Controversy in a name: FYROM, to the Republic of Macedonia and now North Macedonia…

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Happy to have arrived!

The naming of the country north of Greece has a long history of controversy, which dates back to World War II, although it wasn’t until the break up of Yugoslavia that it really became an issue. Greece claims the only Macedonia is that of its northern region, and that (North) Macedonia is attempting to appropriate Greek Culture and symbols (Alexander the Great for one). The most hard line Greek nationalists feel that if (North) Macedonia is allowed to keep its name, it will eventually lead to armed conflict and taking of their land. The majority of people living in North Macedonia are an ethnic south Slavic people, speaking a slavic language. However, North Macedonians see themselves as direct descendants of Alexander the Great, also claimed by Greece…

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Love this flag, it is so very bright!

You can see where this gets complicated. In fact, Skopje has a whole plethora of neo classical statues (built in 2014), which aims to reclaim its history back from the Greeks. It’s complicated, and we certainly felt the hostility later on our journey when we accidentally referred to Macedonia (then its actual name) as Macedonia, not FYROM (Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia). In Greece, that’s what you call it, otherwise you get a death stare.

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Lake Ohrid

By the time we were pedalling through this country with a controversial name, a referendum had been held to change the name, thus making way for the country’s entry into the EU and NATO, which until then had been blocked by Greece. And as of early 2019 The Republic of Macedonia official became North Macedonia. Apologies if any of my facts are wrong, this is a complicated issue and I’ve done my best to try and break it down a bit.

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So happy to be here

We reached (North) Macedonia after climbing for an hour on the Albanian side. After being stamped in, we free wheeled down towards Lake Ohrid. At one point I hit a pot hole so fast, my rear pannier came off. First time on this trip. After a lovely descent we were soon riding along the shores of the incredibly beautiful lake. There had been no rest days since Mostar, three countries ago, so we were looking forward immensely to some time off the bike. As it was my birthday the following day, we’d treated ourselves to our own flat, overlooking the lake. Now we just had to get there.

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Pedalling into Ohrid

It had been a long, gruelling morning of climbing through Albania, but now we were so close. The sunset over the lake and mountains was spectacular; a hint of what was to come. I had been keen on Lake Ohrid ever since I’d heard about how beautiful the town and lake were supposed to be, back in 2015 when we were first cycling through the region. It did not disappoint.

 

As we pedalled into the town of Lake Ohrid, the call to prayer was being sung, and I could see many churches. While I am not religious, I deeply appreciate these places – were religions exist side by side. It shows us the better side of humanity. Ohrid once had a church for each day of the year. That seems a little over the top!

 

To reach our flat, we needed to negotiate the narrow and steep medieval town of Ohrid. That meant full on standing up in first gear, pumping the pedals, after having already been on the road for 10 hours. Mildly exhausting! Our phone GPS was freaking out, and a few times we came up against narrow and steep stairs and had to turn back. Finally, after bumping our bikes down some steps we made it. Our hosts let us in and then it was just us and our own little space for a few days. Bliss.

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Tea in the sun happiness

After a shower and overloading the washing machine with our filthy clothes, we headed out in what clothes we had left. Ohrid is simply a magical little town, full of steep winding steps, paths, churches, cobbles stones and beautiful views of the lake.

 

I woke on the morning of my 35th birthday with a view of the lake from my bed. Amazing. I had a wonderful day of phone conversations with friends and family, messages, amazing food made by Astrid and relaxing in the sun. An explore of the town, sunset wines, more amazing food and a sneaky whiskey on our balcony to finish off the day. Perfect.

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Birthday breakfast

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I don’t think I would ever get sick of this view!

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Exploring

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Waiting for the sunset

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Sunset drinks

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So crazy beautiful

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We spent the next few days relaxing and exploring Ohrid. Our almost 6 months on the road was beginning to be felt; we were tired and extended our stay by one night. Finally though, we needed to leave. Greece was calling and Astrid’s 40th was now only 10 days away.

 

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Leaving Ohrid, next stop Athens!

A little reluctantly we packed up and bumped our bikes out of the old town and headed towards the Greek border. We followed the road out of town and then up a valley, beside a river. It was a beautiful late autumn day and felt good to be pedalling again. There was a gorgeous, empty secondary road we found in the afternoon, climbing amongst the pines. Our camp for the night was absolutely perfect, on soft grass, surrounded by trees and plenty of firewood for a warming us (it was cold!).

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Break time!

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Empty roads are the best

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Looking for a camp spot

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Found a perfect one!

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It’s definitely getting cold out here

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Bikes covered in frost

The following morning we pedalled into the town of Bitola, consumed a huge amount of Burek, poked around an archaeological site and then left for the Greek border.

North Macedonia, it’s been a pleasure. We will be back one day.

 

Albanian Impressions

unadjustednonraw_thumb_10c95Although we had not planned to cycle through Albania this time round, neither of us minded coming back, and even retracing some of our cycle from 2015. Albania is a place close to our hearts. It’s like nowhere else in Europe we have been, and reminds us a little of everywhere we have travelled.

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Cars on the roof, why not?

It’s always interesting when you only cycle in a country for a short amount of time, don’t speak the language, or have much meaningful contact with locals. Sometimes that just happens, and in a country, particularly one as seemingly obscure as Albania, one can be left with somewhat confusing impressions. Many things don’t ever quite make sense.

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These bunkers dot the landscape, built by the former dictator

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Another abandoned something

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Enjoying the wide shoulder

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Lady birds painted on a building, why not?

Why does Albania have so many car washes, for instance? Seriously, every few kilometres you find them. And sometimes a few grouped together. Men (with perfectly coiffed hair) either sit around on their phones waiting for business, or carefully soap up already shiny black Mercedes. Another thing; there are so many fancy German cars in this country. Mainly Mercedes, but also Audi’s and BMW’s. In a country that obviously has problems with poverty, it seems quite crazy. I’ve heard some of them are second hand from Germany, brought here because they last longer on the bad Albanian roads. Staying with the car theme, there are also a phenomenal amount of petrol stations. And quite a few abandoned shells of petrol stations. Was there some kind of petrol station fad? Get rich abroad and come back and buy a petrol station? I have no idea. Sometimes it’s fun to make up stories as to why things are the way they are.

