….The road to Nis is that way says Mika. Within 3km I'm lost again. I had a choice of thee roads a while back: left, definitely wrong, straight on, the cryllic signpost had three letters so probably was Nis pointed this way but the road looked like a dead end or turn right on the big road. This is where I am now, asking a guy in a super customised Yugo car directions. It was the dead end after all. Back on track on very bumpy road the mountains start to come into view ahead. It must be 28/30 degrees today and I decide to stop off in the shade and have some lunch before tackling Nis. Sometimes cities are kind to cyclists, sometimes they are a pain in the arse. With clothes hanging off all corners of the bike drying in the sun I start to enter the city of Nis. Before reaching the centre I see various signs pointing the way to the fortress, the monastry and most interesting of all “skull tower”. If I had seen this sign in England I would have imagined it to be something to do with Pirates of the Caribbean but here I'm not so sure. I pull off to visit the market in search of figs, but 100 plus stalls selling local produce have either no fig trees on the farm or sold them all this morning because they are hard to come by. Seeing the effort the locals go to to produce harvest and to my eyes the hardest part, sell their produce for such a cheap price I can perhaps see why the thought of selling your crops to a supermarket for a ridiculously low price, but without the faff might be appealing. Supermarkets like those at home and in countries from France to Hugary are very few and far between in the Serbia. From my point of view buying fruit and vegetables as you need it from outside someone's house or the market is the only way to go. It's interestng to compare the prices when I do have to visit a supermarket in Pirot later because of having no cash, that the cost is about three times what the small farmers sell for. Shame it's not like that at home. I would gladly cycle to a local farm if the price was any cheaper. It really opens your eyes on the route I have taken and the countries I have visited to how packed with people, shops, roads and money our little island is.
Whilst visiting the grounds of the Fortess I read up on my Thomas Stevens about the city of Pirot. Visited and figs totalling zero I head out of town towards Bela Pelanka: my next stop. I must have been falling asleep through this chapter because he mentions the tower of skulls. An imposing monument built by the Turks after defeating the Serbs, the tower originally stood twenty feet high with four rough mortar walls with the skulls of the defeated stuck into the mortar, 952 in all. Reading the book Stevens remarks that most of the skulls have been removed but it is still a very imposing sight to greet you from the roadside. The imprints from the skulls being pressed into the wet mortar still remain clearly visible. Obviuosly I have to see what remains for myself, not expecting much I follow the signs to a small ticket booth. 120 dinar/£1.20 buys me a ticket. This gets me my own guide who has the key. I'm most intrigued. She tells me the story in English and I tell her mine as we approach she point to a chapel which now contains what remains of the tower. This was built 7 years after Stevens came through so he may not have known of it if had he been a decade later. Probably for suspense (which works by the way) my guide continues the story but with the key in the door but not turning it. I'm dying to get in, but the facts keep coming. Then she opens the door to the chapel and before me, the lower half behind glass, is a rough built wall and amazingly still some skulls remain embedded in it. As I'm the only person there it's extra powerful, each side of the tower still has skulls embedded in it and its enough to imagine what 900 of the poor buggers must have been like. The guide points out a single skull in a glass case, which is believed to belong to Sinđelić the Serb leader. She then points out a few other skuls that have bullet holes in, entry and exit and one that has been cleaved with a sword or axe. WOW! Super scary, super powerful, amazing story, all to myself, personal guide, £1.20. Outside on the road a cyclist stops to chat, he is from Slovenia but lives here with his wife. He is going in my direction and we ride together. He tells me the other road is far too dangerous with too many big trucks. We chat about a foreigners view on Serbia, he still goes to work in Slovenia because it pays better. He also agrees with my viewpoint on Serbian driving: bicycles just don't seem too exists. They might as well be dogs. As we part he gives me a banana, apologising that it is all he can give me. I take the road into the foot of the mountains and start to look for a camp. I see a man in a farm and ask for water. There is something interesting about this man, his clothes are what you would expect someone to wear on a farm: a bit dirty, a few holes but his general appearance is rather glamorous. You could imagine him changing into a tuxedo round the back and not think he had been working the soil 5 minutes previously. He lets me pump myself some water and I ask if I can camp there. He says its not up to him as he is just looking after it for someone. I thank him for the voda and off I go. A little further up the road, which is mountains to both sides now and not many properties, I find another house with some people outside. The garden does not have much grass in it so I just ask if I can camp in the field opposite. I disturb the owner who is having his haircut and the hairdresser translates for me and they say fine no problem. This is the perfect solution: say hello, permission from the owner and the chance to get up early and get off. It's a great little spot looking back down the valley and after eating my pasta dinner I sit in my blow up chair looking at the stars for what seems hours. I'm not very up on my astronomy and only ever seem to be able to see the saucepan. Tonight it must be in the dishwasher as I cant find it but I do see the bull, although it could equally be a chicken or perhaps a frog?
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