It’s my last day in Croatia. Up early at 6:15 am to relieve a certain pressure in my lower abdomen and get things ready by 7:30 for the pensioner breakfast.
I awoke with a little residual anxiety from yesterday’s roadside cyclist memorial. I’m a big fan of living and an even bigger fan of not getting killed by some idiot in a car. But I faced this fear as I clipped into my pedals and it melted away.
A Serbian poppy seed baklava and a mushroom pastry just over the border in Backa Palanka helped too. One bite into this mushroom pastry and I could tell that Serbia and I would get along just fine.
There’s lots of human activity in Backa Palanka. People walking between the central market and cafes, kids running around, old guys mosying in pairs with sandals on and with their bellies sticking out — an all-around pleasant environment. I even managed to find a calisthenics station where I completed today’s pullup challenge.
I stopped to pick up a sim card at Telenor on the advice of my friend, Simon. I think it was five euros for two weeks and 15gb of data. Telenor opened two hours late so I had some time to explore Backa Palanka. Back home this delay would have annoyed the hell out of me but in this context, it gives me an excuse to explore somewhere I’ll probably never visit again.
Anyway, today was a welcomed short ride from Ilok to Backa Palanka to Novi Sad. Aside from an hour of riding out of Backa Palanka on The 2, today’s ride was full of freshly paved bike lanes through a nature preserve with chirps, croaks, and ribbits that were so loud that I had to stop and take them all in. Then I passed through a god awful active cement plant on the way into Novi Sad.
I met a 66-year-old German man outside of Backa Palanka on the front end of a five-year worldwide tour; next stop Africa. We rode together for a kilometer or so then, I kid you not, he said he was having problems with his heart so he wanted to go very slowly and asked that I go ahead. Now that’s either a very desperate attempt to put distance between himself and me or a sign that his trip isn’t going to last five years. Either way, I made sure he was ok then headed onwards.
Today was filled with what must have been seven or so pull-up challenges. Every few kilometers there seemed to be another calisthenics park. Nearly every time I stop for the challenge a curious or helpful Serbian walked up to ask me what I was up to on or to offer directions—I’m loving it.
After all the pullup challenges I made it to a vegan restaurant called Bananas Veggie & Raw in Novi Sad, Serbia’s second city. The food is good and I highly recommend it. Just try and arrive earlier in the afternoon than I did.
“Can I do the daily menu?”
“We out.”
“The Vegan Mac’n’Cheese then.”
“We out, sorry,” with a smile.
“How about the tortilla soup?”
“No tortillas.”
I’m laughing at this point.
“Ok then. Tofu scramble and the borscht?”
“Yes.”
Hooray! But I’d forgotten one very important thing: beer. So I ran inside after her and said, “And one beer please.”
By this time she is full-on laughing, “No beer today, just wine.”
“I’ll take the white.”
It was a good wine for under two euros so I really can’t complain.
It’s not just the wine, I’m liking Novi Sad too. It has an old Soviet feel juxtaposed with a waterfront revitalization along the river. It’s buzzing with people, fancy buildings, and buses that have got to be Lenin first editions.
After dinner, I wandered around to find the city’s synagogue. It’s a beautiful building that has tragically been walled off by Novi Sad’s busiest road. There are no direct crosswalks from which to reach it. This building deserves better. I walked up to a plaque on the building’s front that read “FROM THIS BUILDING ON APRIL 26th, 1924 NOVI SAD JEWS WERE DEPORTED TO NAZI EXTERMINATION CAMPS”.
That sent a chill down my spine, the specificity of it. A single day that can be pointed to. The day before, Novi Sad had a Jewish community, by the 27th it did not. I shivered as I read those words and imagined the terror those people experienced.
As I walked past the synagogue I saw bicycle inspired street art that charts the history of cycling in the city. I commend those who advocate for cyclists in Eastern Europe because there is a lot of work to do and if they manage to do it, Eastern Europe will become an ideal place to ride.
I ambled away from the street art and into Beerokrate, a craft beer pub nearby where I started with an IPA recommended by the bartender. It was just ok. The next round was a Serbian wheat beer—perfect for a summer evening.
From my perch outside Beerokrate, I noticed people running into their friends or other acquaintances. Each time they were pleasantly surprised.
It just happened again as I wrote this in my journal. A dad and his daughter were riding their bikes past Beerokrate when they were stopped by a pair of the dad’s friends. Then an old woman was flagged down by two young women she knows to stop and chat. It’s nice to see people happy to interact.
I should have mentioned my Croatian pension host in an earlier entry. On my way out of the pension, he went to his car to get me some change. It was a nice Mercedes so I complimented him on it. He told me that he has a German car and speaks German because he and his family drove there at the outbreak of the war and stayed there for years before moving back. If you happen to be in Ilok, Croatia, then you simply have to stay at his pension.
I’m excited for tomorrow because I’ll finally reach Belgrade!
Today’s Miscellany
