Sightseeing in Split

Like good tourists (and because we wanted some time off the bikes together before we would part ways) we took some time exploring Split. We did all the touristy things that are not terribly important to write about. What is of dubious importance is that we went for a shopping tour for yours truly. I lost one of my two pair of underpants (and one is really not enough, tip for all you weightsaving bicycle travelers out there), so I replaced the lost one. I'm also getting a rediculous amount of holes in my woolen shirts due to them getting snagged by all kinds of thorny flora, and its starting to take a rediculous amount of time to repair them all, so I wanted to get a good 'ol cotton shirt to wear when I'm looking for a place to sleep (another tip for when you've spent a decent chunk of money on woolen shirts). Other stuff was bought as well, but not of importance to my fellow bicycle tourist.

And then, after a couple of days we departed. As I don't think my feelings regarding our split are of terrible importance for the world to read, and because they're personal, my feelings will stay my own. Understand that although I will write the coming paragraphs as if everything is fine, it wasn't so at all times.

The ascent out of Croatia

I had planned a route from Split into the mountains in order to get to Bosnia and Herzegovina, evading the busier roads as much as possible. I departed from Trogir, and traveled along 25 kilometers of coastline, city, and industrial area before I reached Split again. Having seen the touristic seaward section of Split the previous days, the view I had from the other side completed my mental picture of the city.

I managed to plan my route pretty well, if the signs from official cycling paths were any indication, as I was traveling along several of those routes. Although sections of those cycling paths were made by someone with no cycling experience whatsoever, or by the strongest of Croats. T.

hey had gradients and narrow rocky sections that were impossible to cycle (I always call these little sections "jokes", and these were some good Croatian jokes). After a little while I made it to Klis and its picturesque fortress, and continued along more sane gradients. There was quite a bumpy cycling path, but it was placed next to busy roads, so I was rather grateful for the existence of the path. That was, until at a particular point along the route where someone, somewhere, decided that construction would have to take place right in the middle of it, and cyclists could take a detour on that busy road. After a kilometer of cursing at people who make these choices, with cars whizzing by, I was able to return to the cycling path. The builders and decision makers of this world were quickly removed from my thoughts as not much later I had a magnificent view of the mountains I would have to traverse to get to Bosnia. The valley below it dotted with the shadows of clouds smoothly gliding over the land, adding to the spectacle.

The remainder of the day was spent crossing that valley, and slowly making the initial ascent out of Croatia. Somewhere in that ascent I had to make a tiny detour. My annoyance was out of proportion to the length of the detour, at which point I realised I should probably get some sleep. The next day I continued with a relative lack of water. Nothing too bad. Yes there was quite an ascent remaining, and I only had 1 liter of water, but that's nothing life threatening, just an inconvenience. Shortly after making the planned detour, thereby getting back to my original route, did two Croatian people traveling the same route in the opposite direction stop their car. They told me I was not going in the right direction (which was discussed in German, so far it seems that threequarters of all Croatians I've met can speak German because they've worked there for a while. When I ask them about their time there, their answer is usually a variarion of "in Germany the money is good, in Croatia living is good"). After ensuring that indeed I would be able to get into Bosnia, I continued on my path. Silly people in their cars never understand people on bikes. Right? Right.

A little bit further I realised the error of my ways. As the road slowly deteriorated, it became increasingly impossible for me to ride my bike. My pride and the vertical gain was too large for me to consider going back down again. At first I was walking small sections, nearly at the top I was only walking. If only I would've listened to the friendly men earlier. Near the top I was rather thirsty. But I realised I would hit the peak soon, and then I would go downhill in a matter of an hour, water waiting for me in the other side. Right? Right.

Luckily for me there was another friendly guy with his son, who asked me in a single word, no joke, upon seeing me struggle across the mountain: "pivo?". If I would like a beer? I laughed, answered no, and asked a similarly convoluted question: "voda?". The son reached back and handed me 2 liters of water. I wanted to give back most of it, but they would have none of it and drove on. I quickly swallowed a liter of the thoughtful gift, and realised later that it was rather nice to be able to hold onto the other half.

For the sake of brevity: it was no easy cycling at the top, just huge rocks and fields of grass. I did briefly enjoy the views there, and marvelled at the many different coloured grasshoppers, butterflies and (wild) bees. I even saw a completely black bee (I think?) with black and purple wings, I decided to call the species "bee 52" (I'm very proud of that joke). I've included a picture in case somebody is just as curious as I was. But my enjoyment was somewhat stiffled by empty legs and the remaining struggle.

