Pedaling from the Black Forest to the Yellow Sea

today’s distance: 0km
total distance: 2134km
riding time: 0h

You wake up in the city of Mostar … to a rooster doing its thing. That would be fine, but the rooester didn’t sound like what you imagine a rooster to be (and of course it woke me up way too early). The image in my mind wasn’t one of a proud and strong rooster, but of a scrawny and weak one. And it kept going at it for a long time, so there was some endurance at least.

What a day … it is hard to put it into words and I’m sure I won’t do justice to it. I pretty much roamed about where my feet would drag me. The city is an interesting conglomeration of buildings and has been torn apart by the civil war. No lecture intended, but here is the gist: after defeating the Serb forces together, the Croats and the Bosniaks (Muslims) fought each other in the city they had been living in peacefully for hundreds of years. The frontline went right through the city and there are still a large number of visible scars remaining after more than 12 years.

It is just hard to fathom what happened and while I have been involved with the issue for quite some time, it was still a different issue to stand in a city that had been almost entirely demolished at one point.

I eventually made my way past an open air market and a number of mosques, squares to a museum depicting what Mostar had been like during the years prior to the war.

The movie was extremely powerful and moving. It frames the history of the city around the old brige, which had been a symbol for the city for centuries. Kids had been diving from the bridge into the cold water for centuries and all of this went on even during the war. The bridge was destroyed during the war through grenade fire from the surrounding hills. What struck me was the fact that this was actually banned on film in such a clear fashion. Several accounts surfaced, one being that it was pure chance (hard to believe given that the war went on for years), another that he was informed of the attempt to shoot the bridge for good, the third that he paid money for it (hard to believe also, but in the realm of the possible). Eventually the bridge was rebuilt with again the divers playing a major role in the celebrations.

I went to the bridge to meet up with Milos, a couchsurfing host who had offered a bit too late to host me (my mistake for getting in touch with him so late) and when he texted me that he would be late a bit, I started talking to the jumpers and divers who were wooing people to pay them to jump off the bridge. It was an intersting conversation complete with a short tour of the inside of the old bridge (Milos figured that he had been living here for most of his life (except for the time of war) and still hadn’t been led down there. Dzenan, one of the divers told me about the dangers of jumping, of the oldest person who has jumped off (about 65 years), only to spend a couple of days in the hospital. And about the competition that takes place on the last Sunday in July, attracting participants from all over former Yugoslavia and even beyond. Out of tradition, the jumpers even carried on this tradition during the war he said and it was clear that he felt proud to be a member of a small group of people (roughly 10 people) that jump from the bridge consistently.

Coffee with Milos was great. We talked over coffee about this and that, idenity in tihs somewhat strange political entity and how it feels for him as an ethnic Serb to be living in this city. The good thing is that it doesn’t seem to matter much any longer. Sure, there are signs of anymosity around (and actually quite visible I thought - such as the “my cross on the hill is bigger than all of your mosques combined” which to me looked placed just right to annoy people who happen not to be Christians; there may well be another explanation though).

It was a great pleasure to talk with Milos - thanks for taking the time on a busy day and I hope that all goes well with your job plans.

Milos suggested that I walk to the Partisans’ Monument while in Mostar. This I did. It is an eerie place with at least one shady person (not the guy in the picture), but well worth visiting. It is Communist architecture galore. To me it felt like a gigantomanic nondescript piece of architecture, an amalgamam of shapes that didn’t really seem to have anything in common. A strange, but somehow fascinating place. Maybe that’s what it was designed to be.

On the way back to the city, I encountered these guys playing their daily round of boccia. They seemed to have tons of fun.

And of course this would not be complete without a picture of the bridge in all its glory.

today’s distance: 111km
total distance: 2134km
riding time: 7h

What a long day … it was a good start I thought until I realized that the grumbling in the distance was not from any trucks but that there was a thunderstorm rolling in. Just managed to break the tent down and head out before things came down. On the road for about 15 minutes, the road became moist and while the t-storm was only behind me at one point, it all of a sudden seemed all around me. I was heading into some dramatic scenery. The mountains were becoming higher, the grades steeper. The added effect of the weather played a part as well for sure. Soon enough I was in the middle of hard rain, having to make a considerable detour because of some road closure. 25km worth of a detour. What was supposed to be a 12km ride ended up being a bit longer with a lot more ridges to climb over. I stopped a couple of times to find some cover. The second time was close to someone’s house. The guy wouldn’t even say hello, just ignored me. Can’t say that I was particularly unfriendly or anything … even my attempt at getting some water from him failed. He clearly understood me, but just turned around. A bit frustrating. Once the rain tapered off a bit I went on to Netkovic, the border town on the Croatian side.

