Tuesday Vukovar

Miro's museum - pretty impressive.

The church - before.

..is with Ivo, Miro, Jelena, touring Vukovar, Ilok and Nijemci in Croatia, all in the former greater Serbia during the war. Nijemci is Miro's presbytery and church, all rebuilt. He has a youth centre, complete with it's own museum. The bike is staying here. Hope they get some use out of it. It's a pretty town, with a nice park at the centre with the church in it. Landmines are still in the nearby forest. The local bridge looked like a beautiful period piece, but sadly got blown up. We pass a Serb village, untouched by both sides, as they stayed neutral.

Louis braves Ivo, with Anna Maria.

Vukovar has a quaint old town at it's centre, totally rebuilt. Some buildings still have damage. One is mostly just a series of columns with the reinforcing sitting out the top half like flowers in a vase. The columns are solid, so must have taken a lot of explosive damage. One corner of the building is there with the good old staircase exposed to the sky, and a few large holes in the walls. Many of the Serb residents of Vukovar stayed to defend their city and suffered with the rest.

Vukovar after being fully rebuilt, is pretty nice.

In the big vineyard at Ilok.

Ilok is Germanic looking, with a large castle. The vineyard has high walls on the street. It was taken during the war, as the residents agreed to leave.

Monday

We go to see the new baby. The outside of the apartment block looks normal, but inside is very new, marble all over the place, new kitchen and ceiling lights.

There's no place like home, with any luck. The girls go back
to where they came from.

After that we go to Marko's for dinner, check out their house, and the long veggie garden out the back. He also has a sensational looking vintage Miele (same as the electrical appliance company) bike, made in Germany, still running fine every day. It's got a retro front light and dynamo (made in Germany) that sits on the tyre, and a leather saddle with springs. Dinner is meat, meat and 2 big trays of meat. Some of the restaurants we went to later, they didn't bother with a menu; it's either meat or chivapis, and a salad.

The family home is now a small
pile of rubble.

In the morning we cross the border into Unka. The guard is interested to know what Marie is doing and how often she comes to Croatia, since she's got her original family name in the passport, and the place of birth is now effectively off limits. It did not have a friendly atmosphere I'll put it that way. Mara wants us to go first, as the cops are there, and French plated cars are less likely to have problems than plates with a Grb on it. This national symbol is not appreciated by the other side.

The family home. If you look closely,
there's a fence ther in the middle.

On the way, there is a Catholic church, new, then a mosque, new, then another couple of new churches. All the homes are bombed out shells. The local school has the Serb flag flying, and a memorial with the paranoid two headed eagle looking both ways, and pictures of 5 men on it. Why you'd want to remember the people who did these crimes is odd. I'm sure the school's history books make for interesting reading. Every student would get high grades in history, because there would be so much revision (get it, get it, eh?).

The neighbours.

The old home has been completely destroyed. 20 years of overgrowth is making it hard to see that there was a place at all. The fence is still there in the undergrowth. Two more homes nearby are in ruins but still standing, and the rest of the village is mainly a collection of weeds. After viewing the rural villages all the way to here, it is hard not to imagine that it would normally have been lined with homes close to the street. The little chapel looks little used. All the gravestones are quite new. Zdenka said the old ones had been shot up. We visit their sister's grave, and later their granma's.

This memorial is actually inside a
school near Unka, complete with Srb
flag flying overhead.

Further on towards Zeravac, a hand full of homes amoung the weeds have people who watch us roll by. Of the cars that pass, only a few will wave back.

Zeravac has a large brand new church. Apparently they destroyed the old one, and removed it brick by brick. The local priest is currently documenting all of the churches that did exist, so that the deniers cannot simply claim the area. All the cars here are HR plated. It's one of the few places that I'd let the kids play with their soccerball, which is covered in the national symbol. Paranoid I know, but the place makes me feel this way. The priest says a few families have returned, and hopes that more will come home. We chat to one of the builders, who has married a local. He says he gets no problems. He just keeps his head down and works. Just nearby, the local school is a shell, as is every single other home around in the area.

