Serbs Hit the Road Again as Sanctions Ease, Gas Flows : Peace: At a station nicknamed ‘Dayton,’ fuel is a (relatively) cheap $3.22 a gallon.

The newest and most popular filling station in the Yugoslav capital looks more like a futuristic roller coaster than a place to tank up.

Its rippling red metal roof and neon light have made it an instant city landmark, but the motorists queuing in an hourlong line Sunday were not drawn there by its curious design.

Gas at the 3-week-old station is cheap. Dirt cheap, by Yugoslav standards. For 85 cents a liter, or about $3.22 a gallon, you can fill up your tank and a 20-liter container as well.

Just a few months ago, a liter of gas in some parts of town could set you back three times as much. What made the difference? Just ask anyone in line to divulge the renowned station’s unofficial nickname.

“Dayton!” said Slobodan Manojlovic, pushing his red Yugo forward in the queue as his young son jerked the steering wheel. “Thanks to God, I can drive more. I can afford to buy gasoline again!”

The Balkan peace agreement reached last month in Dayton, Ohio, and signed last week in Paris has put cars back on the streets in Belgrade. Nowhere are people more thrilled than at the station where the newly abundant reservoir of gasoline is flowing most cheaply.

Officially named New Belgrade by the state-owned operator, Yugo Petrol, the modern station and its trendy nickname reflect a creeping optimism among many Serbs since international sanctions against the rump Yugoslavia were suspended last month.

Although it is too early for most goods blocked by the embargo to be turning up in shops, the flow of gasoline resumed almost immediately, dropping in price to prewar levels and jump-starting the city’s long-stalled car culture.

“Gas is definitely cheaper, but it is really more psychological,” said Jovan Pajovic, a 30-year-old father of three who was waiting in line. “People have this feeling that everything is going to get better. They don’t really know it, but since we now have gas they think so.”

People are driving more, and more people are driving. Cars that had been packed away in garages are back on the streets. Commuters are griping--albeit with some satisfaction--about the headaches of rush-hour traffic.

Even the popcorn salesman at a congested downtown intersection insists the exhaust fumes are suddenly choking him.

“It is wonderful,” said Slobodan Garcevic, serving up a family of four from his curbside stand. “More people are coming into the city, and they are buying popcorn. Sales are up 50% in two weeks.”

Since the start of the war, gasoline has been a metaphor for the ups and downs of Belgrade life. With the start of the embargo in 1992, official gasoline supplies dried up and rationing was initiated. Then smugglers entered the scene, spawning a lucrative black market in fuel imported illegally from neighboring Romania and elsewhere, although prices were often out of reach of many people.

When Romania clamped down last fall, supplies dwindled again and prices shot up to an all-time high. Now with the peace accord signed and sanctions suspended, official supplies are growing and high-priced roadside black marketeers are being undercut. Gas at the Dayton station, for example, is almost 15% cheaper than on the black market.

“Gas is still limited at the state-run station, and some people still come to us out of habit and convenience,” said Borivoje Kovacevic, who sells gas from the back of his car. “But we’ll probably only last until the new year.”

Before the war, a major source of Yugoslav fuel was a pipeline from the Adriatic Sea through Croatia. That pipeline remains dry in Serbia because Croatia and Yugoslavia, which consists of Serbia and Montenegro, have still not officially recognized each other.

Some roadside smugglers are counting on continued bad relations between Belgrade and Zagreb, the Croatian capital, to keep them in business, at least through the winter.

“People are driving more, and they are going to need gas,” said Igor Anusic, an 18-year-old black marketeer who had pocketed as much as $1,000 a month in profits, about 10 times the average Yugoslav salary.

At the Dayton station, a queue of 75 cars meandered around the corner past a bus stop. Miodrag, a graphic artist changing buses on his way to work, watched the motorcade pass by. He has been taking the bus for two years, he said, because he did not want to pay the $70 to register a car he could not afford to drive. “If prices continue to stabilize,” he said, “I think I will register it after the new year.”