On the average weekend, however, time could lie heavy on the hands

From Trying to Please by John Julius Norwich.  Page 180.  

Despite its shortcomings, we gradually grew to love Belgrade. Short on beauty, it was long on the atmosphere of the old Balkans. By far its most interesting monument was Kalemegdan, the ancient Turkish fortress dominating the confluence of the two great rivers, by this time containing a small park. It faced due west across the great, flat, dusty plain, and there Anne and I would go in the evenings to watch the most breathtaking sunsets we had ever encountered. The problem was what to do at weekends. An hour’s drive to the north of the city was a range of wooded hills known as the Fruška Gora, not unlike the Chilterns; it was pleasant enough for country walks and summer picnics, but hardly exciting. Apart from that, and from Smederevo, a romantic ruined Turkish castle on the Danube, possible excursions were few. To the adventurous sightseer, Yugoslavia could be an endless joy; but all its star attractions—the mountains of Slovenia, the Dalmatian Coast, the painted monasteries and churches of the South—were, in the 1950s, a good two days away. A week’s leave could provide the holiday of a lifetime; on the average weekend, however, time could lie heavy on the hands.