Tucked in central Serbia, Vrnjačka Banja is a spa town with a rhythm all its own. It’s best known for its mineral springs, wide promenades, and a long-standing reputation as a place where Serbians go to heal, rest, and reset. The town has a gentle, retro feel. There are grand old hotels with creaky wooden staircases, leafy parks with ornate fountains, and locals who still dress up for their evening strolls. It’s the kind of place where time stretches. But for one weekend each August, that calm gives way to something far louder and far more alive. This is Lovefest, Serbia’s bold, full-bodied take on electronic music culture.
I arrived not entirely sure what to expect. I’d heard whispers about Lovefest — techno by the lake, poolside parties, and thousands of people dancing under the stars. But I hadn’t realised how seamlessly the festival would blend into the fabric of Vrnjačka Banja. The main events unfold in Park Jezero, a large green space near the centre of town with a small lake at its heart. Stages sprout like mushrooms overnight. The Fire Stage is the anchor, delivering big-room energy. The Energy Stage, surrounded by trees, feels more underground - rougher, rawer, and deeply immersive. There’s also the Raw Stage for hard techno lovers, and the ultra-intimate 99 Stage, which only allows 99 people at a time and pulses with heat, vinyl crackle, and sweat.
During the day, Vrnjačka Banja’s identity returns. Festival-goers wander the shaded boulevards in sunglasses and swimsuits, nursing hangovers with cold juice and Serbian pastries. Locals continue their daily routines, seemingly unfazed by the influx of neon shorts and foreign languages. I spent my mornings wandering through Japanese Gardens (pictured in the banner above), drinking thermal water straight from ornate spouts, and people-watching near the Love Bridge, a spot famous for its padlocks (pictured below) and the legend of two lovers who refused to part. The town’s charm lies in its slow pace, even during peak chaos.
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But Lovefest doesn’t stop for spa culture. The H2O Stage takes over the town’s Olympic-sized swimming pool, turning sunlit afternoons into wild water raves. There’s something surreal about hearing deep house reverberate off diving boards and seeing DJs play while people float in inflatable flamingos. It’s ridiculous and joyful, the kind of moment that makes you forget what day it is.
The festival uses its own token system. You trade your ticket and ID for a wristband and tokens, which you then use for food, drinks, or merch. It’s cashless and a bit disorienting at first, but by the second night, it becomes part of the rhythm. And because you’re not worrying about your wallet, you move differently. You dance harder. You make fewer decisions and more memories.
Getting to Vrnjačka Banja is relatively easy. I took a four-hour bus ride from Belgrade, winding through forests and sleepy villages. The station drops you just outside the town centre, and from there, everything is walkable. Accommodation ranges from luxury spa hotels to modest guesthouses. I stayed in a family-run pension that served homemade plum rakija (pictured below) and warm bread in the mornings. It wasn’t polished, but it felt personal. Most festival-goers I met booked early, those who didn’t were either camping or staying in nearby towns.
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There are a few quirks worth noting. You can only enter the festival grounds once per evening. If you leave, there’s no re-entry until the next session opens. Police presence is strong throughout the weekend, especially around the town’s main arteries. I never felt unsafe, but it’s clear that safety is taken seriously. Just move respectfully and keep it simple.
The real joy of Lovefest lies in how it manages to be both intimate and expansive. You can lose yourself in a crowd of thousands one night and be sipping thermal water in a quiet park the next morning. You can party until sunrise, then walk to a wellness centre for a massage or mineral bath. The contrast is jarring at first, but then it makes perfect sense. Vrnjačka Banja holds both worlds and Lovefest dances in between them.
I left with aching legs, a sunburnt nose, and a phone full of blurry videos I’ll probably never delete. More than that, I left with a sense of having seen something rare, a small town that knows exactly who it is, and a festival that honours that. If you ever find yourself craving a few days of pure music, deep beats, and unexpected softness, Lovefest in Vrnjačka Banja is waiting.