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Excited to find this vegan burek type thing

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Albanian drivers unfortunately haven’t improved much since 2015. The roads are generally narrow and people drive fast. It is certainly a country gripped by the status of the car. Safety and road rules are not a thing. I was nearly reversed in to, and it is standard to talk on the phone, pull over suddenly, use the horn furiously, or use the street as a car park. We saw quite a few amusing arguments as people parked their cars in what up until then had been a lane to drive in, blocking all traffic behind them. The constant feeling of being a second class citizen whose right to life on the road was only temporary, was exhausting and we took breaks sometimes just to get out of the traffic. Thankfully after Tirana, things became better.

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second breakfast

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off road to look for camping..

The landscape we cycled through was initially flat and dusty, heavily cultivated and dotted with eccentric large pink houses (built by rich Albanians?), petrol stations, car washes and random shops and small villages. We saw a woman herding turkey’s in a field, men driving what looked like pimped up wheel barrows with a motor, and quite obscurely, one person in a wheel chair, on a highway, going backwards. Go figure, it’s Albania.

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Turkey’s!

The gap between rich and poor appears immense here, the corruption is almost palpable. Men in shiny black sports cars, big shopping malls, huge houses. This is interspersed with families travelling by horse and cart, barefoot children begging outside supermarkets and shanty towns. We received some candid stares and shouts, one manchild threw a bottle at Astrid’s head. Women had faded into the background of life here, and it was mainly men we saw – washing cars, driving cars, drinking coffee, milling about. Still, by and large people were kind to us and I feel no animosity towards Albanians. It is a country still coming to grips with its identity after a tragic and frightening past, running head first into capitalism and all the problems that come with this very flawed system.

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left over second lunch

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tea time

At one point there was a no bicycle sign on a motorway, but all we got was a smile and nod as we cycled by the police. Later, on another motorway we wanted to ride through a newly built tunnel. Here the traffic man became quite insistent that it was dangerous. I became quite irate; not riding through the tunnel would mean a climb up a narrow road that had already proved dangerous. After days of exposure to bad driving I was having none of it and refused to comply. He said he would call the police and I told him to go ahead and rode off. Poor Astrid had no choice but to follow me. Ironically, pedalling on the footpath of the tunnel was the safest we’d felt all day (possibly in the whole of Albania). We then flew along the newly built motorway at top speed, with a wide shoulder and almost no traffic. Either we outran the police (unlikely), or they were never actually called.

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On the illegal motorway..

From camping hidden in people’s orchards on the crowded agricultural lowlands of Albania, our path took us into the mountains. Here the air was fresher, the landscape wilder and more beautiful. We followed a river upward towards the border with the Republic of Macedonia. Our time in Albania this time was brief, but I am sure it won’t be the last time we visit this unique country.

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Camping in a vineyard

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By the river

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heading up towards the border

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A different Albania

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Leaving the lowland behind

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Border post

Thirty six hours through Montenegro

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Signs are there to be climbed!

After climbing all morning through the beautiful mountains of Bosnia, the first thing I thought as we free wheeled down the road on the Montenegrin side was; it’s not as beautiful as I expected. Kind of harsh I admit! The landscape was rocky, dry, and quite bare. Not the Montenegro I remember of 2015. Of course, first impressions are often wrong.

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Happy to be back in Montenegro

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Overlooking a dam on our way into Niksic

After snacking on left overs, we rolled into Niksic in search of potato burek (second lunch) and an ATM. We found both, with the potato burek possibly being the best we’ve ever had (big statement I know!). While in the bakery, unashamedly scoffing our second helping, a guy came over to talk to us. Petar was a local Warmshowers host, and after chatting for a bit, he offered to show us a scenic route to Podgarica. We happily accepted.

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Petar showing us the way

What followed was up there with some of the best and most scenic cycling we’ve done. We followed Pieter up a small, smooth road (Montenegro has ridiculously good roads) as it wound itself gently up the mountains. The views were magnificent and I felt dwarfed by the sheer beauty of nature all around us. By the time we reached the Ostrog monastery it was late in the day, making Podgarica as we had planned was looking unlikely. It was one of those moments where you choose just to embrace the moment and go with the flow of what is being offered up. Petar showed us the church and explained a little bit about his religion. Although neither of us are the slightest bit religious, I do appreciate the sacredness of churches, temples, mosques, and the beauty of the architecture and art work. The icons in orthodox churches are impressive. And it has an air of mysticism I did not expect.

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The amazing road

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So fun and so beautiful

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After Petar had a quick chat with a priest, we all ended up being invited in to eat in the monastery dining room. I can only imagine this is where the monks eat? There was some praying and then we were served up delicious food, including quite a lot of wine. Some people joined us, and it turns out the woman was an Abbott from Russia. So that’s how we ended up sharing wine and food with a Russian Abbott and some monks in an orthodox monastery in Montenegro. You never quite know how your day will turn out on the road…

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A church at the monastary

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At the Monastary

Later on we explored the high monastery, which is impressively cut into the stone. It is a really beautiful and spiritual place and a site of Pilgrimage for Christians, as Saint Basil of Ostrog’s body is there (rather creepily in an open coffin). He is apparently the saint of Miracles.  Petar, being the generous and humble guy he was, organised for us to stay in the monastery dormitory that night. He also stayed as he is currently in between jobs and had no plans. I love how he could just spontaneously join us. We spent the evening drinking tea and talking; about religion, the difference in our lives, relationships, travel, anxiety, love…Petar is not one to waste time on trivial matters and it was refreshing to talk to someone obviously so smart and interested in everything.

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The high monastary, built into the rock

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Impressive!

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Exploring by night

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Outside the monastery where we slept

In the morning singing from the church reverberated over valley in a wonderful and other worldly manner. The sun shone, promising another perfect autumn day. It felt like we were outrunning the bad weather again. The three of us left early and headed down the mountain and valley into Podgarica, the Montenegrin capital. Here we ate lunch in a park by the university that Petar had once attended.

