In the middle of the night I'm woken by a dog barking, hardly news, but as I wake a little more I realise it's right outside the tent, it's growling as well. I'm far too tired to be bothered by such trifling matters and tell it to piss off and bang the side of the tent and try to go back to sleep, but it remains. It's only when one of my ear plugs falls out I start to get a little bit more worried when I hear it at full volume. I can stay put or challenge it. Trouble is the tent door doesn't make a challenge easy and I could be mauled to death before getting a foot outside. So I stay curled up in my sleeping bag. Eventually it goes away. I will never know how big and ferocious it was, but I imagine it was a least the size of a small horse and left me alone because it had just eaten a whole pig. When I get out of the tent at 6am the main road beside me is quite busy with traffic, the small road for the houses is also busy and I wave to the neighbours giving the tourist quizzical looks whilst he is camped on the small patch of grass outside their houses. My intuition tells me I will be offered something for breakfast by someone, but I don't want to rely on people's kindness, just accept it when it happens. Sure enough as soon as I've finished drinking my own coffee one of the ladies from last night comes out and offers me some more. I sit with her and her husband; Ridal. They get their water from a stand pipe in the garden and make the coffee. It knocks my head off and I'm left with the jitters for a good few hours. I speak a bit of Croatian to them with the aid of the kindle phrasebook which the lady becomes most quizzical about, asking me, not for the first time: Can I write on it? Before I up sticks back to my possesions laid out on the grass over the street, wallet, camera and god knows what on full view, Helen insists I take a massive bag of tomatoes with me.
My whole attitude to cycle touring has completely changed now. Rather than hiding in bushes (in this part of the world, at least) I would much rather seek someone's company and permission and if I'm really lucky; hospitality whilst I camp and make my way to Istanbul. This has obvious advantages but does not make reaching my final destination very easy. This method takes time and 100km per day is going out the window. You invariably get loaded up with all sorts of goods from fruit and vegetables to home made hooch and pens and paper and......needless to say the weight adds up and makes the kms a bit harder. This is a small price to pay and my deadline for getting home by bicycle is clearly out the window. I'm now faced with getting a bus or train or lift from a lorry, a plane from somewhere nearer (expensive) or trying to reschedule my appointment I have back home for October 5th. The experiences I'm having are just far too important to me to just pile on the miles now, so something will have to give. This journey was an experiment for me in many different ways but I was not expecting the hospitality of others to be a reason for taking more time. Now that I have tasted it, I'm becoming more sociable and my old cheeky self is once more starting to bubble to the top as I realise people enjoy a guest as much as being one. My skin has become a bit thicker as it doesn't always work on the first ask, and I don't expect it to. I just hope I can transfer some of these positive vibes to life back home. Not far from Helen & Ridla's I stop at a cafe for water and directions and admire the life size wood carvings in a park. People have them outside their houses too. There must be about 50 in the park of different people and designs. My Thomas Stevens destination today is Serengrad. By 12 I have done 50km; the furthest in a long time and I stop to eat a lunch of my gifted tomatoes and bread. It's amazing how such simple food can taste so good. I take cover from the pounding sun; it's about 34 today, under a walnut tree on the edge of a vineyard.
After lunch I take a nap in the dirt, happy as can be.
