One week, three new countries: Croatia, Bosnia, and Montenegro

Overlooking the Adriatic just south of Dubrovnik from the border crossing with Bosnia

Actually, Croatia almost doesn't count since it was just my point of entry and departure for my week in the Balkans. But I did ride a little more than three uphill miles from my first-night's hotel in Cavtat to the DBV airport, where I picked up my rental car, so I guess that counts for something. And I had a few late-night beers on Cavtat's promenade, as well as a scrumptious lunch at the end of the trip. So, Croatia counts, after all.

One of many expensive yachts moored in Cavtat

The view from my hotel in Cavtat

I had spent about five days with Sabine in Freising after jetting over to Europe a couple of days after my trip to Colombia. We went for a few long bike rides, complained like everyone else about the heatwave that currently spreads misery and worse all over Europe, and took a few dips in the local ponds. But since Sabine is gainfully employed she was able to spread her time just so far by using overtime hours to create two free days--my weeklong trip south was out-of-bounds for her. Maybe next time.

Wherever I travel, they seem to grow wine!

Trebinje, Bosnia

Ever since my friend Andrew had decided last winter to settle down in Trebinje (Bosnia and Herzegovina), my desire to visit that part of the world had become ever stronger. Sabine and I once had planned a short getaway to Dubrovnik, but a broken collar bone put an end to that. But now, the time seemed right, with Andrew settled into his digs and United allowing me to cash in a paltry 16,000 (credit card-earned miles) and about $60 for a round-trip ticket to Dubrovnik. If you want to travel hack, there's no better time than now.

A work in progress: OZ Craft Pivo's locale

The equipment is in place ...

... Andrew is working on one of the first batches ...

... and 90 brand-new kegs have finally cleared customs

I arrived in Croatia on a Tuesday evening. I had set up a hotel with an airport shuttle beforehand, and once in the hotel I assembled the Ritchey and then went out for a couple of beers. Cavtat is about 18 miles from Dubrovnik proper (the airport, similar to Medellin's, is located about 25 miles inland in a flat area between mountains). Even though it was after 11 p.m. on a weeknight, a few sea-promenade bars were still going strong, and I enjoyed the smell, sounds, and sights of southern Europe. As an early teen, I spent several summer vacations in what was then Yugoslavia's Croatian coast, 500 kilometers or so to the north; also, as a freshly minted Interrail traveler I visited Split and Dubrovnik when I was 18 years young and even more naive than I am now. Gees, a bloody war and 40 years later, Yugoslavia as a country is no longer and instead one has to try to navigate Euro-Zone, European Union, independent country, and lots of border crossings to get from here to there. There are Croatian kuna, Bosnian marks (and pfennigs), and the euro in Montenegro, all in an area that is barely the size of Lubbock county. (Actually, on my rides I covered about the same area that I usually cover on my 35-mile in-town ride in Lubbock. Nuts.)

Riding in Trebinje

I lucked out that the folks at SurPrice car rental upgraded my initial choice of midget car to a five-door Golf TDI which held my luggage and the assembled Ritchey, and after an amazingly ineffective and convoluted process to finally hold the car keys in hand I headed north toward the border with Bosnia, less than 20 kilometers away. This one was actually the fastest of all three border crossings that I had to endure--maybe the fact that it was around noon helped and the waiting period was less than half an hour. Up across the mountains and back down on the other side--Trebinje was waiting. On the outskirts I was greeted by a big signs welcoming me to the Trebinje Vineyards, properly reminding me that European Union monies were at work.

Chaotic and inefficient car-rental SurPrice, in the parking lot adjacent to DBV

Trebinje's Old Bridge is what I had thought Mostar's would be like--this one is stunning!

Thanks to cell phones and text messages I had no trouble finding Andrew and his apartment, just steps away from the Old Town district of this city of fewer than 35,000. Over the next few days I started to understand what attracted my friend in the first place: a laid-back, easy-going pace of life that involves a lot of drinking coffee in the outdoor cafes, watching people, and not getting upset when bureaucracy plays havoc with your plans to open your craft brewery on your own time and not the authorities'.

Every day is market day in Trebinje

Andrew waiting in line at the mobile locksmith's office to get some extra apartment keys

I met several of Andrew's friends, among them Lauren and Bartek, the American/Polish couple that run Hostel Polako where Andrew had lived initially. Good people, laid back, and always with a smile--even when the debauchery of one of their guests during an evening excursion to a local's home resulted in soiled sheets and worse. (The excursion was indeed rather on the wild side, with gallons of homemade wine and at least liters of local rakje, as the locally distilled spirits are collectively called. Our group of about 14--all of them, except me, well under thirty--had a swell night of local food and drink for 20 euros.)

Bosnia is cheap. That's one of the reasons Andrew chose Trebinje for his craft brewing project. Yet, cheap as life may be down here, not always is it possible to find the supplies and parts that are needed to establish a proper business. For example, Andrew had to order his 20-liter kegs from Germany, and all 90 of them were stuck in a customs house in Sarajevo for what seemed like an eternity. Fittings and other hardware necessitated renting a car and embarking on a daylong trip to Split to try to round up what in the US would be found in a Home Depot. It's a different world, but Andrew is committed to giving it a try, and I believe he's doing rather well and will succeed. By the time of this writing the cooling system may be online, finally, and OZ Craft Pivo will soon serve its first pints.

Trebinje lies toward the southern end of a long, verdant valley

Interesting roof styles ...

