A considerable amount of time had passed since our trip to Šumica before we embarked on a new adventure to Matejski Brod. We were eagerly waiting for Voja Glavaški to get a bicycle so that the three of us could ride together. This anticipation lasted almost until the end of the school year. Voja finally got a Vesta-brand bicycle, just like mine, but his was newer and more stylish by two years.
Because of our excitement, the days passed slowly. However, of all the days, the longest was that Saturday before our trip. I found myself experiencing the same feelings of restlessness as before our previous excursion. Later, I realized that this always happened to me before any eagerly anticipated event.
I won’t repeat the details I already described about our first trip—how we planned it, where we met, and how we traveled to Matejski Brod. Everything happened the same way again. So, I’ll continue from Šumica and briefly mention the journey to Matejski Brod.
Unlike our first excursion, this trip was much more comfortable. Only two people had to sit on the bike frames, while one rode entirely alone. We took turns, allowing each of us to enjoy the freedom of cycling independently through nature. The road from Šumica to the left turn off the Beodra road was no different from our usual route. But once we turned left toward Matejski Brod, I felt like we were entering the most beautiful landscape in the area. The left side of the road was about a meter higher than the road itself, and in some places, even more. The fields in this area were covered with ripening wheat, while on the right, young corn plants had already sprouted, filling the fields with a rich, dark green color that seemed to radiate life.
It was all beautiful, but I was expecting something even more spectacular—to see a small lake in the middle of the vast plain, with one of its shores rising five or six meters high, as if cut off from the land.
Although the journey was easier than our first trip to Vranjevačka Šumica, it was still quite long. Fatigue was setting in, and there was no visible elevation ahead that could indicate we were nearing Matejski Brod. I didn’t say anything, but I felt increasingly discouraged. Was all this effort really worth it? Would this place truly be as special as my friends had described?
Just as my disappointment was turning into frustration, water suddenly appeared in the distance, along with the high eastern shore of Matejski Brod. Instantly, our exhaustion vanished, and we all cheered in excitement. We jumped off our bikes and left them safely to the side, ensuring they wouldn't obstruct any passing carts. Right in front of the lake, the roads diverged—one leading to Šimuđ, while the other turned left, running almost parallel to the Beodra road, only about two kilometers away, before descending toward the marshlands.
The Mysterious Beauty of Matejski Brod
As soon as I saw the water, I was captivated by the fantastic stories Miša Glavaški had told us about its unusual properties and mysterious origins. Everything I saw felt extraordinary.
The eastern part of the lake, near the steep shore, had a clean, sandy approach to the water. The water itself looked incredibly clear—unlike anything I had seen before. Up until that point, my only experience with water bodies had been the local marshes, the Tisa River, and the Begej River in Zrenjanin. Compared to those, the water of Matejski Brod seemed pristine. The northwestern part of the lake was covered in reeds, where we could hear the chatter of marsh birds—coots, wild ducks, grebes, and, of course, the croaking of frogs.
We quickly stripped down to our shorts and stepped into the shallow water. Was it the morning chill, since it was still only around 9 a.m. in June, or was it the uncertainty of what lay beneath the surface?
We didn’t know the lake’s exact depth, though we assumed it reached about two meters at its deepest point. However, we were all haunted by Miša’s stories. He, more than anyone, knew this area well—it was on the way to his family’s farm. He claimed that the lake had formed from the sudden collapse of the ground and that some parts of it had no bottom at all.
We didn’t take his words entirely seriously, but as soon as we stepped into the water, fear crept in. We moved cautiously, step by step, afraid we might suddenly sink into an abyss. No one knew exactly where these supposed bottomless spots were, but we all remembered Miša’s eerie tale of a farmhand who once ran into the water to swim—and was never seen again. Only his clothes remained on the shore, and his body was never recovered.
We feared those sudden depths even more than the idea of a lurking creature that might drag us into the unknown. Tales of mythical monsters flashed through our minds, making us hesitant to swim.
Miša, being the most familiar with the place, was the first to dive in. Or maybe he had just made up the whole story to seem braver than the rest of us. Eventually, we followed him, though still wary. We all wanted to get closer to the reeds and observe the birds, but I was the most cautious—though I wouldn’t admit it. Instead, I kept complaining about how cold the water was.
Unlike our usual playful mood when swimming in the Tisa, the atmosphere here was different. We all felt uneasy, and everyone seemed eager to be the first to get out of the water. I don’t remember who that "hero" was, but once someone left the lake, the rest of us quickly followed.
Exploring the Surroundings
Still wet, dressed only in our shorts, we began exploring the area. We first approached the steep shore, fascinated by its height and even more so by the numerous holes in its surface—nests of sand martins. Everyone tried climbing up by gripping the holes, but we were also cautious, fearing we might disturb a snake, an owl, or even a weasel hiding inside. Besides, we had been taught from a young age to respect storks and swallows as beneficial birds that should never be disturbed.
Satisfied with merely observing this remarkable nesting site, we attempted to count the holes, but it was impossible. They had no clear pattern, and within seconds, we would lose track, either recounting the same ones or skipping others entirely.
We climbed to the top of the cliff, reaching the road that led to Šimuđ, and admired the vast landscape stretching before us. However, none of us dared to step too close to the edge and look down into the water. We all acted as if we weren’t interested, but in reality, fear held us back.
Returning to the lake, we skipped stones across the surface, making "water skippers," but stopped once we realized we were disturbing the birds.
We then tried to find a way to the water through the reeds on the northwestern side, hoping to see baby coots or ducklings. However, there was no clear path, and the birds had wisely hidden their nests deep within the reeds, far from our reach.
The day passed filled with excitement and new experiences. As we headed home, tired but satisfied, we knew this adventure to Matejski Brod would remain one of our most unforgettable memories.
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