Forwards to Zagreb

Stage 22: Belgrade to Zagreb (682km)
Day 1: 118.6km Badovinci
Day 2: 101.1km Near Seko
Day 3: 123.5km Banja Luka
Day 4: 102.2km Nr Benakova
Day 5: 126.4km Few towns beyond Slunj
Day 6: 110.1km Zagreb

3 days ago I hit 10,000km. That makes me happy. Very happy indeed.

A combination of rain, good company, laziness, food, more laziness and more rain delayed my departure from Belgrade. All in all, it meant I did not actually get going until the Sunday morning (I had originally planned on leaving the previous Tuesday!). 10km along the road I heard the all-too-familiar sound of a spoke breaking. A sound I encountered only once in my pre-Istanbul (I'm beginning to think of my trip in two stages) journeying, this was the 4th I've had since entering Europe. The problem isn't just the fixing of the spoke, it's the fixing of the puncture that invariably occurs a couple of kms down the road. No matter how careful I think I am in replacing the spoke guard within the rim of the wheel, I always end up with a puncture.

This time, it was almost bang on 100km after the spoke had been replaced that I got the puncture! I changed tubes and made it the remaining few kilometers to within 500m of the border with Bosnia.

Next day, as I stopped for lunch in a field slightly off the main road, I was sure I was going to be robbed. 2 men in a car pulled off the road and stopped the car next to me. They both got out, and as I went over to greet them with my ususal "dobar dan, nay govarim Srbska" (good day, I don't speak Serbian - I was actually in the Republic of Srpska where I stayed for most of the trip through BiH) I noticed the knife wounds on the arms of the shorter, stockier man, the recent bruises on his legs, and the massive scorpian tattoo that adorned his neck, right behind his ear.

Luckily, the smaller, thinner man (and for this reason the one I considered more dangerous - small people always have to prove themselves) spoke reasonably good English, so I was able to explain my trip, say how beautiful the Republic of Srpska was (I never heard one reference to "Bosnia" in this part of the country, and I made sure I didn't make any faux pas myself), how beautiful the women were, etc.etc. In the end, after inquiring if I had a computer for navigation (whereupon, I pulled out my rather tatty and torn map), they bid me adieu and hopped back into their car. 5min later, the police pulled off the road and asked to see my passport. On seeing I was just a tourist and couldn't speak a word of their language, they drove off.

I stayed with Boris, the friend of my cousin's in Banja Luka and cycled off into the rain the following day. I was asked a couple of weeks ago about which was worse: hot weather, or rainy weather. I hummed and hawed for a bit before evading the question by saying it depended on the type of rain. Well, after another thorough soaking along dirt roads, hiding once again beneath trees as the lightening struck about 1km away, I decided that although hot weather wasn't ideal, it was better than rain.

But it wasn't all bad. Soaked to the skin, and finally coming across an asphalt road with houses on it, I found shelter in a small barn where 10 workers were gathered round a small fire. They laughed at the steam that proceeded to come from my general direction as I crouched by the warmth. They were mine clearers working in the area. One of the guys spoke some English. They'd been there for about 3 months clearing one mine field (the whole house was surrounded on 3 sides by mines). The guy himself had worked in Afghanistan for 4 years clearing old Russian mines. One of the other men round the fire had been working with him in Afghanistan too. Now he had only one leg as the other had been blown off in a field that they believed they'd cleared. He still worked on account of the good pay. As we stood talking, one of the workers left to pick mushrooms...from within one of the minefields!!! The guy I was talking to just shook his head and said he was a bit crazy.

The rain eased and I again headed off. Along the road one passes many signs denoting the presence of mine fields. Fairly sure that not every mine field would be marked, I decided it might be prudent to take a bit of care in finding a camp site that evening. I had already taken to avoiding long grass on account of snakes, but figured that on that particular night, I'd be sure I slept in a farmed area. At this point, I had left the Republic of Srpska, and was back into Bosnia "proper". I found a number of flat, green, open spaces that would have been ideal were it not for the bombed and burnt out houses situated right next to them; who knows what atrocities had occured, and I decided I would prefer not to sleep in their shadow. I asked a farmer if I could camp in the area and he pointed up the hill behind the house. It looked recently grazed, but I still couldn't help but try and avoid stepping on mole-hills!



2 days of hot weather brought me into Zagreb. I stopped briefly at Plitvička Lakes; the reason for me taking the route that I did, but the necessity to walk along paths to see them and the hideously large number of tourists and tour buses ensured I didn't linger for long. The parts I did see were very beautiful though.

Spoke broke on final day.

Bastard.

Looked into replacing the set, but, being a Saturday, no-one was interested; would have to wait 'til Tuesday.

Currently staying with the second cousin of the husband of my first cousin. Heading off tomorrow towards Ljubljana. Hoping my spokes hold strong...

My aunt Gilly, cousin Suzie and first cousins once removed, Hugo and Maxim











A lived-in house in Bosnia; a mixture of bullet holes and shrapnel damage. I have also been shown the imprints of grenades on the road.











A desecrated memorial (I think it's Serbian; the memorial that is)











Attempting to dry out my belongings











Lived-in-house. Burned-out-house. Side-by-side.










Not what I thought a minefield would look like!