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The road down

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more beautiful road..

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On the road to Podgarica

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Podgarica

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Outside the church Petar showed us in Podgarica

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Church and bike posing..

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Inside the church

It was now time to head to the Albanian border, just over 20km away. Petar decided he may as well join us right to the border. Unfortunately he hadn’t brought his passport, otherwise I think we would have continued cycling with us! The road out of Podgarica was awful at first, fast and busy, but luckily improved as we began climbing out of the valley and back into nature in the late afternoon sunshine.

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Looking towards Albania..

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Towards the border

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Lovely in the late afternoon!

At the border we said our goodbyes. Meeting Petar was certainly the best thing that happened to us in Montenegro. It made our brief 36 or so hours here so much richer, and showed us places we would otherwise not have seen. We may lead very different lives, and come from very different backgrounds, but this ride was a reminder of how human’s are kind and open, given half a chance.

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Thanks for everything!

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A pedal through the changing cultural landscape of Bosnia Herzegovina

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Bosnia Herzegovina. I am not really sure how to start this blog. There is so much I want to say and express. It is probably one of my favourite places in Europe, rich in history, culture and natural beauty. And it would be impossible not to mention the recent tragedy of the war and genocide that followed the break up of Yugoslavia in the early 90’s. But I guess I am going to pair it right back to how we experienced this varied and often complex country. It is far beyond the scope of this blog to delve into the complexities of the history and politics of this region. Although I will not completely omit them either.

 

We arrived in Bosnia Herzegovina over the Drina River, cars with Bosnian and Serbian number plates crossed the border seemingly without issue, and it was hard to believe that this area was once the site of major fighting. We pedalled a short distance into Bratunac to find food and an ATM (typical just arrived in a country activities). While I was in the supermarket Astrid got chatting to a man who invited us for coffee. When first in a new place it’s always so lovely to be able to speak to someone about the country, to try and get a sense of it. Our new friend had spent 25 years living in Britain and had only recently returned. He was frustrated by the corruption and slowness of getting things done, and he expressed a sadness about the huge divide that now exists between Serbs and Bosnian’s, which he said in his youth had not been the case. To clarify; there are three main ethnic groups in Bosnia Herzegovina; Serbs who are mainly orthodox Christians, Bosniaks who are mainly Muslim and Croatian’s who are Catholic. One can see how these ethnic divisions can easily be exploited.

 

With history and politics swirling around in my head we headed off, the sky felt heavy, the air was cold and damp. It felt like autumn had really arrived. Our road towards Sarajevo took us through an area that had been involved in intense fighting between Serbs and Bosnian’s (we went quite near Srebrenica). There had been massacres of entire Bosnian villages in this area.

 

Later, while eating lunch by a Church, we spoke about our first impressions of this new and complicated country. Firstly, there are many taps, which we loved. Water being freely available is a cycle tourist’s dream. Next, the Serbian nationalism in this area was potent. Almost every village had a Serbian flag. Many houses were literally painted in Serbian colours. I mean, nationalism and flags always make me a little uncomfortable at the best of times, let alone in the context of the recent history. Then there were the deserted villages and obvious shrapnel damage to the houses…what happened there? One shudders to think. We passed a Muslim graveyard too, a whole field of white pillars, eerie and silent in the damp afternoon. There were a few mosques as well, nestled amongst some of the villages we cycled by. How must it feel to be a Muslim in this part of Bosnia Herzegovina now?

 

The autumn afternoons were becoming shorter and not long after we began a gentle but steady climb, the light began to fade. In the last few days the weather had certainly changed; the Indian summer felt over. It was already mid October and the fact that it was only now getting cold was such a blessing. Finding a place to camp had an added difficulty here in Bosnia as there are still landmines from the war. From what I hear no one has been maimed or killed in quite a while (and the areas where they are appear to be signposted) but we were still wary of going off piste too much. We found an old mountain road, which definitely looked like it had been in use after the 90’s and pitched up on it, next to a creek. Over dinner I looked at the map on my phone; we had 96km to go to reach Sarajevo, including two big climbs. Our plan had been to reach it in two days, but with the drizzly, cold weather, another night in the mountains didn’t massively appeal.

 

The next day was Sunday and therefore pancake day, a tradition we had started in Iceland. Astrid has perfected the art of the vegan pancake over the last few months and it’s always lovely to have a break from our usual muesli with water and banana. Over pancakes and coffee we discussed the possibility of making it to Sarajevo. It’s always a bit exciting setting a challenge like this. Especially if there is a warm bed and a cold beer at the end of it.

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chopping banana for the pancakes..

We climbed all morning, a steady but constant gradient winding ever upwards into the Bosnian mountains. There was little traffic. We passed a few villages but mostly it was forest. Occasionally there was drizzle but the worst of the rain held off. It was cold and we both wore full waterproofs. Hard to imagine a week ago we were in t shirts in the sun. At the top of the first and hardest climb was a restaurant and we gratefully scrambled inside to get out of the cold and have something to eat. I looked at the kilometres. We still had 80km to go and it was 1.30pm. To hell with it: I emailed our host in Sarajevo (who owns a hostel) and told her we would probably be showing up later that day.

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checking the kilometres..

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A village in the mountains

A cold descent followed, through forest and then across windswept alpine meadows. I pedalled hard, trying to keep up with Astrid. After an hour we stopped and checked our map – we had done just under 30km. We could do this. I was starting to really enjoy the challenge, as was Astrid.

 

We stopped once more to stuff Burek into our faces and then climbed hard out of the valley. As we neared Sarajevo the traffic got heavier. I got surprised by a huge descent and found myself braking because the cars were going too slow. We flew off the mountain, through beautiful gorges and into another valley. It was cold and beginning to head towards dark. We put on more layers and braced ourselves for the traffic and the icy wind.

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Downwards..

