Upsetting the Border Police 2/5 (Bosnia-Croatia)

Shortly after crossing into Croatia we headed north along a track which followed a railway and river up a narrow, beautiful, wooded valley. Warning signs alerted us that this was a restricted area as the road crossed the border several times. But after taking advice from some locals who said that it was only 18km and the border police had recently passed through we decided to risk it.
It was a fantastic ride up a remote unpopulated track. After leaving the main track and crossing the river into Croatia over a narrow bridge we found the condition of the track deteriorate before it crossed back into Bosnia. We emerged into a farm yard where we caused great astonishment to a potbellied Bosnian farmer who saw us emerge from nowhere.
What we hadn't been told was that further up was a customs post. The Bosnian guy was fine but the Croatian border guard was unhappy that we had travelled along the track. Luckily he had no English so although he was using 'illegal entry' in his stream of words we just pretended that we didn't understand. Eventually when he realised we had cycled from Greece he forgot not only about our indiscretion but also to check our passports.
Soon after we camped down a side road on a hairpin bend as there was little flat ground. No traffic came through before 6.30 in the morning when a border patrol came past. We were up and having breakfast and after checking our passports he was only satisfied after we assured him that we had no intention of going to Bosnia.

Conflict Aftermath, N. Bosnia 1/5

A flat Bosnian plain, around 1km wide bordered on our left by a dark ridge and further away to our right, mountains which disappear into the clouds. It´s mainly pasture with few trees but houses are randomly scattered around both close to the road and towards the ridge.

We are heading north towards the Croatian border and are seeing for the first time the wide scale devastation which has occurred in rural Bosnia as a result of the ethnic conflict. The houses are simple brick structures of varying sizes but all have been damaged in the war. Many are reduced to brick shells, roofs and windows missing while others have been patched up to provide shelter.

There is an EU "Program for Return" in operation but what a place to go back to. The worst sight was a house where the upstairs had been burnt out and the windows once sealed with polythene with people downstairs. In the distance to our right, all that is left of a village is the tightly packed crumbling gable ends pointing towards the sky. And this goes on for mile after mile, hundreds of properties all with the scars of war.

With no escape it´s a mentally gruelling ride. Those that survived the 'ethnic cleansing' that occurred have had to endure destruction, displacement and dispossession. And this was a war fought between neighbours, a conflict setting groups of people against each other who one lived peacefully.

Very similar to the chaos we have created in Iraq.

Bosnian Snow 30/5

We hit the snow at what I thought was the summit at around 1400m. However 3km later when we were still dragging the bikes across the long pass I realised how wrong I had been. And this was supposed to be a simple day. Up and over a pass, then another lower one before we hit the tarmac and put in some distance before finding a bar to watch the football in.
There was no easy way to get through the snow. It was fairly old and had melted and frozen again and we could see that no vehicle had passed this way for some time. It was a remote spot. Riding on the flat or uphill sections was impossible and pushing the bikes involved either finding a ridge to avoid the front wheel slipping sideways on the frozen sections, or where the snow was softer, trudging through ankle deep. The slightly downhill sections I did develop a technique for which involved keeping the front wheel absolutely straight which is not as easy as it sounds.
Eventually the snow ended and we decided against the second pass and were rewarded with 10s of kms of tailwind which zoomed us towards Livno in time for kickoff and gave us a record mileage of 118km.

Mostar, Bosnia 29/4

We visited the bridge, the symbol of conflict and renewal and strolled around the quaint rebuilt area of the old town. But it was the shattered homes which brought home some of the realities of the conflict that had taken place. Blocks of flats battered by gunfire and artillery which are still occupied. Windows bricked up except for small holes at the top to reduce blast damage. A road junction where the intensity of the fighting had left walls crazed with bullet holes.
I can hardly begin to imagine what it must have been like to have lived through this mayhem and it makes me realise how hard we must strive to avoid conflict and promote tolerance.
The previous day we had been in the village of Stolac where a young man approached, proud to show off his place to tourists. He told us that camping was safe as they were all good people there. And I'm sure he is right but the evidence of the derelict houses and pockmarked walls demonstrated what terrible forces within us can be unleashed when conflict starts.

