Croatia, or the beginning of poverty

I pass close to crashing into the cement in the capital, I meet a fiery cyclist, and I move on to the second part of my trip.

Just getting into Croatia from Slovenia was more complicated. As I am not a resident of the European Union, I was told that I could not go through the small customs where I had presented myself. The helpful customs officer therefore offered me two options: to cross the border via a motorway 25 km to the north, or retrace my steps, take the train to enter Croatia, and have me stamped there at the same time. The train will be the chosen option, as much to save unnecessary mileage as to prevent me from cycling on the highway.

Zagreb

With still in mind the sweet Slovenian souvenir from Ljubljana, I arrive therefore confident in Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. First observation, it is much busier and noisier, and less charming. Second observation, cycle lanes are very far down the list of priorities! Seriously, no one even seems to know where the bikes should ride. Most of them spin on the sidewalks, among the passers-by, others rarer are on the way, between cars and trams. Having tried the sidewalk without much success, zigzagging every two meters so as not to hit anyone with my saddlebags, I tell myself that my Montreal cycling experience has given me enough experience to ride in traffic.

Fault.

In addition to streetcar tracks wide enough for a bicycle tire to get stuck, weird large grooves can be found everywhere in the streets. This without taking into account that the trams circulate literally at like five centimeters of the sidewalk, thus impossible to roll back from traffic. In short, I get caught in less than two in one of the superb grooves and I narrowly avoid crashing to the ground. I return to the sidewalk.

Strangely enough, the consequence of these random bikes is that no passerby seems stressed by a bike rushing at them. It's up to the cyclist to settle down and there really is a visual connection between cyclists and walkers that I've never seen elsewhere.

After most of the next day to visit the city, including the Broken Relationships Museum which I strongly recommend, I leave heading south-east at the end of the day.

St. Mark's Church, Zagreb.

Zagreb is also a city where graffiti is everywhere. And some are incredibly successful!

Robert and Milka

Robert and his mother Milka.

After only fifteen kilometers, Robert and his mother Milka stop to talk to me. They have lived for decades in Cologne, Germany, while keeping a second home in Zagreb. It is therefore easier to afford two houses while working in Germany, than one while working in the Balkans. I'm paraphrasing our trilingual conversation.

- Where are you going?
- In Vietnam.
- Nice!
- And tonight?
- I ride until I'm tanned. Usually I sleep in my tent, except when people invite me to their place.
- Ok ... you want to come to us?
- Yes.

As you can see, my technique has improved since I took off the fluff!

Robert tells me that two weeks ago he himself had made a little six-day bike trip ... from Cologne to Zagreb. QWAT? How many kilometers does it make per day? Between 210 and 250, that he answers me. And just to make me feel bad with my daily 50km, he did this with a mountain bike! “My hands are still a little numb from the trip,” he told me. No need to believe my Robert.

Robert is not only an incredible cyclist, he is also a superb host. Milka will even make me a lunch that will last two days.

Poverty

As I am heading towards Sarajevo in Bosnia and Herzegovina, I am not following the traditional tourist route of Croatia that would have brought me to the Mediterranean. While driving, I notice that the villages are generally poorer. The houses are less finished, the infrastructure less developed. While I am eating my lunch in a bus stop, I am even surprised to see a boy of about twelve arrive who invites me to sniffer of gasoline from a 2L of Coke with him. Sorry man, maybe after my delicious sandwich.

Having said that, it is disturbing. It seems that in the space of a few days, I passed through a totally different Europe from the more developed one in the west. The more I advance, the more it will grow. I imagine I have just returned to the second part of the trip. The one where life is more difficult, where simply finding a job is a luxury, and where cycling through continents for fun is incomprehensible madness.