We walked up to the gates.
It was a small town in southeastern Serbia — Pirot. The tourist brochure claimed it “combines rich historical heritage with modern culture.” We love wandering around ruins and castles, so without much thought we drove three hundred kilometers from Belgrade just to see the Pirot Fortress— the town’s main historical heritage. But the gates of this very heritage were locked, and the gate grille, shaped like sharp spears, clearly hinted at Plan B.
My wife usually calls the nearest restaurant “Plan B” — luckily, good restaurants in Serbia are plentiful. But I persuaded her to give the fortress a chance. First, we do love wandering around ruins and castles — that’s exactly why we came all this way. Second, we didn’t see a single other tourist, which meant we could calmly stroll along the walls.
And so our walk began — from a small but very beautiful bridge over the Nišava River, on which the fortress stands.
The history of this place goes back to the 2nd century AD, when a Roman fort stood here. But the fortress acquired its current appearance in the 14th century. According to legends and chronicles, it was built or heavily reinforced by the semi-legendary Bulgarian warlord and outlaw Momčilo. He controlled vast lands along what is now the border between Serbia and Bulgaria and was known for his boldness and independence. That’s why locals call the fortress Momčilov Grad.
The fortress had huge strategic importance: the Nišava valley was part of the key trade and military route from Constantinople (modern-day Istanbul) to Central Europe. Today, of course, the fortress has been restored — towers rebuilt, walls renovated, arrow slits carefully preserved.
Beyond the high walls, we could see the towers of the Upper Town — the most fortified part, where rulers’ residences and weapon stores were usually located.
The main one is the keep, standing on a rocky outcrop with views over the entire surrounding area. It’s a bit of a shame we couldn’t climb up there and take panoramic photos of the valley.
“So it means,” my wife said, “if we’re standing this close to the towers of the Upper Town, we’re walking through the Lower Town?”
Indeed, that was exactly it. Where the Lower Town once stood, there is now a city park — always open to visitors, even when the fortress itself is closed.
The division into Upper and Lower Town isn’t a whim, but a well-thought-out defense system common since Byzantine times.
Many Balkan fortresses were built this way: if an enemy broke through the outer wall, they faced a new line of resistance.
So yes, we were indeed strolling through the park that once was the Lower Town. A large green area, lots of trees, benches. Under the shade of tall canopies, you’d probably enjoy shelter from summer heat… though what am I talking about? That May day was damp and rather cold.
In such weather, you can’t sit on benches — so we took in the walls and moved on through the park…
…where we soon found the museum. But it was closed too! My wife swore a second time, but more quietly now, into her hood, so as not to anger nature any further.
Then we found ourselves again at the park entrance — from the other side — near the monument we’d noticed from afar earlier but hadn’t paid much attention to. Now we stood before it and read the inscription on the plaque: “Jabučilo — according to the folk tale, the winged horse of Duke Momčilo.”
We pulled out our phones and dove into the legend.
It turns out that in folk songs, Momčilo is not just an outlaw and ruler, but almost a mythical hero. His horse, Jabučilo, was winged! On this steed, the warlord carried out lightning raids and could appear and vanish anywhere, like a ghost.
The name “Jabučilo” can be translated as “apple-colored” — most likely a reference to the horse’s coat. In folk tradition, this horse became a symbol of loyalty, speed, and supernatural power. The monument erected to him in Pirot is a tribute to this old legend that ties the town to the era of great Balkan heroes. And the monument itself is made of stone, slabs, and iron rebar — which once again underscores the strength of this legend.
“He doesn’t look like a horse,” my wife said. But how could she know what a real winged horse looked like? She was just cold and wanted to get somewhere warmer. And a legend is a legend — meant to remain a mystery.
It also remains a mystery why such a well-known tourist site was closed on a weekday. Perhaps fate throws us these moments during our travels so we’ll return again to places we’ve already seen but still find interesting. Well, if that’s the case, we’re all for it.
We returned to the car and immediately remembered Plan B, which instantly became Plan A. Ten minutes later, we were already warming up in a cozy restaurant, combining Pirot’s “rich historical heritage and modern culture” with Balkan cuisine — something we can honestly say we truly love. But that’s another story.
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