I switch the headcam on before descending a hill taking me through a small village with roadworks happening. This demands full concentration and a steep hill out of the village leaves me breathless. I stop and ask at a house if I can fill my bottles and as I reach the top of the next hill I realise I've just left Serengrad. Oh well, I experienced it and filmed it all without knowing. Onto Ilko I go and sit on a bench to peruse my rubbish map. It is only now that I realise the next stop is in Serbia. I look around the old buildings and fortresses with canons outside and ask a poilceman the way to Petrovaradin. Although I am on the correct side of the Danube, he seems very keen to tell me to take the bridge over now and continue to Novi Sad and come back across the bridge when I reach there. As this is a border town I decide to take his advice. I cross the Danube for the umpteenth time and present my passport to a miserable guard who tells me to wait 5 minutes. A coach is being seen to and a jolly but well armed official hops off said coach, and promptly stamps my passport and welcomes me to Serbia. When he asks me my final destination I say Istanbul. He shakes his head as if to say, another idiot bicycle tourist. And off I go. My previous visit to Serbia three years ago left me with two resounding impressions. Police stopping cars every two seconds and lots and lots of rubbish. I try to clear my previous experience from my head and start a fresh. I go to a petrol station to buy a map. The maps are somewhat...how can I say it... home made ish. I have no cash but fortunately the petrol station takes credit cards. The map I plump for is a Danube tourist map and has an advert for a missing cat on the inside cover. This map tells me that camping is available close by but the petrol station guy says no. I ignore him and disappear down the first dirt track I can see in the direction of the river. A barrier and a security hut are open and empty and I plough straight on. I can see people cycling in the distnace so I know I must be on the right track. The dirt turns into lots and lots of rubbish until I finally find myself on a landfill site. People are scavenging for stuff and there is no through route to the bike path. Another classic bit of Richie navigation. I turn around and wave at the security guard who is now back as I disappear. I wonder what he thinks. I eventually join the bike path only for it to come out on the road the petrol staion was on. Kms done: about 1, time taken: about an hour. Camping found: none. The sun is disappearing and I ride past three large farm houses at the end of three long driveways. I shoot up the last one and try my luck. Before I reach the farmhouse I spy an old man pushing a kid in a push-along car. He doesn't speak English, but with the internationally recognised communication skills of point to bag on back, draw triangle shaped tent and point to me then point to ground I get the message across. He says "yes help yourself". Some kids come over to see what's happening and the man and kids are entertained by the tent etc. Just as I've chopped some garlic and am about to get on the tomatoes a car pulls up and a guy gets out who speaks a bit of English. It's the old man's son. His name is Dusko. Rayko the grandad is playing with Dusko's kids and some from next door. He says I'm more than welcome to stay , but please bring the tent up from the orchard into the fenced area near the house. This is not a quick job and the kids and men help me carry all the bits. Dusko's brother arrives to help, and I'm informed he is into body building like Arnold Schwazenegger. Tent moved, I try to put it up in the dark but my torch batteries have just died. Yet more hilarity ensues as Dusko gets a small wind up torch from the car. This lasts about 10 seconds per 1 minute of turning. Tent up and I'm invited over behind the house for guess what...? home made whisky! "Just a small one" I say, as it really doesn't go well with cycling. It's apple flavoured and not too bad. We have a chat with basic English and a few of my phrases of Serbian/Croatian. Dusko's wife and Mother come over as we sit outside a little house to the rear of the main one. I'm supplied with pretzels and fruit for my dinner, although I say I'm ok. We try to get the kindle to work to do some translating, but this part of Serbia seems too remote for a signal. I retire to my tent and the kids and brother and mother go to the small house and Dusko and his wife to somewhere else in the car, but not the big house. I wonder why. Dusko says he will wake me with a Nescafe at 7am.
My whole attitude to cycle touring has completely changed now. Rather than hiding in bushes (in this part of the world, at least) I would much rather seek someone's company and permission and if I'm really lucky; hospitality whilst I camp and make my way to Istanbul. This has obvious advantages but does not make reaching my final destination very easy. This method takes time and 100km per day is going out the window. You invariably get loaded up with all sorts of goods from fruit and vegetables to home made hooch and pens and paper and......needless to say the weight adds up and makes the kms a bit harder. This is a small price to pay and my deadline for getting home by bicycle is clearly out the window. I'm now faced with getting a bus or train or lift from a lorry, a plane from somewhere nearer (expensive) or trying to reschedule my appointment I have back home for October 5th. The experiences I'm having are just far too important to me to just pile on the miles now, so something will have to give. This journey was an experiment for me in many different ways but I was not expecting the hospitality of others to be a reason for taking more time. Now that I have tasted it, I'm becoming more sociable and my old cheeky self is once more starting to bubble to the top as I realise people enjoy a guest as much as being one. My skin has become a bit thicker as it doesn't always work on the first ask, and I don't expect it to. I just hope I can transfer some of these positive vibes to life back home. Not far from Helen & Ridla's I stop at a cafe for water and directions and admire the life size wood carvings in a park. People have them outside their houses too. There must be about 50 in the park of different people and designs. My Thomas Stevens destination today is Serengrad. By 12 I have done 50km; the furthest in a long time and I stop to eat a lunch of my gifted tomatoes and bread. It's amazing how such simple food can taste so good. I take cover from the pounding sun; it's about 34 today, under a walnut tree on the edge of a vineyard.
