Tour de (Western) Balkans 2023

So there we are, dripping wet from a wash in the Bay of Kotor, and back on our bikes we get, for what I can only describe as, well, lots of mountains. Spoiler alert: this is the section of the trip when Jon actually says, drum roll, “I think I’m burnt out by mountains”.

So up we start, and having zoomed down numerous hairpins this morning it’s only sensible that at some stage, in a country named after its mountains, we’ll need to go back uphill again.

The climb is amazing. Tiny road, virtually no cars, that just shoots straight up, initially lushly green eventually giving way to our old friend karst scrub. We pass a downhill mountain biking trail, views of the old donkey track zigzags, a cool dude farmer with a man-bun who gives us a big smile, and after a bit that looks like it’s out of a Chinese painting, all atmospheric spiky mountain, we eventually join the big road that is probably the worst bit of the trip so far. It opens up briefly to flatter, tumbleweed country. Big slashes through rock for the new road.The cars are fast, though there aren’t many of them, the road is badly designed with a sloppy hard shoulder. I swear several times. It’s all utter relief to leave the big road for a tiny country one.

We shed still-wet-from-swimming, wet-from-sweat layers and I celebrate being back into remote empty land by cycling topless for 15 meters while Jon rolls his eyeballs. Not sure the sight of my saggy 50 year old boobies wouldn’t kill any passer-by stone dead but I take that risk and find it very liberating.

The next bit is truly very very special. It’s a tiny road in the middle of absolutely nowhere. It goes up and down and up and down and we pass very few settlements. The limestone scenery remains amazing. The polje and the sinkholes abound. The soil is occasionally dug over into rich chocolate brown strips in the flat bottomed valley. Seeing a house is an event for us cyclists. Seeing a cyclist is an event for the people of the house, by the looks of it. This is wild country. I’m definitely thinking bears though it’s probably totally the wrong habitat.

The day is moving on and it’s nearing 7. We hadn’t stocked up on water and our camping mojo is shrinking. Being karst country there aren’t really streams. We spot a settlement that we recognise from Internet research earlier as possibly renting out rooms but cause total commotion when we ask the main man who speaks no English. He bellows for “Boy!” who turns out to be Boris, a sharp 12 year old with a finely attuned sense of business. After 5 minutes of negotiation he absolutely roasts us (we are totally rubbish at haggling) but his mum obviously felt very embarrassed as she appeared with a home made delicious cheese, and Boris was no doubt read the riot act for fleecing the tourists as he then appears with pancakes he made us, dripping in his dad’s honey. All round an excellent place and everyone happy with the deal. It’s cosy on this cold night sleeping in what would have been the hayloft through a trap door.

The next morning we head off early. The same wilderness continues for another 20km. My legs feel strong at this point. In one village we get offered a cheesy-polenta-bobble and a can of lager by a merry gang of potato-planters (it’s 9am at this point). We accept the former but decline the latter. We pass an oligarch’s mansion complete with helicopter landing pad (unexpected) and then trend down to Danilovgrad in the plain.

There we refuel and more climbing then hits us up to Ostrog monastery. My legs very much no longer feel strong. Anything above 5% climb just about does me in.

Eventually we get up to the monastery bottom car park, ditch the bikes and walk up the many steps to the monastery itself, with really really weary legs. In the top car park we don our waterproof trousers to hide the shorts and bare legs and file along with the many people into the candlewax-thick-air in a tiny chapel carved out of the hill.

The airy view down into the valley is one we keep for two days as we stay in a lovely place a few miles down the road to sit out what is predicted to be cataclysmic rain. Instead, it drizzles, a lot. Mallia the boss spoils us with priglanica doughnuts at dawn and home made plum jam. Her side kick lights our stove. We venture up the road for food but otherwise just rest up and read and chat to the boss lady, and plot the next step.

Decision time for route: we both feel a bit fried from multiple daily 1000+m of ascent and decide to head to Bosnia for a change of scenery – not that Bosnia is any less mountainous but the lure of a cycle path on an old railway line wins the day. We had wanted to go to Biogrask national park where there are remnants of ancient forest but 1. the leaves aren’t out yet and 2. it’s snowed a lot on higher ground and that park is high. Durmitor for the same reason is a no go – too much snow.

The next day sees us (now in the genuinely pouring rain) eating our very fine bakery wares outside Niksic cathedral, after a little mechanical incident at the start of the day (broken gear cable). We have a second breakfast by a lake that spooks us both out for no good reason and then it’s a slow easy climb out towards the border crossing.

Overall, Montenegro has been exceptional: mountains mountains mountains. Great views. Very friendly folk. Amazing wild flowers. Blossom everywhere orchards and wild pomegranate trees everywhere. But our legs are tired…. And the weather is unreliable. So onwards to Bosnia! I’d happily spend a full holiday in this lovely country but probably a bit later in the year. Beautiful stunning country.