BiHeautiful

May 2025

My journeying this blog ...

In this new exciting episode of my seemingly eternal travel adventure, I rode from the northern Montenegrin town of Nikšić across the border into Bosnia-Herzegovina (BiH), then followed the amazing Ćiro cycle trail to the beautiful ancient city of Mostar.

Leaving Montenegro

I left the central Montenegrin town of Nikšić, and headed west, to the Bosnian border.

It was one heaven of a climb, but the views were really spectacular, which I know I say a lot, but this time I really mean it, as opposed to all the other times.

The slow and steady and sometimes super steep climb seemed to last forever, and eventually led to one of the most beautiful border crossings I've ever visited.

Not the crossing itself, of course, which is just boring gates and booths, but the views rolling into no-woman's-land, and then a nearly 1000m descent.

Here, I'll show you if you don't believe me ...

Yeah, ok, I can't capture it on my old phone-brick, but it was amazing. And bloody cold up there too, I had to rug up for the cruise down.

Below, Too Centre: When I first saw this sign I thought the Republik of Srpska was the local name for Bosnia-Herzegovina, following the example of Croatia being called Hratska in the local lingo.

But no, I was very wrong. The Republik of Srpska is one of two separate entities within Bosnia-Herzegovina, the other (confusingly) being called the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina. Srpska was established in 1992 specifically to protect the interests of Serbs within the country, and during the Bosnian War Croats and Bosniaks were expelled from Srpska, and Serbs, who lived in other parts of the country, moved to Srpska.

It actually operates independently, with its own parliament, which is based in its de facto capital of Banja Luka.

Srpska and the Federation of BiH have ongoing disputes, surprise surprise, and the Srpska's leaders sometimes threaten to secede from the flimsy union.

The name Srpska was especially designed to keep out foreign travellers, as it's pretty much impossible to say, and as a result no one can ever tell their bus driver that they want to go there.

Below, Bottom Right: I found vegan cheese. I was in shock.

Below, Top Left: Another tunnel-fucker.

Below, Top Centre, Right: Eventually after the huge decline I followed this river down a little further.

Below, Bottom Centre: Most means bridge in Bosnian, Serbian and Croatian (but not Albanian, which comes from a different language family).

Eventually I rolled into Trebinje, a large old town. I found a little room for nothing much, and headed out exploring.

I went to a big supermarket. I was so happy. Amazing what makes a small mind happy sometimes.

Everyone smokes in the Balkans. Not only do they smoke, but they smoke everywhere. The weird thing is that cafés and restaurants often have an outdoor area, but that's reserved for the non-smokers. The smokers sit inside, in  a non-ventilated area specially designed so they can kill each other and their kids with poisonous smoke, while the non-smokers freeze to death outside in the icy wind.

No wonder the economy is struggling.

Above Right: And it's not actually that surprising that everyone smokes, given prices like these. €2.50 for 500 cigarettes! And, hey folks, that's not all, we'll give you another 50 of the poison sticks for free! Life (death) is good!

Below, Too Left: I was toast. I sat down and ordered coffee and pizza. This robot delivered my order. Now that's a first for me. The waiter walking at the back, behind the weird creature, will be out of a job soon. Customers will order online and the bot will deliver their fare. Soon we won't have to talk to actual people anymore at all, yay!

Below, Top Centre: I've never had a vegetarian pizza like this before, and I think I could only ever buy one in the Balkans, or in some hippy town like Nimbin or Mullumbimby in Australia. Cauliflower, broccoli, carrots, sweet corn, green peppers and olives.

It was bad, but it was good, if you know what I mean. I was famished.

Above, Top Right: I wanted to go for a ride on Elly the Elephant but she wasn't plugged in. I cried.

It got late, and I went a-wandering.

Below Left: Memorial for Zoran Vuyović, a famous Croatian footballer.

Below Right: Full moon rising over the old city walls.

Above Centre: The old town's having its past dug up at the moment.

The Ćiro Trail

Recently a couple of people independently told me of this 150km long cycle trail through Bosnia-Herzegovina, which runs from either Dubrovnik (southern tip of Croatia) or Trebinje (where I am in Bosnia), all the way to the historic old Herzegovinan city of Mostar.