At a petrol station we pulled up with 12km to go and the weather coming in. We needed a break though. It is sometimes these last few kilometres that can be your undoing. So we had a hot drink and ate a pack of crisps. Then we attached our lights and once again joined the traffic. It got a bit scary then, it was dark and busy and we needed to ride through quite a few tunnels. Riding close together we kept our nerves and our lives, and were soon in the city, amongst trams and traffic lights and people. One final insane climb and we reached our goal; The Doctors House Hostel, owned by the wonderful Cat who is also a Warmshowers Host. Cat wasn’t in but we were greeted by Riccardo who was not only doing a workaway there but also happened to have just cycled east Africa on a bamboo bike. Life.

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Cat’s wonderful hostel

We quickly settled down for an evening of beer and bike chat. It felt wonderful to have succeeded in our cycling challenge. My body ached in all the right places and I felt tired but elated. We now had several days off the bikes and one of our friend’s was arriving the next day.

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View over Sarajevo

Sarajevo. What a city. I visited 2 years ago with Misch (one of my oldest and closest friends), and ever since then I’d been keen to show it to Astrid. To me it feels like one of the most interesting places in Europe; the strong Ottoman influence meeting the distinctly European one, the beautiful architecture, the surrounding mountains, and of course it’s place very much in the centre of 20th century European history. The city of today dates back to the 15th century and the Ottoman occupation. When that empire began to crumble and lose its grip, it was occupied by the Austro-Hungarian Empire. During this occupation the city was industrialised and rapidly developed (it had the first tram in Europe). While the shooting of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria in Sarajevo was the catalyst for WW1, it was certainly not the cause. Europe at that time was increasingly unsettled, with the major players all vying for power and new territories (not to mention colonies). After being part of the two Yugoslavia’s, (the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia) when Bosnia Herzegovina declared independence, Sarajevo was subjected to the longest siege in the history of modern warfare. So definitely a place that has a varied and complicated history!

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Fuelled by falafel and a long sleep we packed up our bikes the following afternoon and headed the short way to meet Doug, who had kindly rented an apartment for us to stay in while we were all in Sarajevo together. After a lot of excited hugging and a cup of tea, the three of us headed off to explore the city. It was fun just to wander around the old bazaar, exploring narrow lanes, popping into tiny bars and marvelling at the architecture. The sounds, sights, smells, made me feel like I wasn’t in Europe at all. Then, walk a few hundred metres and we were surrounded by huge impressive buildings from the Austro-Hungarian period, complete with wide streets and trams.

 

 

Over the next few days we explored the old bazaar, watched the sunset from high above the city, visited the very disturbing museum of war crimes and genocide, went dancing at Kino Bosniak (highly recommend Monday nights!), had a fight with a stick (stick 1, Jude 0 – Astrid and Doug had to patch up my face), drank probably too much raki, went to an amazing vegan restaurant and had many chats late into the night. It is always so wonderful when friends visit and we both thoroughly enjoyed Doug’s company. All too soon it was time to bid Doug farewell, however with the hope we may see him again in a few weeks for Astrid’s birthday.

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Raki time!

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Patched up face..

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At Kino Bosniak

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cake!

After a day recovering from late nights and Raki at Cat’s hostel, it was once again time for Astrid and I to hit the road south. We had a two day pedal to Mostar in front of us and had read on the internet that the road wasn’t particularly nice for cyclists. I must say I was pleasantly surprised; the road wasn’t too busy and the end of the day brought one of the most stunning descents of the trip (unfortunately not many photos exist of this descent!). Our warmshowers host Orhan in Konjic would not hear of us camping, but instead gave us a room in his lovely hostel for the night. Konjic seemed like a great town to explore, but by now Greece was calling. In just a few short weeks 15 friends are meeting us for Astrid’s 40th. It would be rude for us not to be there.

 

 

We followed the Neretva River through narrow canyons, which included 8 tunnels (luckily not scary death tunnels). The last part of the day we were blasted by a ferocious headwind, which was exacerbated by being in a narrow valley. The riding was hard and we took it in turns to act as a wind break, the kilometres slowly ticking by. Our next host had a permaculture plot just outside of Mostar. Our kind of place. We had intended to stop there for a day and maybe help with some of the construction, or the garden. Sometimes things don’t go to plan though. The wind brought a huge storm which more or less raged for two nights and a whole day. Instead of gardening we pitched our tent inside Bambi’s greenhouse and spent a day drinking tea, eating, cuddling kittens and playing board games with another cycle tourist, Goren, and Dafni and Shilo, a couple walking through Europe, looking for some land to buy in order to start their own permaculture farm. I love how random the road can be and we definitely thoroughly enjoyed our time living in a greenhouse.

 

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Pomegranates!

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Happiness is a kitten and making pancakes

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Pancakes!

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The “little cat”.

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Had a great time with these folks!

Mostar also has a history of siege and division. During the war, the city was initially besieged by the Serb dominated Yugoslav People’s Army, and later by the Bosnian Croats from the surrounding mountains and buildings. I’ve seen footage of soldiers and civilians running across the medieval bridge (before it collapsed) under fire. It was strange to walk across it now in the cool evening air with only tourists around taking selfies. The old part of Mostar is magical but to me not quite as magical as Sarajevo. It is beautiful though; all Ottoman architecture, cobble stones and hidden bridges.

 

In Mostar we really began feeling that mental fatigue that creeps up on you unexpectedly. We had planned one night in a hostel after our time in the greenhouse and then a steady pedal over the mountains to Kosovo. For a few days we’d talked about maybe changing our route as time was running away from us, but had decided, no, we would head to the mountains. The morning we were to leave I felt so incredibly morose. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then Astrid turned around and said; “why don’t we just stay here today and ride through Montenegro and Albania instead? And spend your birthday at Lake Ohrid?” As soon as she said it I felt such relief. It’s funny, sometimes until someone verbalises something, you don’t know that it’s exactly the thing you need.

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Sniper Tower

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heading up to the roof

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Art in sniper tower

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Sniper tower was supposed to be a bank..