Avoiding the Exploding Rim 28/4

I didn't see the pothole. I was concentrating on cars coming around blind bends on the single track Montenegran mountain road. But I certainly felt it. And my front wheel developed a distortion which increased through the day. Close inspection later revealed a small split in the braking surface of the rim.
What to do? The nearest town was 25km away and I have experienced exploding rims before which sound like gunfire and rip the tube to shreds. We set off early in the morning with deflated tyre and reduced weight. After 5km, while stopping to photograph frogs, an empty van pulled up and we accepted the offer of the ride to Bileca, crossing into Bosnia on the way.
No bike shop in town but after many enquiries we found a man with a van full off stuff who was quickly on his mobile and first a back and eventually a front wheel arrived. With free fitting and a spanner thrown in I am now the proud owner of a heavyweight Bosnian front wheel which should survive the Balkan road system. And we were off cycling again by 10.30...

Into Montenegro - An Unusual Entry

I struggled to keep up with Wendy as she chased our guide in what was the first of two car chases that day. Our destination was Montenegro on the far side of the River Bune. We had already spent a frustrating morning trying to find the nonexistent bridge marked on our map which now meant a 60km round trip. "I will get you across" said our lovely Albanian saviour, so we followed down an increasingly muddy track, in which his car got stuck, to the bank of a wide river where a small boat was waiting. Having come out of his way to help us he then insisted on paying the ferryman, who appeared from nowhere, to get us across.
Our second pursuit ended at a water mill, to which the proud owner was insistent we visited and photographed. So with leaky wellies on, I walked up the mill race to snap the spray of water emerging from the mechanism. Over coffee we heard stories of places he had worked all over the world but until we produced photographic evidence the mill owner refused to believe that we had arrived in Montenegro by boat.

Albanian History

"Use the motorway, you must always use the motorway" the driving instructor shouted at us in Albanian, which was being translated by one of his 5 pupils from the back seat. We were heading north from Tirana having finally escaped from its traffic mayhem which first involved being gridlocked, followed by a period of weaving around constantly stopping minibuses and bike eating manholes before enduring a dead straight highway on which the traffic noise alone was intensely unsettling. "And you must stop before dark as there are robbers about" he added helpfully before offering to put us up for the night.
Earlier we had passed a timeless scene of an older couple shepherding their goats and considered what they might have lived through. The reign of King Zog, invasion by Mussolini, occupation by Greece and Germany during the war, rule by Europe's most maverick dictator Enva Hoxha, who brought Stalinism and a cultural revolution before isolating the country and covering it with thousands of concrete bunkers due to fear of invasion.. Or perhaps they had just flown in from Monaco.
He may have ended up a tyrant but having joined the Resistance it should be noted that Albania, with its majority Muslim population was the only country occupied by the Nazis to end the war with a higher Jewish population due to their being sheltered and given false papers.

Kastrati Petrol

I'm unsure if this brand of Albanian petrol would catch on in Britain, but as a cyclist it has some appeal. Could also be useful in the fight against climate change.

Seen in Tirana 24/4/8

Tirana

Having been a country sealed off from the rest of the world for most of my lifetime Albania, and especially its capital, Tirana have a faintly exotic appeal. Its tourist attractions though are somewhat limited beyond a centre comprising both fascist and communist influences. The massive Socialist realist mural depicting heroes of the Revolution overlooks a featureless central square beyond which extends Mussolini's wide boulevard's.Capitalism is forging ahead with leafy streets swanky shops displaying high priced fashions overlooked by Soviet style housing blocks enlivened by gaudy patchwork painting courtesy of the artistic mayor.

Albania, but where is Castro?

Steamy heat, elegantly distressed buildings, donkeys, veteran tractors, Mercedes cars in various states of disrepair, ethnic music pumping out, 1960's buses, palm trees, so much about this country reminds me of Havana. Not that I have been to Cuba, but I did once watch Buena Vista Social Club.

Crossed the border still with a bundle of Macedonian Dinari which the bank could not change. However a bank official took me outside and made a call on his mobile. Moments later a guy arrived in classic overcoat with huge wads of notes in his pocket. Out with the calculator and the deal was done in moments giving us over 10,000 Albanian Lek to spend.

Traveling towards Tirana brought back memories of another place - Uganda. Verdant green mountains, smoky minibuses, precarious roads winding up high passes, torrential showers and great enthusiasm about our presence here is so reminiscent of The Last King of Scotland.