Beginning of the Balkans
The snow remaining on the mountains and fields makes for some stunning scenery as I leave Ljubljana, making my way towards Zagreb. I follow the course of the mighty Sava river for the day and camp beside a forest stream waking to a beautiful view of the nearby mountains.I get an early start and it is literally freezing, my tent having been frosted hard during the night. A woman passes me in her car and shakes her
head dumbfounded - I must have made for a strange sight cycling with all that luggage in the mist at 6.30 a.m. I make great progress and quickly reach the Croatian border. The guard informs me of the problem that this border post is only open to Croatian and Slovenian citizens but, after politely emphasising that cycling 30km to the next post is a different proposition to driving there, he allows me to pass.
Arriving in Zagreb, I call into the office of the firm I start to work with when my travels finish for a chat, have lunch and move on - conscious of the amount of time spent at Ljubljana. I have a fall on the bike while stopping, not being able to get my cleats unclipped in time to save myself, but thankfully my helmet takes most of the damage
and I escape with a cut elbow and damaged pride. I later discover one of the cleats came off but by that time I was too far on to make it worth my while going back. I pull up to a house at dark and am allowed to camp. I wait a while in vain to see if they will come talk to me or ask me inside for some food. Instead I eat some cereal and milk, thinking it rude to light up my cooking stove in their garden, and write and read before falling asleep.In the morning Anna, the daughter of the household, invites me in for coffee and explains that they were going to ask me in for dinner but thought
I was asleep. As I progress through Croatia I start to hit the region that was worst hit by the recent Balkan wars. All buildings not newly refurbished are peppered with bullet
holes and EU and US aid placards are placed beside the town name signs. All the men I see working on farms or buildings wear military camouflage, seemingly ready at a minute's notice to report for duty. As if by design to cap off a personal presentation to me of Eastern Croatia's bleakness, it starts to rain and I pull my bike into an abandoned house to cook dinner. It doesn't look like letting up and so I set up camp in what would have been a family's living room thirteen years ago.
posted by Niall at
5:17 p.m.
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