The descent into Bosnia and Herzegovina

The descent was no fun either. Just giant rocks. It was a descent that required the physical effort of an ascent, going a maximum of 8 kilometers per hour. For reference: that day it took me 7 hours (including breaks) to cover 28km. If you ever find yourself on a bicycle near Vostane, please take a properly suspended, lighty loaded mountainbike, or just take the asphalt. The problem is the combination of round loose rocks and large gradients, you will be spinning your wheel all over the place. While I was walking my sandals tended to slip as well.

Enough whining! I got taught a lesson about unpaved roads, and I was terribly grateful for the interactions I had with the four gentleman. So quickly as the mind can compress covering large distances with inspiring views into a few visual impressions, so detailed and joyful are the memories of friendly people you meet.

I took some time at the bottom of the mountain to get my bearings. I started google translate to learn some basic Bosnian, but to my surprise the few Croatian sentences and words I learned were still useful here (and by god do you need them, because the origins of the languages spoken in these countries are so different from the ones I know from western Europe that I'm unable to understand anything). I quickly I cycled across the dam of Busko Jezero, and made my way to a tiny town nearby to drink a whole lot of water. As it started to rain I decided to stick around in a nearby cafe, having a couple of nice conversations (in German!). Additionally I started scanning the routes I've planned ahead on my mobile phone, mentally making a note of the rerouting I would have to do to prevent further mountain adventures.

I left the village, and a couple of kilometers later turned a corner in another one. A guy sitting outside asked me if I wanted anything to eat or drink. It was getting late, and normally I would've declined. But I felt adventurous and accepted the offer. I was given coffee, water, and self-caught fish. It didn't end at that, I got shown around the house and learned that they made their own cheese, sausages, smoked bacon, wine, and raki, all of which I got to taste. We discussed traveling, living in a village instead of a city, and life in general. Just as I got comfortable, I got told I had a strong appearance, learned some pretty fantastical racial theories and got told Hitler wasn't such a bad fellow after all. Luckily for me, at least something went downhill quickly that day. I felt pretty lucky telling him, as we made our first acquintance, that I wanted to continue traveling that day. I reminded him of those sentences and went on my way.

Pretty good track record to only encounter a nutcase after so many years and so many nice people. I thought quite a bit about that guy the past days. How the hell can you travel that much, be so friendly and hospitable to strangers, and still be a neonazi? I did manage to come up with the courage to tell him that where I'm from we think differently about these matters, but the question that keeps bugging me is: why did I leave on friendly account? Certainly these thoughts and the question will occupy my head a bit longer.

A new route to Mostar

After the subsequent night I continued along my way to Mostar during two days. I had made some new routes, but for no particular reason I also wanted to enter Mostar from the northwest, going through the mountains. So I took a road through Krnjin, Rosko Polje, Vojkovici, and Crvenice (sorry Bosnian and Herzegovinian people for also butchering your diacritics, but I wrote this blogging tool in a hurry), heading eastward from there. What a beautiful country I saw along those roads. The villages were alive instead of slumbering relics, everybody seems to be building some addition to their house, tending their garden, sitting outside or visiting the local cafe. You're also not truly an inhabitant of this country if you have a barbeque, but preferably a full-sized stone oven in your garden (one man was ensuring his barbeque would burn well by pointing a leafblower at it). The people here have a small problem with some of their countrymen dumping their waste into nature. They're obviously not happy with it, judging from the signs I've translated saying "forbidden to dump trash", and "leave no trace in nature". Nevertheless it's not uncommon to find the roads lined with cans of beer and bottles of soda, and occasionally in the mountains you'll see thrashbags thrown into the flanks of the mountains, being ripped open on the way down. To be fair this is the reality in many countries.

I took another perspiration-inducing trip across the mountains from Sutina, through Gorni Crnac and the mountains northwest of Mostar, into Mostar itself. Once more the traversal of the roads was slow, averaging about 8 kilometers per hour, but the sights were worth it. Each little valley in Bosnia has been different: one has mainly rocky mountains, others are covered in trees, some might have the occasional gust blowing through it, others will have the winds blasting through. Should you find yourself in the latter valley, prepared to pull a knife out of a jar of nutella, then make sure nothing is downwind of the knife's planned trajectory, as anything there will quickly become a chocolate-flavoured impression of an abstract painting.

The people here are great as well, most are smiling widely and yelling enthousiastically (I assume, and hope, words of encouragement). The one time I asked somebody for water, I ended up meeting the entire family and left with a freshly baked cake/bread hybrid, which was delicious.

Mostar

The second journey over the mountains was impressive once again. I caught a glimpse of the mountain range that lies south of Sarajevo (I think, I'm not entirely sure), and was able to get a beautiful view of Mostar before I descended from an elevation of 500 meters down to approximately sealevel. Somewhere halfway the descent I hit a horizontal wall of heat that I haven't felt since leaving Split. The valley here appears to hold onto the heat quite well.