After lunch I take a nap in the dirt, happy as can be.
I switch the headcam on before descending a hill taking me through a small village with roadworks happening. This demands full concentration and a steep hill out of the village leaves me breathless. I stop and ask at a house if I can fill my bottles and as I reach the top of the next hill I realise I've just left Serengrad. Oh well, I experienced it and filmed it all without knowing. Onto Ilko I go and sit on a bench to peruse my rubbish map. It is only now that I realise the next stop is in Serbia. I look around the old buildings and fortresses with canons outside and ask a poilceman the way to Petrovaradin. Although I am on the correct side of the Danube, he seems very keen to tell me to take the bridge over now and continue to Novi Sad and come back across the bridge when I reach there. As this is a border town I decide to take his advice. I cross the Danube for the umpteenth time and present my passport to a miserable guard who tells me to wait 5 minutes. A coach is being seen to and a jolly but well armed official hops off said coach, and promptly stamps my passport and welcomes me to Serbia. When he asks me my final destination I say Istanbul. He shakes his head as if to say, another idiot bicycle tourist. And off I go. My previous visit to Serbia three years ago left me with two resounding impressions. Police stopping cars every two seconds and lots and lots of rubbish. I try to clear my previous experience from my head and start a fresh. I go to a petrol station to buy a map. The maps are somewhat...how can I say it... home made ish. I have no cash but fortunately the petrol station takes credit cards. The map I plump for is a Danube tourist map and has an advert for a missing cat on the inside cover. This map tells me that camping is available close by but the petrol station guy says no. I ignore him and disappear down the first dirt track I can see in the direction of the river. A barrier and a security hut are open and empty and I plough straight on. I can see people cycling in the distnace so I know I must be on the right track. The dirt turns into lots and lots of rubbish until I finally find myself on a landfill site. People are scavenging for stuff and there is no through route to the bike path. Another classic bit of Richie navigation. I turn around and wave at the security guard who is now back as I disappear. I wonder what he thinks. I eventually join the bike path only for it to come out on the road the petrol staion was on. Kms done: about 1, time taken: about an hour. Camping found: none. The sun is disappearing and I ride past three large farm houses at the end of three long driveways. I shoot up the last one and try my luck. Before I reach the farmhouse I spy an old man pushing a kid in a push-along car. He doesn't speak English, but with the internationally recognised communication skills of point to bag on back, draw triangle shaped tent and point to me then point to ground I get the message across. He says "yes help yourself". Some kids come over to see what's happening and the man and kids are entertained by the tent etc. Just as I've chopped some garlic and am about to get on the tomatoes a car pulls up and a guy gets out who speaks a bit of English. It's the old man's son. His name is Dusko. Rayko the grandad is playing with Dusko's kids and some from next door. He says I'm more than welcome to stay , but please bring the tent up from the orchard into the fenced area near the house. This is not a quick job and the kids and men help me carry all the bits. Dusko's brother arrives to help, and I'm informed he is into body building like Arnold Schwazenegger. Tent moved, I try to put it up in the dark but my torch batteries have just died. Yet more hilarity ensues as Dusko gets a small wind up torch from the car. This lasts about 10 seconds per 1 minute of turning. Tent up and I'm invited over behind the house for guess what...? home made whisky! "Just a small one" I say, as it really doesn't go well with cycling. It's apple flavoured and not too bad. We have a chat with basic English and a few of my phrases of Serbian/Croatian. Dusko's wife and Mother come over as we sit outside a little house to the rear of the main one. I'm supplied with pretzels and fruit for my dinner, although I say I'm ok. We try to get the kindle to work to do some translating, but this part of Serbia seems too remote for a signal. I retire to my tent and the kids and brother and mother go to the small house and Dusko and his wife to somewhere else in the car, but not the big house. I wonder why. Dusko says he will wake me with a Nescafe at 7am.
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