Balkanisms 

Belgrade- Osecina, Serbia

Thirty-six hours in Belgrade, a day of riding in Serbia, and another in Bosnia & Herzegovina. 

Belgrade. 

The most attacked city in the history of the world – so says our walking tour guide, Dusan. The Roman Empire. The Byzantine Empire. The Ottomans. The Hungarians. The Austrians. Even NATO – with the bombings in 1999. 115 times foreign powers have laid siege to Belgrade, and the City has been re-built 44 times. 

Because of this, Belgrade is a hodge-podge of different architecture – with, of course, a good smattering of Communist era apartment buildings – as drab and colorless as ever . . . 

We kind of liked the hodge-podge, and we really liked Belgrade. 

There’s a big fortress at the confluence of the Danube and Sava Rivers. I know it’s kind of ridiculous to say so, but it’s a bit like Fort Snelling – only a few thousand years older. 

The Old Town has some history, without the super-narrow – almost claustrophobic – streets of Morocco and Spain. And, while there are a few tourists around, there don’t seem to be enough to support the whole tourist-industrial complex that you might find in places like Cannes, Nice, Grenada, etc. Definitely refreshing. 

Following up on our exploration of the soul of Serbia, we did have a few conversations and experiences that might shed some more light on things. 

Like when our very congenial young tour guide muttered under his breath: “Croats suck!” (The fact that a young person like this holds these grudges probably says a lot about how prevalent beliefs like this are around here).

Or when we saw this graffiti on a building:

In case you’re having trouble reading, it says:

“The only genocide in the Balkans was against the Serbs.” Kind of echoes what are friend Nenad was telling us . . .

We had a much different conversation with a young man who worked at the souvenir shop where we stopped to buy the requisite Serbia stickers for our bikes. He told us that he is one of the protestors and that they are not, as we have been told, all students. In his estimation, Serbia is just a puppet of Russia – kind of Russia’s furthest outpost into Europe. He doesn’t understand where this comes from, but in his eyes, the older generation has been brainwashed to love the Russians. (I think the implication is that the Russians – and, in particular, the KGB – have been engaging in the same type of propaganda campaigns that we were worried about Russia engaging in in the US recently).

The Souvenir Guy’s story was reinforced by Zoran – a guy we will learn more about later in the blog. Zoran went out of his way to tell us that he is not a fan of Russia. He says that Serbia has a strange admiration for Putin, but he doesn’t understand it. 

Oh, one more thing about Belgrade. They created a giant lake/swimming pool – like, probably, three miles long – by damming up the Sava River on the west side of the City. We didn’t have a chance to swim there – but we were pretty impressed. 

The thing is, in Minneapolis and in Minnesota generally, we tend to take our fresh water lakes for granted. As if everyone in the world has clean water around. After biking around for, I don’t know, probably around 17,000 miles or so, I can tell you – it’s just not the case. First off, outside of reservoirs, the rest of the world doesn’t really have lakes. And even there rivers are usually all fouled up. Also, because most of the world is warmer, there’s no good winter freeze to kill off algae and weeds and stuff – so the lakes that are around tend to be pretty nasty. 

Now, we didn’t actually swim in Belgrade’s lake – but it looked good anyway – none of that nuclear green color we’ve seen so many times on this trip . . .

So that was Belgrade.

Now, riding from Belgrade to Osecina yesterday. 

That was an adventure.

There aren’t necessarily a ton of hotel or campground options in this part of the world – so our choices were limited if we wanted to go toward Sarajevo (our current goal). Option 1: bike 63 miles to Osecina – with some big climbs at the end – to a town with maybe some kind of guest house, or Option 2: go even further – with even more big climbs . . .

We chose Option 1 – bike 63 miles with some big climbs at the end. The thing is, the main routes to Osecina are actually more like 85 miles. It’s only 63 miles from Belgrade if you take secondary, or even tertiary, roads that are more direct. 

The first half of the ride was all good. Relatively flat, pretty straightforward riding. The second half was more interesting. Right away after lunch we were climbing. Really pretty. And with very little traffic. Which probably should have been our first clue. Because, the thing is, there is very little incentive to pave roads that don’t have much traffic. 

But you’ve been to this movie before, and the fun part comes at the end – so I’ll give you the abridged version today:

The road turned to gravel. The gravel turned to rocks. The combination of steep grade, a big rocky surface, loaded bikes, and all this coming at the end of the ride, meant that the going was pretty tough. 

We did finally make it back to some pavement. We breathed a big sigh of relief, but then Google Maps told us to take a turn onto even more gravel.

Really? 

It was at this point that we met this old guy on a tractor. He was, I think, trying to help us. But he knew less English than we know Serbian. Also, as I soon discovered, he was completely wasted. When he approached us, the smell of alcohol on his breath was crazy; I think if I had lit a match we all would have gone up in flames . . .

