stara palanka

I got up early and skipped the meat-heavy pension breakfast to make the 7:30 am ferry across the river, which took about six minutes. It was surreally beautiful, replete with a castle, reflective water, and wild dogs that take the ferry back and forth all day.

Just after the ferry ride, I stopped in Veliko Gradiste to find dog spray and breakfast. I couldn’t find dog spray, which ended up being fine. Just getting off the bike and waiting for dogs to lose interest was probably a better strategy than ratcheting up a confrontation anyways.

I did, however, find breakfast. I finally made time to try Serbia’s legendary, oil-drenched, crispy, and, dare I say, divine: Burek. After burning the living hell out of the roof of my mouth, I took in the fast pace at the cafe’s intersection then I was on my way.

This leg of the journey is second only to Passau to Linz for its beauty. It’s the start of the somewhat-famed 21-tunnels along the Danube Gorge in Serbia. I’d read that the tunnels are pitch black and shoulderless and to an extent they are. But most of them are short enough that you can see the exit as you enter. I do recommend a good headlight and taillight for the four-or-so longest tunnels.

Just before the first tunnel I lucked out and crossed paths with a bunch of German cycle tourists. Without a word, I joined their group until the Lepenski Vir archeological site. Safety in numbers. Cars respected our group of 15 or so cyclists.

Off to the left of the main route is the Lepenski Vir museum. I recommend visiting. Be sure to bring cash with you and don’t be afraid to take your bike down the path to the museum. I didn’t know either of these things so I ended up taking a round trip 25-minute walk only to find that I couldn’t enter.

Even if you don’t want to spend the money to enter the museum it’s still worth riding your bike up to the entrance. There is a large excavation site with a few of the sculptures on display there for free.

From there, it was a short ride into Donji Milanovac, a quaint little town with what might be the world’s smallest beachfront. The place to stay there is a hostel just after the EuroVelo signage pointing into town. At 7eur, the hostel is a steal. Lots of cyclists stop there.

At the hostel, I met a fabulous couple from Mexico, Miguel and…I forget his girl friend’s name…They generously gave me a bowl of lentils for dinner. I ordered a round for the three of us then we were off and talking. We touched on cycling tours, Balkans history and politics, and managed a healthy heaping of Trump-bashing.

Tomorrow I’ll ride past the Iron Gate Dam and decide whether to cross into Bulgaria or not.

4 words to describe this ride: Tough Roads, Serene Estuaries

Belgrade has been witness to many changes—empires, countries, cultures, religions—but one constant is traffic. The way out of Serbia’s capital was treacherous.

“[Cyclists,] Please use pedestrian sidewalk to pass the bridge!”

Eventually, cars gave way to unpaved dike roads. These roads were home to territorial dogs that loved nothing more than to chase cyclists. The trick is to stop riding and put your bike between you and the hound then firmly say something like “No!” I was chased three times today.

“Attention: at certain times of the year the cycling path is full of nasty thorns that will even the strongest tire!” I have no doubt that a cyclist lobbied for this sign

Today’s road quality was the worst of the entire trip. Roadside memorials for mowed down motorists abound in Eastern Europe and in particular, Serbia. After a couple hundred of these solemn gravesites, riding through quicksand was still better than cycling with cars.

After what felt like an endless ride punctuated with stops to pull branches out of my spokes, I arrived at the ferry crossing in Stara Palanka. Just after the ferry stop on the left was a pension with a restaurant. That’s where I stayed. It was no two-star hotel but it was a clean room with food.

Dinner was frozen fish nuggets. Frozen, as in they arrived at the table still cold and solid. My host took the fish back and let them swim in the hot oil a while longer.

My room had posters up of all of Serbia’s basketball stars. In other words, all of my favorite Sacramento Kings players were looking right at me. Since there is a dearth of hoops-talk in Dublin I ignored the fact that my hosts didn’t speak English and started talking Serbian basketball with them. The language barrier was no problem at all. Peja plus three fingers, Vlade plus a mimed behind the back pass, Djokovic plus “best Serbian,” and so on.

Tomorrow I’ll ride through the Danube Gorge.

Stara Palanka to Donji Milanovac

Belgrade to Stara Palanka

Today’s Miscellany