On Sunday afternoon our spontaneous Sarajevo-WG is extended and a Sorbus and a bike. Sorbus has flown in from Switzerland and will bike with me for the next ten days through Bosnia and Montenegro to Shkoder in Albania. Thierry, the Warmshower host and Via Dinarica pro I met before arriving in Sarajevo, gave me some golden tips on how we might lay this next stretch of road. Whereby here “some tips” is strongly understated: we sat together in front of the computer and went through each route section. So when Sorbu arrived, the route was already set and we were expecting around 8500 promising meters of altitude and a little over 550 km of track. Some particularly extravagant loops we will replace with less spectacular shortcuts due to time constraints, but on the whole we will follow the valuable suggestions of the master.
On Monday morning we navigate our way out of Sarajevo. A city I would like to visit again! As soon as we have crossed the Miljacka River, the road leads us steeply uphill with very few curves. Liters of sweat later we find ourselves in quite rural surroundings and enjoy the impressive view over the city. Houses are soon replaced by haystacks, apple trees, yapping dogs and endless rolling hills. It drives well and before we experience a next pass in the evening, we look for a place to spend the night. Near a pretty village we spy a suitable spot by the river. I wade through the shallow water to ask a farmer’s wife for permission. Her husband is quickly summoned and says: “No, no! My house! Security!” He orders his daughter over, presses a juicy pear into each of our hands, and soon we are led into the neat garden. Another daughter shows up together with her amazingly perfect German speaking husband Admir! He has been living and working near Munich for three years. A few days ago he married his Nina and they are happy to show us their wedding photos. “Here we go to the office, then to the mosque and then there is a party!”, Admir says when I ask him about the procedure of a wedding here. For the small ritual in the mosque, the bride briefly pulls a veil over her hair and otherwise fancy glittery dresses and high heels are carried out.
Upon my inquiries, Admir explains to me that we actually drove through so-called RS territory today. RS refers to the “Republica Srbska” and thus the areas in Bosnia Herzogovina inhabited by Bosnian Serbs. The RS areas are the result of ethnic cleansing during the Bosnian War, in which non-Serb inhabitants were expelled or murdered. Admir remains remarkably diplomatic when he remarks that he respects the Serbs in Bosnia as people and has no problems with them, but does wonder why they were awarded these territories after all the killing.
The family is the warmth itself. We are not allowed to cook dinner, so soon we are sitting in the heated living room together with the parents, the two daughters, a friend and the new son-in-law, enjoying lamb from the farewell party the night before, fresh eggs, homemade cheese and bread. The parents are practically self-sufficient and retired in favor of their cows and sheep and early retirement. The strong and loving cohesion is impressive. So is the order and loving details around the farm.
The next morning we tackle the pass. Beautiful but no end in sight. After each plateau follows another climb and only after noon we reach the top of the pass. The descent is bombastic (fast) and brings us to the town of Gorazde. Fortified with a coffee we follow the Drina through a narrow valley towards the border with Montenegro. The valley side is so steep and overgrown that we can’t find a place to camp.
For only 10 convertible marks (about 5 Fr.) we find our home for this last night in Bosnia on a dinky camping site.
The valley towards the border is surprisingly long and the road surprisingly bumpy. After leaving countless rafting camps behind us, the Drina finally joins the Tara and we cross the border into Montenegro. Thierry’s route doesn’t let us down; immediately after the border crossing we fight our way up a narrow, lonely and in places incredibly steep road along the Tara. After the first few hundred meters of altitude, we are beckoned by Rishi into his garden. What begins with the offer of drinking water continues with the tasting of a 15-year-old Rakia, is soon accompanied by coffee and cookies and topped off with a give-away bag full of pears, apples and plums straight from the fruit trees. Rishi is a director in Pristina and also runs a theater there. His wife Dhana is an ex-basketball player. The two are busy moving all the items from the old family house outside and inspecting them. The property looks like a colorful flea market, and in addition to two large bottles of rakia “brewed by an uncle who passed away seven years ago,” a small dormouse has come to light, which the two have lovingly bedded in a box of wood chips. Strengthened with Rakia we tear ourselves away and climb the last juicy meters of altitude through a wild mountain forest up to the Tara plateau. Here we find the perfect place to sleep with a view of the mountain flanks of Durmitor National Park. Yes!!!
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