I tried to use Google Translate, but he was having trouble reading. Also, he had no idea how to type anything. I tried to use the voice feature where he just talks and Google Translate does the rest – but when I handed him the phone, he thought someone was calling for him and he put the phone up to his ear. 

I did understand one word he was saying though: rakija – the plum brandy that is so beloved around here. 

“____ ______ ____ _____ __ rakija ___ ________ ____ rakija ____ __ __ rakija.”

Soon he was running back to his tractor. When he reappeared, he had two big plastic coke bottle type things – one with a brownish liquid, one with a more brown liquid. 

He’s pressing the smaller one into my hand. I’m refusing, but finally I agree to take a swig. All I’ll say is that I have more hair on my chest now than I did two days ago. Wow – that stuff is powerful . . .

He tried to give me the whole bottle. I refused again. But later I kind of regretted that decision . . .

Because afterwards, as we negotiated even more hills on even more gravel – and I started to fade a bit, I remembered that liquor like this saved me in a similar situation years ago. 

I was riding in the Chequamegon Fat Tire race – a big gravel mountain bike race in Northwestern Wisconsin, and I’m having a terrible day. I’m about half way through when I arrived at this back road spot where these guys dressed up as pirates offer shots to the riders. Normally I’m way too serious to accept their offerings – but I figure I’m having a tough day anyway; what do I have to lose? So I take a shot – I think it was rum. Just as I down it there’s a big clap of thunder, the skies part, and it starts raining like crazy. Within a minute I’m feeling great. 

I’ve never known whether it was the booze, or the rain, or something else – but I’m going with the booze . . . Because it makes for the best story . . . and, besides, someone told me that hard alcohol can have lots of calories, so maybe it makes sense . . .

Anyway, I found myself thinking about all of that as I struggled up the final climbs of the day. If only I had accepted the bottle of rakija I’d be feeling great right about now . . .

In the end, though, rakija or not, we made it to Osecina. 

New problem: the guest house Diana had found did, indeed, exist, but it was all booked up for the evening. We decide to grab dinner and think about our options. We’re eating at the Osaka Bar & Grill. (No idea where the name came from – as far as we could tell there wasn’t a single Japanese thing in the place . . .) We ask the bartenders about lodging, and they call another restaurant for us – one that supposedly has rooms as well. No luck; they’re full too.

It’s looking like we might be in for another Hounds of Hell type evening – camping in some deserted empty lot someplace . . .

And then we experience a miracle. A miracle named Zoran.

He is a 6’8” Serbian guy with a 5-year-old son, Aki. He speaks perfect English and he wants to help. 

Zoran calls the local sports club. They have what amounts to dorm rooms, and Zoran calls over and arranges a room for us. He jumps on his electric scooter and brings us there. Once there, he introduces us to his niece, Mina, who lived in Winona, Minnesota for two years during high school. Mina loves the United States. She loves the Mall of America. She is home for the summer, but goes to Franklin College in Indiana. 

Great to meet them both. 

Love Zoran.

Oh, and it turns out that Zoran and his brother have a company that makes tea and tea products: Welton. One of the products is an iced tea powder. Reminiscent of the sweet tea – Nestea or Lipton, I think – that we had growing up. Zoran gives us a box of the tea. Very tasty! (He says they are working on exporting the tea to the U.S. – so look for it soon . . .)

Also, Zoran tells us that his son will play in the NBA someday. I believe him. Zoran’s wife is tall as well; she was a professional volleyball player for  twelve years. On this note, can I just say that if I was an NBA scout – or even an NFL scout – I think I would just move permanently to Serbia. These people are not only tall. They’re tall and strong and powerful. That Jokic guy in the NBA – he’s like Joe-Average around here . . .

Really, it’s a little surprising that the Slavs did not rule the world back before guns and stuff. Because in a world where strength was a big deal it’s hard to see how these guys would ever have lost. 

Okay, enough stereotyping . . .

Our ride today? More stunning beauty. We’ve been cycling through the Dinaric Alps. They are amazing. Yes, challenging for sure. But it’s not like we’re having to climb to 10,000 feet or anything. Plenty of oxygen.

One particular stretch of road in Bosnia today was particularly amazing. About 5 miles long. Straight up. That part was tough. But then a long winding descent surrounded by mountains that are just plain beautiful. 

Even the border crossing was easy. 

It’s not like we’re feeling fresh-as-daisies here – we’re not – all these mountains are adding up. But a few pretty great days nonetheless. The Balkans do a great job combining natural beauty, pretty good food, friendliness and hospitality, interesting culture, and a wierdly fascinating view of current politics.

On toward Sarajevo tomorrow – and then we finally turn north . . . toward Hungary and beyond . . .

Thoughts on Sarajevo, Novi Sad, or Hungary?