Brave people and new homes at the
only place that looks normal, Zeravac.

The new home with bullet holes and
grafitti, 5-10km away.

A new home a few k's away looks new, has bullet holes and nasty graffiti. It says something like we'll say when you can join us.

The ride

Most Croatian drivers are courteous,
 and the road to Sl Brod is a bike route.

Another postcard home.

Day 4
-------
Am keen to make up ground, so I skip the free brekky and am riding by 6.30. There is a cluster of burned out home, and another further on still has upended furniture, one bureau with all the drawers opened, looted I suppose. Breakfast is another 40km in Jasenovac. It's a normal looking town, nice enough. Outside in a large field is the memorial, which is a big steel flower and a little train parked nearby.

Nice architecture.

Different scenery all day.

The next town is Novska, and as per normal, there's a sign with Novska something to the left, and Novska something to the right, better than no sign. I pick the wrong way of course, but ask not long after.
It's plain sailing from here. Stopping frequently for ice cream or chocolate. The next 100k all the way is one village after another.

Every single home is totally shot up.

The town with the "Right of return"

One village (Smrtic or Medari) has the top of the church still missing, the rest damaged, and all the rest of the town smashed up. Outside there is an EU sign stating the "right of return", so I guess this is/was a Serb village. There is a handful of people. Lord knows their story and I don't know how to ask it. Maybe just as well.

Rain comes after the heavy humidity, and the gillette I bought is just perfect. Sl. Brod finally arrives. After texting Marie, she turns up about 1 and 1/2 hours later.

Some of Marie's cousins look so much like her dad it's ridiculous. This side has Ollie's eyes. I now think that Louis is a Stanic, taking after Teta Ivka, apart from looking like his cousin Will.

Cousins and Jelena, Evonne, Zdenka, Teta Ivka, Marie.

Mara, Zdenka, Blazenka, Ivana, Gordana, Martina,Marin.

Over the next days, we hear about how Mara's house got bombed along with the rest of the place. Teta Ivka had to leave the farm so quickly, that her husband lost one of the shoes he was wearing, but had no time to stop for it.

The bike ride to Slavonski Brod

Trieste is beautiful.

 The train gets me to Trieste. Trieste is a beautiful city on the sea. Large squares, all pedestrianised are linked by pedestrian malls. It's like Pitt St malls everywhere. The road goes up a mountain pass. It goes up and up and up and up and up and up. I get lost at a spaghetti junction, then keep going up up up

The Slovenian border is now just a sign and an empty booth. Slovenia here is mountains of magically thick horror movie forest. Everyone is off to fish, ride motorbikes or hunt it seems. Croatian drivers go too fast and too close. Klanatrans semis give me no space at all, while the Rijeka trucks kindly go into the other lane.

Rijeka, a lot like Trieste but with people living there.
After arriving at dusk, it was a relief to make it.

The Croat border takes forever, but eventually we get waved through. Every car has a different nation on the number plate. Finally now, it is down down down. The sign says 23km to Rijeka, then 100m later 21km, and eventually 6km, and after a long time, 8km. Asking for directions, the couple have no idea, but say I'm in Rijeka. When you hit the main town, it is obvious. After a little Katoomba, lord knows what road, there are Stalinist apartment blocks with strange patches, and a hospital with all the external blinds drooping or missing. A hero worker statue, dated 1965,  stands in front of the shipworks, gleaming metal in contrast to the housing. The train station is handsomely beautiful turn of the century style, surrounded by monster industrial stuff. Awesome!

Cleats, awful for hills when you want to walk it, border crossings and slow speed. After hitting a car part with the front wheel, the bike stops. I can't unclip quickly enough, and down I go in lane no. 1 of the main road. Not comfortable.

After this, Rijeka is a Slavic Trieste - the same large squares, and perfectly preserved handsome European buildings. Tourists drink, eat and wander around. It's great to be out of the Euro zone, and in the monopoly money zone. The ATM cheerfully spits out 2000 of them. Dinner is awesome.