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On the roof

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Sunset beer

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View over Mostar

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More view

So we rested up in Mostar (attending to life admin which we’d very much neglected) before hitting the road south refreshed. Only we didn’t get far. It began to rain, then it began to pour. By 2pm after having explored Blagaj and the Dervish house, we were both soaked and freezing. There was no sign of the rain stopping. If we’d been somewhere like Iceland, where basic accommodation was often close to 100 euros, we would have had to suck it up. Here in the Balkans, we could pay much less than that for a warm apartment with a kitchen, fast wifi and a hot shower. So we did that and ate delicious curry and watched a BBC program. I just realised how British that sentence sounded..

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Dervish house in Blagaj

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The swollen river

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Last time i was here I ate where the water is now!

The rain stopped. We now had a couple of day’s cycle on a rail trail. Probably one of the last things I expected to find in Bosnia Herzegovina was a rail trail. But thanks to an EU project, an old rail line had been converted into a bike path. It’s amazing and we would highly recommend it (especially the unpaved part). The trail winds it’s way through rural Bosnia Herzegovina, passed tiny villages (with no bakeries!), along the Neretva river and then high up alongside the mountains, through hand cut tunnels. The engineering of this rail line was amazing. The cultural landscape had shifted again as we headed south of Mostar. Now instead of the Bosnian flag and mosques we were seeing catholic churches and Croatian flags. Croatia and the former front line was just over the hill. We rode passed signs warning against landmines.

 

You can actually ride all the way to Dubrovnik on the rail trail, although we turned off early, having already explored Dubrovnik on our way to London. We pedalled through what felt like ghost towns, with ruined buildings and hardly an occupied house. The rail line from the Austro Hungarian era closed in 1975 after the abolition of narrow gauge railway, but it was the war in the 1990’s that really laid waste to the area. This project to bring tourists back into the area is brilliant as cyclists, just by the nature of the way that they travel tend to spend local. I hope it will bring many cyclists to explore and revitalise this beautiful part of Bosnia Herzegovina.

 

On our last day we shopped at the local market in order to try and spend the last of our Bosnian marks, ate a huge amount of Burek, decided to cycle via the Croatian Coast (we were enjoying the warmer weather), rode 500m and then changed our minds and headed for the mountains and Montenegro instead. Just another typical day on the road south.

 

Serbia – the land of blood and honey

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Countries have a feeling, a vibe, an essence that you can get a sense of by slowly cycling through areas not usually explored by tourists, or even locals.  You acutely feel the changes from country to city, poverty to wealth.  Poke your wheels into forgotten corners and it is a world away from what most people know.  General poverty, mostly rural, in Central Europe has been increasing the further south we cycle, yet a sense of increasing freedom from regulations and self sufficiency is palpable.  Serbia was also the first country that I felt a mounting unrest, an underlying mix of passion and aggression.  We were told many times by locals that this is because the word ‘Balkans’ means honey and blood, making for a passionately aggressive or aggressively passionate personality to the people.  History seems to show this, as does the ever present hyper-nationalism in Serbia.  All of this was to make for an interesting time, and our cycling in Serbia can be broken into two distinct parts – the first was our continuation of the Eurovelo 6 along the Danube from the Hungarian border to Belgrade, and after a fews days of R&R in Belgrade, our journey from Belgrade to the border of Bosnia & Herzegovina.

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Happy to have arrived.

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The amazing signage for the Eurovelo 6 after crossing the border.

Much to our surprise and pleasure, some well spent funding has dramatically improved the signing of the Eurovelo 6 in Serbia.  We had been warned by friends and the internet that this ‘wilder’ side of the Danube could be tricky, but numerous large signs at the border provided directions, distances and explanations of the differing road signs we would see along the way.  Red stripe for main route, green stripe for an alternative route on paved roads and purple stripe for interesting local rides.  And besides some minor map checking and the one sign missing in Karavukovo, all signs were actually present.  It took us a leisurely 5 days to cycle the 300 odd kilometres to Belgrade.  Following the main route for the whole way, it took us along and away from the Danube numerous times, as the border between Serbia and Croatia doesn’t actually follow the confluence of the river.  On our first day we actually visited all 3 countries – Hungary, Serbia and Croatia – still a little mind blowing for a person who can ride for 4 months at home and still be in the same country.

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Following the signage.

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Double checking which way we should go.

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There are so many cycling routes to choose from in Serbia.

The first thing that struck me in Serbia was the poverty in many of the rural villages.  Half of the buildings were in ruins, another quarter were dilapidated and very few seemed occupied.  It broke my heart as many of these buildings were grand relics of the time when this northern section of Serbia was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.  I was glad for the friendly farming families who would wave to us from their orchards during the day and their overladen tractors of an evening, as it showed that people did actually live and survive off the predominantly barren land we would cycle through.  It has been a particularly long and dry summer in Europe, and the endless dust and maize stubs made my soul cry.  I wish that the permaculture principles of earth care, people care and fair share, would somehow infiltrate into Serbian society so that the land, people and economy could thrive rather than just survive.

Fortunately a few villages and many towns continue to thrive.  The outskirts still felt like we had entered a zombie apocalypse, but once in the centre these places were a hive of activity.  People riding bikes everywhere, restaurants overflowing with diners, students milling about as only students do, children playing on the streets, older people sitting on park benches chatting together, shoppers meandering along the pedestrian malls and everyone thoroughly enjoying themselves.  Joining the vibe of merriment, we cycled around stopping to enjoy a pekarna (bakery) treat or a cold drink while chatting to whoever was about in the continuing Indian summer heat.

The route itself was a mix of fabulous and sketchy bike paths along raised flood banks and some minor roads.  At other times we rode on minor roads almost devoid of traffic.  Some paths ended as abruptly as they began.  Others were newly paved but disintegrated to sand pits.  Luckily all were cycle-able and well used by people, and with continued funding this section of the Eurovelo 6 will flourish into the dream of a well connected cycle path across Europe.  In this part of Serbia bicycles are given equal respect as their motorised counterparts, which shows how exposure fosters a sense of acceptance and increases everyone’s safety.