Road conditions were … not so good. The road was not designed to handle heavy traffic and certainly not the amount it had to handle. Starting out fine, the uphill was partially devoid of any solid surface only to become worse before it joined the main road again.

I have to get this off my chest - Croatian driving is quite possibly the most insane driving I have seen yet. Cars go at breakneck speed around corners, keep no distance whatsoever … the image that I have is that of a person on a cell phone or talking to the person next to him/her (or both), smoking a cigarette and doing a range of other things … while driving. There is also a specific order in which these things are done:

1. Talk to the person next to you or on the phone.
2. Pull out of your lane to overtake the already speeding car in front of you. Without checking at all whether there is anyone coming at you.
3. Keep doing what you were doing, smoke, talk, speak on the phone, grab a magazine, etc.
4a. If you’re seeing a car, hit the accelarator harder and pray that you will make it.
4b. If you see a biker, don’t do anything, trust he will realize that in case of a crash, he will loose and don’t mind him. 
5. If someone lets you know that you’re off your rocker, yell at him, threaten him with the family.

Truck drivers are an entirely different matter - keep on doing 1-3 and don’t worry about 4-5. You are invincible. Or maybe not.

Passing the unremarkable border with now lower windows, having to duck to see the chest of a big border guard, the driving on the other side eased right away. More distance, less speed and more regard for human beings in general seemed to be the order of the road. And just to prove the point, those cars and trucks passing more closely mostly had Croatian license plates (the underlying assumption is of course that a Croatian license plate represents a Croatian driver as well, a contestable assumption for sure and I’m also aware of the ethnic issues prevailing in this part of the world, see this picture for example).

I tried putting the distance to Mostar behind me. On the way I had seen a number of shelled houses as well as pockmarked hosues. Definitely a former war area. And if anything, Mostar goes to show this. Bombed out houses line the streets. The center is rebuilt, but very close to the tourist places, things aren’t so pretty. It will take time - the bridge that everyone gawks at was a quick project, though by no means the only way to cross the river.

Found a place after all couchsurfing options failed. The owner is a former soldier and has issues walking because he was shot in the leg by a sniper. He also has strong sentiments about politics … interesting to say the least. I will stay for one day of rest and then move on to Dubrovnik.

today’s distance: 112km
total distance: 2023km
riding time: 6-7h

Waking up to a crowd of cleaning ladies who were busy smoking, answering cell phones and drinking coffee (loudly) is why I’m not a fan of hostels any longer. Or maybe it was just this hostel. Left the place and checked out Split. After a slight detour I arrived in this ancient city with the Palace of Diocletian as the centerpiece. It has flair I must say and provided for nice strolls in the alleys and alongside the massive stone walls.

 Once I saw the Nike Kids store though I felt I needed to leave. Corporate what - Croatia I guess - had taken over. For some reason I was reluctant to get on the road and the start was a slow one. Dodging heavy city traffic I tried to make some progress towards calmer roads - had lunch in Baska Voda, dangling my feet in the clear turquoise water.

Back on the bike was a bit of a struggle again, the area undulating and sometimes hilly without any flat stretches to speak of. Guess just one of these days. Maybe I need another rest day … guess what? Rest will come after tomorrow. Moved on to Makarska and found out that the website is back up and running again. A big thank you to Simon for setting things straight again. Couldn’t have done it without him. There will be the odds and ends most likely, but it’s looking pretty again. My apologies to everyone for the downtime.

I tried to do some more mileage towards the end of the day and ended up feasting on a concoction of pasta, green pesto, fried slices of zucchini and carrots. It was great … for me at least. Topped things off with a honey laced yoghurt. The silver moon is shining through the branches of the olive tree that I am sitting under … couldn’t wish for anything else.
ed on bulk cranberries, dried banana chips and pistacchios. Life was good. Sooner than I thought I arrived in Trogir after receving an amazed but inspiring look from an old man who just raised his arms and smiled at me, a small picturesque little town surrounded by water and walls. Finally got a hold of an internet connection and found out that none of the couchsurfing people in Split could host me. Too bad. Cycled on, trying to find a good spot or campsite, but soon enought I was in urban territoriy. Not a good place to camp out. Two choices - go past Split and find a place. Not a real option since it was getting dark. Took option two - whipped out the Lonely Planet and found a nice hotel.