Day 2
------

Donja Dobra, am on track.

Brekky's included, snags, bacon, cereal. The hotel man says the way is up up up, and goes past the ski resort of Platak. Out of Rijeka, there are some cool Soviet factories, European houses, and a cluster of apartment towers high on a hill near the freeway. The bridge for the autocesta is built so well, it shows that everyone knows someone who can build a house. Everyone says "Utro", especially the other 1 or 2 riders on the way. The road is quiet enough. I can smell the pines. Stopping is necessary every 1/2 hour, as my arse is killing me. Damn this bike. I manage to fall again, while trying to stop going uphill.

Lokve is a magic little village packed onto a hill, with the church tower a bit higher than the rest. Lunch is at Delinice. There are cafes all around town. None of these serve food. All are full of people. I guess they're busy getting ready to slow down for lunch. At the only hotel, which serves food, the lightest thing on the menu is turkey stuffed with chestnuts and smothered in a cream sauce with gnocchi. I'm going to have a sore stomach and a sore arse. On the 50 note is Ivan Gundillic, a local Mozart, probably the forefather to today's Eurovision grade Croatio rock music, that can be heard everywhere.

The arvo ride is pretty damn good. The road is like the Bell's line of road, winding left and right, long gentle ups and downs. Clusters and clusters of mountains. Neat ranges of horror movie pines and war documentary trees. Often the road is fully shadowed by the trees.

Karlovac is awesome.

I pull into Bosanci for a drink because my arse can't take it anymore. After 30mins of sitting, it still feels the same. Before you know it, here's Karlovac. Time to get onto the footpath before being run over. Not for long - there are suddenly bikes everywhere again. Stalinist residential towers abound. All of them have nice lawns and trees between them, some with kids play equipment. All they need is some paint, and maybe fill in the bullet holes.

The inner city is in the shape of a star, with a green belt, in that shape. The people are nice and show the way to the centar. It is fully pedestrianised, except for bikes. I eat dinner in a parking space on a wooden platform with seating. Cycles pass every few minutes. Couples with a kid on the back, a boyfriend with his girl on the top tube, young kids, and heaps of oldies looking fabulous and graceful, just like in the Cocoon movie. Commie towers are not depressing when everyone gets out and has a nice time - like a proper holiday town should. Most of the bike path network is simply painted lines. That's all it takes here. The other streets are fine to ride too. This town has the skinniest people in the land. Hats off to Karlovac. You are a noble workers paradise and 10 kuna beers are the best.

All roads (all one of them) lead to Bović.

The Kupa river has a concrete wall with attractive art on it. A memorial to Vukovar, to 1986, to some rebels and even a fantastic portrait of a man in a beard. Much nicer than plain concrete.

Day 3
-------
To pronounce Karlovac, that's Karl with a growling R, o like OR, then vac is vutts like nuts. I have some bad tourer's legs this morning, so today might be slow.

Starting out, the road is super flat. Getting to Sisak should be a breeze. The sign to Sisak is not obvious where to turn, so I ask a local, saying Sisak, pointing to the sign for Sisak. He looks confused, and I try with Sisuck, and then he says "ahh, seeesuck".

Stjepan, ex soldier, and man of mystery.

The flat road makes going quick. I had thought it was 60k so expected to be there by 12. The road starts to roll a bit. I photograph a chicken, next to a well, a shed and immaculate lawn. Out comes the owner to say hello, Stjepan who used to be a soldier in Belgrade. I whip out the phone so Marie can translate his story, but after promising help before, Marie won't answer now.

About 1/2 an hour or an hour after I hope to be in Sisak, I stop for a drink, and to ask for directions. I've stuffed it. I'm in Bović. I'm now actually 63km out of Sisak, and have spent the last hour odd winding around the wrong way. Looking on Google now, I'm really not sure how I should have gone. I really was following the signs to Sisak, and as per usual in Croatia, the road signs just aren't there for a lot of other junctions. In fact, after the first turn off, there were no other direction signs after that.