Seemingly every household grows its own grapes

I went for one nice, long ride around in the vicinity of Trebinje. There are only few roads, and most of them are rather busy with local traffic making cycling a bit of a challenge, but I chose a nice route that was fairly deserted and scenic. If you think that "rails-to-trails" exists only in the US you're wrong: The Ciro follows the old rail line from Dubrovnik all the way to Mostar, and it crosses through wild and empty countryside. The rail line was abandoned in the early 1970s, and now you can ride the 150-kilometer long route with relative ease thanks to the very moderate railroad-necessitated inclines. Most of the Ciro is paved, with only a few mountain-bike-only detours. Very cool and you go by places with rather odd names!

An old railroad station along the Ciro, abandoned and shot up during the war

On that same trip I rolled up to the Duzi monastery where I was welcomed by a rather unorthodox orthodox nun (she proudly told me that in her younger days she was a swimmer, proudly showing off her broad shoulders); she also gave me a private tour of the small monastery, which has seen more important times many years ago. Believe it or not, our entire conversation was conducted in Spanish as she had lived in Spain and was just thrilled to speak Spanish again. It wasn't before long before homemade rakje came out and the conversation gained in intensity. Had it not been for an approaching thunderstorm she may have tried to make a monk out of me...but I decided to get back on the bike.

Rakje is de riguer when it comes to welcoming strangers, even in the Duzi monastery.

Another excursion took Andrew and me in my rental car up to Mostar. Even in a car it's quite a long way, and the road is curvy and slow and home to big busses and unwieldy trucks. My first memory of Mostar goes back to third or fourth grade and the picture in my geography book of the iconic Stari Most bridge and a mosque and minaret. Well, that bridge fell victim to the war, and the way it has been rebuilt is rather disappointing, even if the beautiful arching shape has been maintained. There are still mosques (like in Trebinje, BTW) and minarets, and now there are a gazillion tourists that buy cheap trinkets from the local kitsch hawkers. But I needed to see Mostar, being so close, even though Andrew had forewarned me how spoilt this once-charming town has become. So, once we had done the obligatory crossing of the bridge (at least from on top of it you don't see how ugly the reconstruction is) and "admiring" the Speedo-clad dudes who flex and stretch for ages before, finally, they dive from the bridge into the river 25 meters below, we proceeded to seek out one of his friends, Arslan, who has been running OldbridZ brewery for more than 8 years.

Arslan recently opened a tasting room for OldbridZ very close to Stari Most, and soon we were talking beers, business, and Bosnia. Arslan has spent much time in the US, even though you'd think that this kilt-wearing hulk of a man must have spent his formative years in the Scottish highlands. Soon we were joined by a French couple, who stopped by on their bikes on a tour through this part of the world--and wouldn't you know it, the guy's name was also Andrew, he's also an engineer, and he's also a brewer. Small world. And so the afternoon in Mostar will live on in my memories more for this eclectic group of people and the intelligent discourse (as well as the beers) rather than the other cultural facets of Mostar.

With a few days of time left and the riding in Trebinje somewhat limited I listened to the call of the Adriatic, booked a hotel for two nights in Montenegro, and left Andrew and his hops to seek more adventures. Even though it's only about a 45-mile trip to Risan, on the way to Kotor, it took the better part of four hours to get there. This time the border crossing involved about two hours of start and stop for a few stern glaces from a fella in a small cage, hammering a few stamps into my passport and motioning me onward, expressionless. And then I was in Montenegro.

My first glimpse of the Montenegro coastline

It does have a cool ring to it, Montenegro

The bay of Risan, a well-sheltered inlet from the Adriatic

This coastal access was 120 meters from my hotel, well suited for morning swims

When I had chosen my hotel in Risan online I had not really done much research or planning, but it turned out that I was in the ideal place for two 45-mile rides along the coastline. And what a coastline it is! Risan is situated in a large bay that finally dead-ends at Kotor. Huge cruise ships enter this bay for a call-of-port in historic Kotor, which is one of many UNESCO World Heritage sites in this region of the world. 

Kotor's impressive fortifications

The mountains are steep and rise immediately from the water. The towns cling to a tiny strip of land, and there's no beach--the (mostly eastern-European) summer tourists use the man-made platforms in front of their rented vacation homes to suntan and jump off into the water, with traffic rolling by just a few feet away. Lots of smokers here, no bare-breasted French or German women, and Eastern bloc license plates on the cars all are an indication of the origin of most tourists.

Mussel and shrimp farms can be found all along the coast

The area around Tivat is about to be built into a super-posh yacht harbor and high-dollar resort, and Herceg Novi already has all the tourist infrastructure you'd want. But my hotel was quiet (it appeared to be firmly in Russian hands), and Risan was pleasantly un-touristy with only a few beach restaurants where I had two beautiful evenings. The riding was superb, and I enjoyed this part of the trip immensely. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Fancy yachts in Tivat

Fancy clipper in Tivat

Up and over the hills ...

After a lot of climbing I was able to enjoy these serpentines down to Kotor

The bay of Kotor

And that was my week in the Balkans. It has taken me much longer than anticipated to finish this blogpost--while back in Germany post-Balkan I just didn't find the time to write, and then I made it back to Lubbock and had to unpack and repack for a trip to Colorado, where I am now two days into a four-day race. It was a bit of a whirlwind, these past three weeks, but that's how it always seems to be, right? And here are a few more pics from this memorable trip. Enjoy!

Jürgen