Here in Mostar I get the first sense of a war that raged 30 years ago. The city is absolutely beautiful, but you'll also find a certain number of buildings still completely in disrepair. Near the center of the city a very friendly man, who circled around a couple of times just to find me after seeing me cycling around, approached me with his son and asked me if I needed anything. After talking for a bit, him approaching the subject of the war, I felt comfortable asking an ignorant question out of pure interest: the country is called Bosnia and Herzegovina, who would call themselves a Bosnian, and who would call himself a Herzegovinian (I'm sure the latter name is incorrect, but I don't have the internet to correct myself)? He gave a complicated answer, which I won't repeat for fear of getting the details wrong, but it involved the Serbs, Croats, Bosnians, Bosnian-Croats, Herzogovinians and their religions. Normally I want to understand at least a little bit about the people in a country, now I understand this would be impossible even if I would spend months traveling here and talking to everyone. The man explained that although the war was ended thirty years ago, the wounds are still fresh. But he assured me, and I have experienced so, in his words: everybody's heart is grand here. The timing of the question was poignant, as he pointed to a road bisecting the city and told me that if I would cross that line, I would see some of the differences.

Mostar would've been a city I would've loved to explore, but for a variety of reasons I decided to leave the city and head into the cooler mountains again.

Leaving Bosnia

The slow journey over the mountains, combined with a promise to call a special friend in Mostar, led me to leave late in the afternoon. Generally unwise as it is hard to find a place to camp near a city, and especially while the sun is setting. I crossed one of the bridges and immediately noticed the many minarets forming the skyline of the eastern part of Mostar. Night was falling as I heard the call for prayer and I found myself on a busy road, so I decided to camp in, for the lack of a better word, the ditch (albeit not easily seen).

The next morning I headed to Blagaj and reminded myself to spend my remaining Bosnian marks on fruit, dinner, and a delicious burek. Once more I ascended into the mountains underneath the hot rays of the sun. Graveyards full of pillars, and monuments on the peaks of the foothills indicated I was in an Islamic region. A valley later they were Christian in symbolism again. I hope I get the chance to talk to some people here, before I enter Montenegro and head to the national park Durmitor.

Parting notes for fellow bicycle travelers

Bosnia and Herzegovina is a great place to cycle! Especially in the mountains, if you plan your route well. My earlier complaints had to do, as I hope was clear from my writing, with my inexperience with planning bicycle routes. Your best bet for a nice tour is to go over the "regular asphalt roads", as judged by the openstreetmaps contributers. Those roads will inevitably turn to unpaved rocky roads every now and then, but as long as the gradients are below 10 percent you'll be able to cycle there, and on average keep a reasonable pace. Note that I'm traveling on a well-loaded touring bike, as I'm taking more tools and equipment than I would on a month-long holiday. Perhaps if you're more lightly loaded you can take more adventurous offroad routes. The relatively steep ascents will reduce the distance you travel. Normally I find that in mountainous regions I cycle about two-thirds of the distance I would in merely hilly areas. Here it seems more like half of that. Should you travel over these roads then you'll encounter only a handful of cars each day, but do be mindful: keep an ear open and keep on the right, as a tiny portion of the drivers are going pretty fast.

Only southeast of Mostar have I started to notice dogs chasing after my bike, but as I momentarily halt my bike (which might seem crazy, but frantically going faster is the real crazy choice) I can see that they're mostly keeping their distance. I haven't had any dogs chasing me between Split and Mostar. I have started to notice wild (or abandoned?) dogs closer to Montenegro, but they haven't been a problem so far. Should someone invite you into their garden because you asked for water, with a fluffy barking bastard on the other side, think twice about your next steps (nothing serious happened to me, but I'll stay on the safe side of the fence the next time).

With regards to the weather: I've been cycling here in summer, and it is much better above 500 meters of elevation than down in the valleys. The difference is especially notable at night. Close to Mostar the nights are rather hot, while higher up the nights are comfortable. During the day it is simply hot, as you'll have little protection from the sun, sometimes there's no wind, and you won't be going fast enough to have the sensation of feeling a breeze. A good portion of my days were spent drenched in sweat. I'm a heavy sweater, and require somewhere between 4 to 6 liters of water each day, as judged by my bladder, with an appropriate intake of salty foods as well. The regular cyclotourist's wisdom of getting water at cemetaries and places of worship doesn't always apply here. More often than not there is no water available at these places. Likewise streams indicated on your map will very likely be dry during the summer. Luckily you can relax knowing that, like everywhere I've traveled for the past years, people are more than happy to hand you water if you ask for it.