Am still not sure I’m German … couldn’t find anything to complain about. Have been ranting for too long. 

today’s distance: 130km
total distance: 1912km
riding time: 7-8h

(imagine a stoic and robotic voice, sort of like Marvin from the Hitchhiker’s Guide …) I am German - need to complain. I am German - need to find something to complain about. Cannot be German, cannot find anything to complain about. Alright, Markus has gone over the top, he’s gone nuts and the bike trip wasn’t a good idea to begin with I hear you say.

Seriously though, the day was glorious. Waking up amidst all the olive trees I saw some water drops on my tent - when I turned in it rained pretty hard and must have continued for part of the night. Didn’t notice it much though. Coming out of the tent, the sun was out, no cloud to be seen, the sea in the bay underneath me calm and quiet. What a good day it would be I thought. Then the wind forecast - I had biked quite a bit to cover as much mileage as possible towards Split because the wind was predicted to come straight from the southeast. Wrong. Dead wrong. It came straight from the northwest. It was heaven. Not strong at first, it picked up quite a bit during the day. So I coasted along trying to figure out whether to go all the way to Slpit when I realized a biker coming up behind me. Turned out to be Marko who was thinking: “Maybe it’s that crazy guy I have read about in the paper.” Turned out it was that guy. Marko, a dentist from Rijeka read the article that appeared in the local newspaper and lo and behold, there I was. We had a fun ride together for the the next 10km before he had to turn around and get back for Sunday family lunch. If you ever need to get your teeth fixed, Marko is the man. He also rents out apartments, sounds like a great deal. We rode together until Sibenik, chatting about this and that. When we reached the bridge, it was the first time that the topic of the war came up during my time here - seems like it was the only important bridge that wasn’t destroyed.

 The town is great … many people who want to be seen are taking their Sunday stroll along the water promenade where I was doing an early lunch. After doing my round through town, it happened. I heard a big clonk behind me and the sandals that I had put the bungee cord through to let them dry out (mud), was gone and were stuck between the wheel and the rear rack. Bungee cord was torn in two.

Not sure how that happened. Too much tension I guess. What to do … need some kind of cord or rope. There is a ship. The Beauty of the Adriatic - hailed someone cleaning and explained what happened and asked whether they had any rope. “Sure we have rope on a ship” said the Asian crewhand and came back with a perfect piece of rope for my purposes. Thanks a bunch!!!

The remaining ride was pure joy, the scenery stunning. The turquoise waters that I had been missing out on over the last couple of days were out in full force. I visited a number of towns along the route, stopped and munched on bulk cranberries, dried banana chips and pistacchios. Life was good. Sooner than I thought I arrived in Trogir after receving an amazed but inspiring look from an old man who just raised his arms and smiled at me, a small picturesque little town surrounded by water and walls.

 Finally got a hold of an internet connection and found out that none of the couchsurfing people in Split could host me. Too bad. Cycled on, trying to find a good spot or campsite, but soon enought I was in urban territoriy. Not a good place to camp out. Two choices - go past Split and find a place. Not a real option since it was getting dark. Took option two - whipped out the Lonely Planet and found a hostel.

Am still not sure I’m German … couldn’t find anything to complain about. Have been ranting for too long. 

today’s distance: 106km
total distance: 1782km
riding time: 6-7h

Didn’t sleep too well despite a good spot and woke up exhausted. Usually a sign to rest up. When I was about to get out of my tent, the rain came down in droves. Back in my sleeping bag with my bike shorts on and out about an hour later. Rain and more rain until the town of Pag and more rain after that. Eventually it stopped and I headed to Zadar. Only 50km - not much really, but I was tired. And I felt it. The road crosses a number of ridges, it had become sunny by now, gorgeous views on the right, various shades of grey, mostly of the dark kind, on the left. Which was my general direction. The road takes the ridges in a perpendicular fashion - shortest way across, also the steepest.

It was all good until I reached Zadar when the rain hit again. I got out from a grocery store and waited … and waited … and waited. After about two hours, the sun came back so I set out south. The idea was to cover a bit of distance from Zadar. It turned out to be glorious. Big puddles of water on the street made even the otherwise rather aggressive Croatian drivers a bit more defensive when they saw me … thanks for not spraying me. But because of all the moisture in the air, the colors were especially intense.

 So I pedaled along the coastal road, stopping here and there to take in the views. The islands before the coast were an amazing backdrop. Continuing along the same road, I eventually found a nice place to camp near an olive grove and turned in.