In the mornings we would wake before dawn, meditate and if there were no fishermen about, we would take a morning dip before getting ready for the day.  Some mornings the sunrise was so stunning, we would have a second cup of tea just to enjoy the beauty.  We cycled during the daylight hours and as nights fell we would veer off the trail when it was close to the Danube and pitch our tent on her dry baked banks.  Once camp was established we would take a dip as the sun set and then dry ourselves by the fire while dinner was cooking on the coals.  I knew that Jude was feeling a little better from her stomach bug when she started making fires again 🙂  The days passed too quickly and our fairytale Danube ride was soon over.

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One of our stunning Danube camps.

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It’s a two cup of tea kind of morning.

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After a celebratory tasting plate of excellent microbrewery IPA’s at the The Black Turtle Brewery in Zenum, we wound our way through joggers, lovers and families enjoying their evening along the Danube promenade. Belgrade sparkled in the night, and after settling into our cosy little apartment, we stepped out ready to explore.  We didn’t get far, as the best vegan restaurant/bar in Belgrade was just around the corner.  If you are ever in Belgrade, do yourself a favour taste the vegan version of Serbian staples and spend an evening in the eccentric surrounds of Mayka.

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Celebratory IPAs at the Black Turtle Brewery

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Wine and divine vegan food at the eclectic Mayka.

During the following days cycling life was exchanged for the tourist life as we consumed many of the tasty treats that the city had to offer.  We wandered through the many districts of Belgrade marvelling at the mix of architectural styles that have been mashed together here.  Highlights were mixing with the throngs of people along the bustling Knez Mihailova, checking out the Belgrade PRIDE information space, gazing at the imposing Church of St Sava, enjoying nightly sunset beers at the Kalemegdan park and fortress, listening to traditional balkan music along the cobblestone streets of Skadarlija, paying our respects to Tito at the House of Flowers and gaining some greater historical and cultural insights at the Museum of Yugoslavia.

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As we had skipped Bosnia Herzegovina on our previous tour, we pointed our wheels southeast and headed out along the Sava River.  It was peaceful ride out of town, so when a driver with a homicidal hatred of cyclists purposefully tried to hit me with his car twice in the town of Baric, I was shaken.  Rarely have we experienced such random acts of violence and in Serbia this was the second time.  Peace soon returned after we turned off the main road and followed the smaller roads through the countryside.  Old farmhouses were nestled in farmyards, potted flowers coloured the gardens of village homes and people waved from tables set outside to make the most of the lingering summer weather.

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For those interested in our route, from Obrenovac we headed through Grabovac, Banjani, Novaci and Koceljeva, followed the Tamnava River to Osecina, warmed up our legs for the mountains of Bosnia I Herzegovina with some climbing into and out of Pecka and spent the last of our Serbian dinar in Ljubovija.  With our meandering ways, this route took us two full days of cycling and we again thoroughly enjoyed being in a part of Serbia not often visited by tourists.  On our last night of camping, perched on the edge of a mountain, the Indian summer ended.  The haze of smog that had been with us for weeks was washed away by an overnight rainstorm.  Clouds hugged the hilltops and mist hung heavy in the valleys.  We pulled out our cold weather gear that had been squirrelled away in the bottom of our panniers and forlornly packed our shorts and t-shirts away knowing that they would not be seen again until Africa.  Crossing the Drina River we waved goodbye to Serbia, but not to Serbians, as we were soon to discover in the nationalistically divided Bosnia I Herzegovina.

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Pedalling towards the Ljubovija border crossing.

 

 

 

Hungary and our accidental cycle on the Eurovelo 6

UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_109b2We reached Hungary in depressed spirits. It was cold, rain was imminent and we were both lacking energy having spent the better part of our last night in Slovakia awake and unwell. Our first stop was Lidl; when in doubt head to a budget supermarket. Here we reached a new low of actually eating lunch inside the supermarket. I had no idea how I was going to cycle into Budapest, or even close to it that day.

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Hungary!

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A new low? Lunch inside Lidl

After a short deliberation (between mouthfuls of ? vegan treats) we decided we needed to go somewhere else and just warm up a bit and make a plan. It was already late in the day, Astrid looked as broken as I felt. The idea of a few more hours of rain and wind, then crawling into a forest somewhere, into our damp tent did not appeal. She didn’t even really need to say anything, I got out my phone and started googleing hostels.

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So grateful for a warm space

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Cooking pasta in the shower as you do

It’s hard to describe the feeling of having a small, cosy, warm space to yourself when you are feeling low and expected to be facing several more hours of cold cycling. It’s moments like these when I just feel so grateful and lucky. To be able to occasionally pay to for a hotel and escape our common reality of outdoor living, is a privilege.

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Drying the tent outside the hotel..

From the obscure border town of Ballasagyarmat we cycled into Budapest the following day, even the unexpected rain couldn’t dampen our spirits. We passed many small villages and were buoyed by the friendliness of the people; there were shouts and waves and big smiles following us all the the way into the grand Hungarian capital. We were so excited to reach Budapest, it felt like a real milestone as we had heard so much about this beautiful city.

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Hungarian village

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Towards Budapest

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First vegan biscuits since Denmark!!

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side of the road walnuts

We’d struggled to find a host in Budapest, which we only realised later probably had something to do with the city being on the Danube and the Eurovelo 6 (meaning lots of cyclists and lots of requests). Hilariously we’d completely forgotten about the Danube cycle path, and realised with a little embarrassment that we could actually ride all the way to Belgrade on it. Some people spend months planning to ride this rather iconic path. We stumble on it quite by accident. Oh well.

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Yay!!

Eventually we did find a host, Zoltan, who so very kindly responded to our last minute request. Not only was he the loveliest human (who had a passion for craft beer like us), but he also introduced us to the Budapest Bike Mafia; an organisation of cyclists who make sandwiches twice a week and deliver them to the homeless of Budapest (by bicycle) in a radical act of kindness. I’d long been feeling like I was missing a something but hadn’t quite been able to place what it was. I certainly enjoy going to museums and exploring sites but I think I have also been looking for something more meaningful; something that would connect me to a place and it’s people in a deeper way. This can be difficult when traveling by bike, our stays are often fleeting and unless you meet the right people or happen to come across something, it can be hard to find out about projects such as these. Luckily Zoltan was exactly the right person and after spending a day exploring Budapest, we spent the evening making sandwiches, chatting to the super lovely volunteers and seeing a very different part of the city. Definitely the most heartfelt thing I’ve been part of on this adventure so far.