Sitting there having a drink with some guy called Dubravko(?), I'm gutted to think I've wasted a lot of effort going the wrong way, and coming up with a different route across the country.

A rest stop in Bović with Dubravko. Spent 20 mins
waving his arms and saying something in German.

I'm in Glina for lunch at 2 in the afternoon. This is bad news. I lost about 30k's, am off target and late. Dubravko laughed at me when I said I was going to Novska, and mocked me with a bike motion. After thinking about it, I'm keen to prove him wrong.

I'm off on a very minor road. Someone had doubled back just to help, amazing! After going through one wrecked villages, the villages look like pretty gold rush towns, houses close to the road, which gently curves through the places. Often the houses are made from plain dark wood. Many homes have been wrecked, not sure by which side. Vlahovic has more than most, including one that looks to be only 5-10 years old, with fresh paint, glass brick sections, a few major holes, brick sections smashed in, and half the roof down (see the pic. below). Some homes have menacing graffiti.

A sad sight - looks like a brand new home, which has
been wrecked to prevent the owner from living there.

Coming to a t intersection, there are no signs. I ask a driver who stops, but he doesn't know and his map is worse than mine. He offers to help if I wait, but I prefer to keep going. He goes left, I go right, find someone else, who sends me back left again. I find my driver friend again, who is in someone's front yard getting directions. They are curious as to where I'm from, where I've come from and where I'm going. I mention Slavonski Brod, and they all give a satisfying collective whoa. I love that, and it's more incentive to get to Novska. I can see now, I never had a hope though.

The song we've got tonight, who needs tomorrow, is cheerfully in my head for the next 10k's. I stop at a shop for water at Jabukovac, and the shop owner is friendly. Down the street, bullet holes are in the windows, from when? I see a sign for Petrinja. Oh f***, ***, ****!!! That's close to Sisak. Have I been going in circles all day?? The guys at the pub send me 5ks back to Jabukovac. The shop owner sends me back 5km past the guys in the pub again. It's another 15km wasted but at least I'm finally definitely on the way to Hrvatska Kostajnica. It's depressing and dawning on me that this place is winning, and I'm being conquered.

Magical lush farms and villages on my Glina-Petrinja loop.

20km further on, there is a series of punishing 10% inclines. I pride myself on going all day, but after 10 hours in the saddle, these hills have me walking. My legs are giving out, and my arse is killing me. The slippery cleats once again suck in the fight to get up the gravelly verge. I am not sure if I can get there. All the times I've cycled home to greet my kids now come back to me. With the mistakes of today, I feel like I've let myself down, and the horrible thought of the missus picking me up in the car is making the whole ride feel pointless.

After this, the touring gods smile on me with a flat road. I have a horrifying feeling that I'm now going south away from my destination, but a man tells me that Hrvatska Kostajnica is not far on.

The magic approach to Hrvatska Kostajnica. Over the
river is Bosanska Kostajnica. A mosque is to the left
of the pic, in the Rep.Srbska part of Bosnia oddly.

Coming into town is amazing, and makes the day worthwhile. It's high on a high winding down into the town, which sits on a river. This is the border with Bosnia. A large minaret is a comforting sight on that side of the river. It hopefully is somewhere that might not have been swept of it's population. I wonder if they are friendly on that side to the people on this side. The town is a bit shot up, and obviously one of the towns badly affected.

I say my standard 'do you have a room' in Croation for a laugh, but the guy answers in Croatian, and speaks no English at all. Oh well. We work it out. The hotel is an amazing European period masterpiece in the shape of a wedge, fitting the roads.

The small pizza for dinner is huge. It is not possible to lose weight here, even if you cycle for 12 hours.

Trip to Croatia

Zdenka and Evonne came to visit. With Marie away, I looked after the boys for 3 days. All went well, except we won't be trying a bushwalk for a while. After, the boys were very excited to have their ma back, and 2 aunties at once.

