update
36.
biking the balkans
Cycling in Bulgaria, Serbia, Kosovo, Macedonia, Albania,
Montenegro, Croatia and Bosnia
28 April 2009
Total kilometers cycled: 53,785
Specific country info on routes & roads/food &
accommodation/the locals available
here.
Four weeks, eight countries...whew. Our whirlwind tour of the
Balkans sounds more like a Japanese package tour than two travelers
cycling at their leisure. It's frustrating just to skim the
surface of this region but we must be back by mid-May, says Eric.
He's reserved 'couches' for us along the way and we must keep
to
the schedule (16 years in Germany has left its mark). Here's a quick rundown of where we've been and what we've seen.

Bulgaria wasn't what we expected. It now being a member of
the EU
we were awaiting pristine highways and modern towns. Bustling
cities full of young professionals rushing off to important meetings or
relaxing in trendy cafes. In reality Bulgaria
appeared to
be more on par with Africa than Western Europe. Piles of
rotting
liter lined the highways and as we passed the Roma settlements (
Gypsies
for the non politically correct) dirty-faced kids demanded money and
welcomed us with a few low-flying

stones when no handouts were
forthcoming. Villages appeared deserted and factories lay
empty,
their windows broken or boarded up. The cafes were filled
with
tired-looking men with deeply lined faces and bulbous red noses
leaning over a beer and puffing away on cigarettes. The
cities
were ringed with gray tower blocks and vacant buildings in business
districts told of tough economic times. Low clouds and
drizzle
added to the depressing ambiance.
Thankfully, the locals, albeit a bit gruff at first, were
kind-hearted and helpful. On more than one occasion we were
allowed to pitch the tent on the grounds of a village church.
One
Sunday morning we were still slurping our porridge and relishing the
last sip of coffee when the parishioners began to arrive.
Eighty
must have been the average age, most were women and they were all dressed in black, many
carrying spring flowers with which to decorate the church.
They
eyed us a bit suspiciously, but broke into smiles when we greeted them
with a cheery, 'Dobar Den'.
We don't want to make any enemies here, and in all fairness riding
along
the busy main highway, we didn't see the best side of
Bulgaria.
We did enjoy Plovdiv's Old Town which rivals that of any Western
European city
in
terms of beauty and atmosphere and, more importantly, the ice cream in
Bulgaria is
really quite tasty. Our last image of Bulgaria was of a backyard
butcher carving up cows, dogs howling and salivating in the distance.

Serbia struck as a clean, orderly place with picturesque villages
where old Ladas and Zastavas from communist times ply the cobbled
streets. Older people spoke of the 'good old days' when
Yugoslavia was a nation more prosperous than Germany (East or West?
I never had the courage to ask.) Others complained
of
travel restrictions and the humiliation of neighboring Bulgaria--a
country they once looked down upon for being so backwards--being
admitted to the EU. We were often greeted with great fanfare
and
it was obvious that foreign visitors on bicycles are rare.
Shopkeepers presented us with shiny red apples, a journalist
from
Radio Free Europe interviewed us and everybody seemed to be curious
about our cycling adventure. Not quite the instant star
status
one achieves in Africa, but we did cause quite a stir in some small
villages.


Kosovo seems to be getting itself back on its feet with help from a
plethora of UN, EU and various other international aid
agencies.
Villagers complain that there are no jobs and everyone is
just
getting by, yet a quick glance around and you see big houses, fancy
cars and hotels, cafes and restaurants lining the highways.
It's
all being built with money from abroad, we're told.
Mountainous Macedonia was quite simply beautiful. A place of
calm
cool nature peppered with well-preserved churches and orthodox
monasteries. We loved cycling through the lush green
countryside,
but could have done without the daily downpours. Next time
we'll
be sure to find space for rain pants among our 35 kilos (each!) of
luggage.

After Macedonia our next country was Albania, where there didn't seem to be much
in terms of work taking place. In some out-of-the- way
villages we saw
grandmothers and grandfathers trudging off to the fields with farm
implements similar to those my own grandfather probably used when he
was working the land back in South Dakota in the 1930s. In
the towns
most men appeared to be idling in cafes or revving the engines of their
Mercedes. Some I saw entering seedy gambling joints.
Most people
appeared neither particularly poor, not particularly

industrious.
The
parallel economy is thriving, I'm told, and the first thing many rural
Albanians did after the communist regime collapsed was plant marijuana
destined for the Western European market. In Tirana there are
aid
agencies galore all hoping to sort out the post-communist chaos in Europe's
poorest
country.
But it was really Montenegro (black mountain) that we fell in love
with. This tiny country has mounted a full-scale advertising
campaign on
CNN
and
BBC Worldto
get the word out about all it's got to offer. The images
on TV
(and our photos) don't do justice to the stunning landscape.
We
tortured ourselves climbing up an impossibly steep track where the only
traffic was a sweet old lady out herding her sheep and then
wound around the shores of Lake Shkodra, the largest in the
Balkans.
One evening as it started getting dark we spotted a small

farmhouse nestled into a curve in the road with a spectacular view out
over the lake. We knocked and got no

answer and then called out 'Hello,
hello. Anybody home?' Finally Eric trotted off
through
mounds of goat droppings and made his way to the red-roofed barn where
he gave our would-be host quite a fright. Not many people
wandering around the lonely backroads of Montenegro, I guess.
Our
big, burly farmer was a friendly one and immediately agreed to let us
camp. He'd spent 40 years at sea, and had just returned to
his
homeland to help rebuild his country. 'Nobody in Montenegro
wants
to work,' he complained. 'I've got to hire Albanians and
Bulgarians--they're hungry, they'll do an honest day's work.'