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Exploring Budapest

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Fisherman’s Bastion

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Pedalling around in the sun

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The palace

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The amazing Parliament

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Streets

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A treat

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Towers on our heads..

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Local craft beer

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Yes!

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Chatting and making sandwiches

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More sandwich fun

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Ready to go

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Delivering the goods

Although Zoltan couldn’t host us for the entire time we were in Budapest, everything began to fall into place; Wouter and Margot, a Belgium couple messaged me and said we could stay. Not only that but they literally lived around the corner from Zoltan. Our time in Budapest continued to be magical, the sun shone, we explored the gorgeous city and in the evening hung out with Margot and Wouter, drinking too much wine and generally having a brilliant time.

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Bike path happiness

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Happiness is giant blue fairy floss..

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A Ruin Bar

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Lying in the park on the island

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Lazy sunny days..

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Beer by the Danube

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Margot and Wouter

UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_109a2By the time it came to leave, I was sick. An unpleasant stomach bug would haunt me all the way to Belgrade. To this day I have no idea where it came from. I usually have a stomach of steel and am the only person I know of who didn’t get sick in central Asia.

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In the countryside once more

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lunchtime

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The beautiful golden afternoon

We set off amongst the throng of the Budapest Marathon and it took us a very long time to get out of the city. Try pushing a fully loaded touring bike through peak hour at a busy London train station.  It was pretty much as unpleasant as it sounds. Although the atmosphere was great, and not at all like London commuter rage.

Finally free of the city, it was time to follow the Eurovelo 6. Not always easy or well sign posted, it is mostly a beautiful cycle. Sometimes we were right on the banks of the river, other times high up on the flood barrier, or on a detour through a town or village. Aside from the moments I had to run into the bushes with my stomach issues, I really enjoyed the Hungarian part of the Danube. The seemingly endless summer continued; it was hot. Only the evenings and morning were cool, a hint that this wasn’t to last, that it really was autumn. That and the beautiful colour of the leaves and the hazy golden light of the afternoon sun. Our cycle between Budapest and Belgrade we had calculated would take us about 8 days (it ended up taking 9), however due to my stomach we weren’t exactly moving fast. We also needed to decide which way after Hungary; wether we would take the possibly more developed Croatian side of the river, or the potentially slower Serbian side. These kind of decisions are best made over coffee so we sat in a cafe and weighed up our options. In the end adventure won out; neither of us had ever been to Serbia and it sounded more exciting. Decision made, now we just needed to get there.

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Such lovely pedalling

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It’s hot! Time to get out of the ninja outfit..

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This lovely man let us camp on his land

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These pumps are everywhere and are great! Took us a while to get the hang of them

At night we began finding some of the best camps of the trip so far, picking out spots where the path lay close to the river. We’d push our bikes down an embankment and invariably find a place to camp right by the water. Then we’d watch the sun set over the Danube, the sky turn a mass of pinks and reds. Sometimes we’d swim, or meditate. Later we’d look up at the stars in the clear autumn sky.  I can’t help feeling that this is what life is about. For me anyway. It feels like exactly where I want to be.

Unfortunately Hungary like several Eastern European countries is trending towards fascism. The media is becoming more and more controlled and fear and racism towards refugees is prevalent, especially outside of Budapest. No one we spoke to echoed the government’s sentiment, but as we approached the border we were greeted by scores of police. Literally every few hundred metres, on a basically deserted country road were groups of police. At one point we ducked into the forest to make camp but all night could here them patrolling and see their flash lights. It was eerie and a little frightening. I can only imagine they are there to send refugees back to Serbia, to keep them out of fortress (EU) Europe.

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Our last night in Hungary

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The road towards Serbia

UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_109c8Our last day in Hungary dawned warm and sunny, we emerged from our forest camp, ignored the scores of police and pedalled towards the border. It was time to say goodbye to the EU and head into the Balkans. Thanks Hungary, you have been rather splendid.

 

Our mountainous road south through Slovakia.

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The glorious High Tatras.

I just saw a selfie of our cycle touring friends Pedals & Paws from the Slovakian border.  They are in full winter gear, including ski masks, and it looks freezing.  It reminded me a bit of the day that we chose to leave Poland prematurely and cross into Slovakia early.  Watching the rain fall at the old border station of Lysa Polana, chewing on another jam roll, stamping our feet to keep them warm, we deliberated between hiking the Polish five lakes trail in the cloud and drizzle, or to turn left and cycle the 10 metres to cross into Slovakia and start our cycle south. No brainer, right?  Decision made, we took the obligatory border photos and within minutes the drizzle ceased and we were getting hot from the first of many climbs in this mountainous country.

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Munching on a jam roll at the old border post.

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Obligatory border crossing photo 🙂

Glimpses of the Tatras returned through the clouds as we wound our way up and over to the southern side of the range.  Sleepy towns greeted us as we cycled through, while disused chairlifts and pommas hung limp in the autumn air.  Only the noise of cars and chainsaws broke the silence.  I came to realise yet again that in many countries the title of National Park offers no protection to trees from logging, as large swathes of forest were decimated.  I wondered, had Slovakia declared a war on nature without informing anyone?

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The High Tatras hidden by the clouds

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The southern side of the range became clear in the afternoon.

To clear the nature loving blues we decided that a walk in the mountains would lift our souls.  Backpacks that we had been lugging around for the last few months were finally pulled out and packed with enough gear for an overnight hike.  Our bikes and remaining bags were hidden in the forest and we started climbing alongside a gushing river towards the pointed peaks above.  Autumnal colours shone in the golden afternoon sunlight and all was well with the world again.  Reaching a height of 1,300m as night fell we camped next to the river, purposefully ignoring the no camping signs we had seen earlier.  I reasoned that as logging, dogs and human excrement were a constant in the National Park, this rule could (and should) be broken.

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Ready to hike.

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Heading towards the peaks.

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On the trail, loving the colours.

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Dinner time.

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Our campsite next to the river.