We planned to go to Croatia to visit the family. There was no space in the car, so I had to make my own way there over 4 days. A flight would be quick but what better way to see the place than riding. I know some phrases like: you are fat, where's your bellybutton, and Merry Christmas. What could go wrong?

I start to panic the day before. I wish you could bottle that feeling so you could open it a week ahead of time, when there was plenty of time, instead of surfing the internet. The route seemed easy, but now zooming in, each town is a morass of turns, and streets in the middle of nowhere have no names. Suddenly it's 7pm, and the web says the only buses are a 30min walk away, and will take 2 hours with a change. Just then a bus rolls past my window, so I print a map, pack up and run for it! No time to check for hotels etc.

Sitting on board, I'm reminded of my favourite travel quote, whatever you need will come to you. The only roll of tape we have is packing tape, exactly perfect for the bike box. The plan is to fly to Venice, train it to Trieste and cycle to Slavonski Brod. Unrealistic? We'll see!

Before I go anywhere, my pedal spanner is confiscated. I wonder how to say that in Italian when to ask them to tighten the pedals up. The airline magazine has a story on shepherds in the Atlas mountains of Morocco, the loss of pastures due to global warming, and then an ad for the new Jaguar which gets 17 litres / 100km. Mmm.

Venice comes into view. After seeing the layout on Google maps, I can see the bridge onto the island, and get a bit of an idea of where to head after landing. The luggage guys give the bike a moderate 30cm alley oop thump onto their cart, while a truck full of fossil fuel, with blue skies painted on it, refuels the aircraft.

After locating the oversize baggage, the bike goes together like magic, the box is left next to a recycling bin in the terminal, and it's time to see if I'll be riding with semi trailers or what. The first thing I see are two friendlies parked nearby. The road out of the airport is easy, even with a bike rack outside a bakery on the way. Next time I go to Italy I won't be worrying about the cars and roads.

No need to worry about the traffic in Venice.

Venice is basically my idea of Amsterdam. Outside the main island, where cars and bikes are both banned, there are pathways, racks and heaps of bikes everywhere. Dead end streets, one way streets, pedestrian plazas, all make it just heaven to ride around. I seriously wish I could live here, instead of another second rate bike place. Nice is all talk, not enough action. The Italians are doing amazingly, but don't have a great reputation to match. In Carros, I arrive at work alone mostly, amoung several hundred workers. French people arrive with high tech bikes in the boot to use at lunchtime. In Venice, there's zero helmets or lycra.

The bike shop has a nice gillet for rain, the pedals are properly on. At the station, there's 4 minutes to til the train leaves. I clop over like mad on my slippery cleats and am on time. But, the guard gives me a stream of words in the second language for today, and shuts the door in my face. Bikes are allowed only on the regionale train. I clop back down the stairs in defeat. The next 2 hours is a good chance to ride around. Lunch is cold pizza, while clusters of bikes roll past every couple of seconds. All the oldies have serioulsy old bikes. It's like the bikes are waiting in the garage, ready for when the bike paths roll out. Build it and out they come.

Italian regionale trains have meat hooks on the wall, to be discovered in the last carriage. I ride fast down that end with a couple of other, while the train is stopped, and then we're off.

More complaints

The boys communicate with the locals at St. Agnes.
"It was pretty tough" said Ollie.

One of the guys here says that after one year, it's a bit depressing. You realise everything should be easier, but it's not much easier at all. I'm starting to think that French is just a bit too hard.

Here's the 2nd lesson:

la = here
la = there
 car = bus
personne = no one
Que ce que c'est que c'est ca? = what's that?

In the tunnels at St. Agnes, a large fort used in WW2.

Oh well.

The a/c in the Renault never worked much, and now not at all. It's under warranty. We went to Antibes, where we bought it. They said we could take it to our local dealer. They charged us 60 for a regas. It worked for 2 days. We made an appointment, and turned up, then they told us we have to go to Antibes. Screw you Cagnes sur Mer Renault, I will never buy another Renault for as long as I live!!

On the plus side, today we got a cheque from the tax department, and a bill for home insurance, leaving us 100 ahead.