Once we hit the Adriatic coast at Kotor (still in Montenegro) we were
passed by a steady stream of European vacationers in caravan
campers
and
leather-clad motorcyclists out for a ride through hte countryside. In
the touristy towns we were surrounded by
retirees in sturdy shoes and wide-brimmed hats (never mind that it's
cloudy) raving about the beautiful scenery and rushing to get back on
the tour bus within the alloted 10 minutes of 'free-time' set aside for
wandering around alone. They are a strange species who stand
slack-jawed and glassy-eyed as the guide babbles away about ancient
history and then switch into animated mode once they're set free.

Then
it was on to Croatia and 'the pearl of the Adriatic', stunning
Dubrovnik, currently a hotspot on the tourist trail that sees some
17,000 visitors daily in the high season. Ugh.
Even in
April, tourists far outnumber the locals as one strolls the marble
streets of the historic center. After we'd had enough of exploring the
baroque churches, gazing out over the sea and checking out the all the
spots marked as 'war damaged' we pedaled through the centuries old city
gate and began thinking about were me might sleep for the night.
'The Solitudo

campsite,
at almost $30 a
night, seemed a bit steep for a patch of grass and a hot shower, so we
pushed on until dusk on the busy
coastal road watching the changing light on the shimmering turquoise
waters below. With almost every inch of the coast covered in hotels and
holiday homes, wild camping hardly seemed feasible. With a rising
sense of worry, we turned
off the main highway. We were in little enclave of second homes
and rental units and in front of every building was a sign proclaiming
'sobe, zimmer, rooms'. An older man was still puttering around in
his garden despite the failing light and I urged Eric to approach him
with our problem. I'm always embarrassed to ask for help and have
convinced Eric that it's a 'man's duty' to look after his wife. I
never like to listen in on the conversations lest someone becomes
indignant at our request and points to a hotel down the street.
Eric came back smiling so I knew we'd found a place to spend the
night. Our gardener and savior was a retiree from Sarajevo who
spoke German and insisted his neighbor wouldn't if we camped on his
covered veranda. 'A very good spot,' he said. 'Might
rain--this way you won't get too wet.' He was a kindly gentleman
a later brought us big jugs of water for cooking and cleaning. We
spent a peaceful night squatting and woke feeling refreshed.
Much better than those horrible mega-campsites that dot the
Mediterranean where blaring music from the in-camp disco keeps one
awake until daybreak.

Next
we made a detour into Bosnia to visit Mostar and its famed Stari Most
(Old Bridge). When we arrived, tourists were thronged around the
ancient bridge and all eyes were fixed on the muscle-bound boy in a
skimpy Speedo who was preparing to plunge into the river 21 meters
below. A young assistant was busy passing the hat ensuring
the courageous young man's efforts were worthwhile. The bridge
and the core of the Old Town were rebuilt following severe war damage,
but throughout the rest of the city there are still plenty of
bullet-ridden buildings and bombed out houses. Reminded me a bit
of Beirut.
The Balkans don't attract just retirees on package tours, there are
also loads of cyclists pedaling around these parts. In Bulgaria
we met a French couple who are kayaking and cycling through Southern
Europe and Scandinavia and a Belgian guy biking through Europe on his
own. In a driving rain in Macedonia we encountered another
Belgian guy cycling around the Balkans. We crossed paths with a
young Basque guy (not Spanish,
Basque!)cycling
towards Athens. In Montenegro we flagged down an energetic young
German cycling through the region. Just outside of Dubrovnik one
Dr.Siegfried Wiesenhofer from Austria was huffing and puffing his way
up a steep hill. And finally we met up with Stefano from Italy,
decked out in full cycling gear like a Tour de France racer and
equipped with shiny new bags that he didn't yet know how to close
properly. From his bar bag he proudly produced a laminated photo
of the Virgin Mary. We've met as many cyclists in a month as in
two years of travel in Africa.
As you can probably imagine, the bikes and equipment are showing signs
of wear and tear after more than 50,000 kilometers. On a steep
descent my front tire suddenly exploded and I went flying on to the
pavement. Luckily nothing more than a nasty scrape and some
aching muscles. Our panniers are now only
semi-waterproof
and the bikes have developed lots of annoying squeaks and rattles.
From our current location in Split, Croatia there are just 1,307
kilometers to go till we reach Obernai. We're feeling worn out
and weary and can't wait to spend a few weeks resting and
recuperating before we embark on the next stretch of road: the
Americas await!

check out more
photos from our trip
find out more about World Bicycle Relief, the new charity we're promoting
contact us at: worldbiking@gmail.com