Glowing red peaks were the backdrop for our morning dip, followed by a warming meditation in the sun, and a hot breakfast and cuppa to finish our daily ritual.  A growing trickle of walkers that had driven to the carpark nearby were trudging up the well worn path already, so we followed a solitary hiker as he diverted from the path behind a crag.  Luckily we didn’t bust him taking a wee, but found an old path that climbed through a beautiful pine forest rejoining the track after a few kilometres.  Back with the crowds I had to stop often to let others pass, as I dislike the sound of walking poles clacking and humans panting behind me.

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First sunlight hits the peaks.

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Glowing red.

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Heading to Rainer’s Hut to meditate and eat breakfast.

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Hiking.

Words cannot do justice to the scenery that opened before us above the tree line.  Snow dappled giants of grey stone towered above us and that feeling of awe that nature induces filled my being.  It was soon pouring out of my sweat glands as we climbed the rock wall in front of us to reach the lakes and mountain hut we had been aiming for.  Refreshed with a big bowl of lentil soup we continued along the circular path I had eyed out on the map.  After another half hour of climbing and scrambling over rock and snow we rounded a corner to another snow covered grey giant and my heart fell.  A group of people were gathered half way up the face, a wall of snow and ice above covering the path that is usually there.  A brave few were attempting to rock climb the crag to the side, while others were turning back.  We sat for a good half hour deliberating our next move.  Was today the day that we should attempt the toughest mountaineering of our lives or the day that we were thankful for the climb we had done so far and be satisfied with what we had?  We chose to be satisfied and turned back as hordes of other hikers rounded the same corner to deliberate the same question.  Returning via the same path the slow trickle from this morning had tuned into a torrent of hikers – the Slovaks truly are hardy mountain people.

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My queen of the mountain

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Hiking joy

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Looking back on where we had hiked from.

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The upper mountain hut.

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Steaming bowls of lentil soup.

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Scrambling up the rocks.

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The grey giants.

It was near sunset when we returned to our bikes and bags.  After slipping a few times on the snow and rocks during the descent, I was quite battered and my feet were metaphorically broken.  Food and a forest camp were balm to the body, and just for pleasure we forwent our alarm and had a luxurious sleep in.  Over a couscous breakfast, we planned our route through Slovakia.  Time’s fingers were starting to flick our rear mud guards and as such our cycling in Slovakia would be brief.  The straightest line from north to south along minor roads was plotted and we head off that morning invigorated to be moving fast again.

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Our bags were still there when we returned

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Cycling away from the High Tatras, heading south.

Fast is a subjective term, especially in such a mountainous country.  There were many ranges and valleys between us and the Hungarian border.  Gradients were usually 12%, and despite my initial trepidation at the beginning of every ascent, each down stroke reminded me that I really do love to climb and I’m surprisingly good at it.  I was picked on as a teenager for having thighs like tree trunks and I used to hide them in shame.  I now look at these same legs and am eternally grateful for their size, strength and power.  And as my tan line can attest – I have no shame of showing them off 🙂

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Mountains…

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Hills…

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Forests…

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Autumn cycling is awesome…

Historical sites, natural phenomena, feats of human architecture and enchanting villages were welcome additions to our ride.  Information plaques constantly reminded us of the pervasiveness of the wars, the history of human struggle, and the resilience of the human spirit throughout Europe.  Our interactions with locals were fleeting and my connection with the country was mostly through its natural beauty rather than its people and current culture.  This I am sorry for, as connection with people and place is what I now seek in our travels.  Hopefully next time…

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Lunchtime

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Forest camp.

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Sunday morning pancake breakfast.

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Autumnal colours.

Our route is a collage of memories and associations.  Leaving the High Tatras we picked and ate the best apples of my life; in Poprad we rediscovered the joy of olive bread and I read the funniest book ever (All my friends are still dead); we munched on rolls beside Stary Kamenolom, cringing at the signs showing how they plan to develop this lake into an Ikea style “nature area”; we imagined what it was like to be a guard at Tisana – a natural rock barrier that was used as protection against the Nazi’s and to guard the town of Vernar (reported as the site of the Slovak uprising); we admired the autumnal colours that were in their full glory in all the forests we passed through; we brain stormed how to bush mechanic our broken tent pole as dusk set in on a disused back road in the Paradise National Park; I lay petrified in the tent thinking there was a bear or stag outside our tent – when in fact it was Jude snoring next to me;  we watched a shepherd sleeping as his cows wandered under a viaduct near Telgart; we missed our last opportunity to buy food on a Sunday so had to make do with whatever was left in our panniers; we lay in the warm afternoon sun and cooked up a feast next to the waterfall outside the charming village of Muranska Huta; I enjoyed my first sighting of old trees in Slovakia in the Narodny Park Muranska Planina; we enjoyed the glorious downhill into Muran – a ride I will rememver forever; I admired the colourful iconography on the giant cross that overlooks Muran on the other side; we did wheelies in the square outside the old church in Tisovec; a squirrel was the talisman I needed to choose the magical campsite we had one night in yet another stunning forest; we cooked breakfast under the trees in the centre square of Hnusta as a gentle rain fell; our longest conversation was had with a local via broken English and mime under the castle in Halic; I was almost killed by a truck on route 75 climbing the hill near Lake Luborec; Jude built us a fire on our last night camping just outside Male Straciny – but I was too sick with a fever and nausea to enjoy it; and passing a cute little restaurant in Zahorce and being happy that despite the rumours of great beer in this country we have spent our whole time here alcohol free.

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Cycling through the natural rock barrier of Tisana.

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Camping on a disused mountain track.

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Viaduct near Telgart

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Doing wheelies in Tisovec.

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Breakfast in the centre of town Hnusta.

As in life there are many more that I failed to either recall or mention, but I’m sure you get the drift of our journey there now.  Yet, my final memory is of promising myself at the border in Slovenske Darmoty, to come back and visit Slovakia again when I have more time.  Despite loving most of what I have seen and experienced, I have not given Slovakia the time she deserves and I hope to one day rectify this.  So to finish I want to thank you Slovakia for having us, however briefly.