The trail roughly follows an old narrow gauge railway line, which was built in 1903 and used until the mid 70s, when it was ripped up and tarmac-ed. So the trail itself is very gentle slope-wise, and, although some of the paved parts are old and pot-holey, most of it is in pretty good nick.

It was such a shock to be riding in the Balkans and suddenly not to be climbing hills all the time. I mean, the trail left the rail line a couple of times, and there were some big and steep climbs in those sections, but most of it was very gentle.

Below Top Left: Leaving Trebinje

Below Top Centre: Part of the old rail line, before the Ćiro started

Below, Bottom Left: The beginning of the Trebinje section, where it joins up with the Dubrovnik part.

Bewdy couldn't believe her luck, with all this gentle riding.

Below Right: I had lunch in the sun. Probably the worst burek I've ever had. It was basically almost all greasy pastry, which tasted a little like rotten animal fat, but I ate it because I was hungry. I had stomach cramps later, but my personal strategy for such things is always to breathe into my stomach, to try and gently relax it. So far it always seems to work.

Maybe Ive just been lucky.

Above Left: I wonder what Santa says when he comes here

Above Centre: The trail is pretty well signposted

Above Right: Hum definitely wasn't humming, it wasn't even buzzing. There wasn't a living soul about, but I could feel quite a few dead ones around, looking for new bodies. I closed my mouth and clenched my butt as I rode past, just in case.

It eventually rained, and, while I managed to dodge the worst of it for a lot of the day, I eventually got totally saturated. My rain jacket should be sacked.

Of course the views of the huge valley were stunning. This whole valley once used to be a lake, back in earlier geo-times. Hence its flatness.

Above Right: There were dozens and dozens of these poor dead snakes. And quite a few live ones too.

Below, Left: Place of Gremlins

I eventually left the trail to climb a very steep hill, leading to the small town of Ravno, where I'd heard the owner of the old railway station (now a hotel) allows vagabonds to camp around the back.

When I got to the town I met three cyclists from San Francisco, who were sheltering in a shelter, of all things, to get out of that pissy rain. They were making popcorn, and they were serving just as I arrived. Of course.

It was bloody good.

We chatted for ages, and waited for Willy's prediction to come true, which was that the rain would stop within 52 minutes, which it did.

I'm not sure how he did that, and neither was he.

They were lovely guys, we talked of cycle travel, US politics, the world, life, death and taxes, and so on. As usual we all rode off feeling inspired for the meeting. I hope to utilise their offer of a bunch of crash-pads in San Fran one day. I say San Fran because I'm trying to be cool, plus it's shorter than San Francisco, which, now that I've actually typed that out anyway, was all a complete waste of time.

Below: My tent by the old station. There was a bar and restaurant inside, and the local waitress, Jelena, was very sweet and kind. I sat and had a beer, and was later joined by two more cyclists from the UK, Phil and Emma, brother and sister.

They're both Bristolites, and told me how much they love their city, and how much better it is than London, where they've both also lived and worked. I told them I love Bristol too, because I was trying to be cool.

No actually, I do love Bristol.

We ended up eating at the restaurant, which was a bit pricey, but Jelena was so nice, she gave me free coffees, a juice and sweets the next morning for free. What a gal. I tipped her profusely, and she smiled even more profusely, it was a win-win situation.

The Ćiro, Day 2

The day's ride was even stunninger than yesterday's stunner.

Below, Top Centre: Deserted town. Some of these places died when the train stopped running.

Below, Bottom Centre: Beautiful spot for lunch.

Eventually I needed to climb again, it's just what happens in the Balkans.

It may not look steep to you, but try lugging everything-but-the-kitchen-sink-including-yourself up there on a bicycle.

Eventually I got to the top, and enjoyed the stunningly beautiful views, and the long descent.

Close to the bottom I met Toni Jurković, a cyclist in the Bosnian National Road Racing Team. Wow, I'm almost famous, meeting him! He's such a lovely guy, and was in training, but even turned off all his monitoring equipment to stop and chat for a bit.

His bike weighed about minus 5kg, and he was so streamlined I wasn't sure if he was actually a real person at first, or some type of reptile, like a number of notable current world leaders.

Anyway, he's competed in some of Europe's big cycle races, and is still a spring chicken, so I hope he has a lot of success as he gets more experienced, and gets faster and faster. He was super interested in my long cycle trip, even though alongside him I'm just like a lake tortoise trying to run alongside a wild forest hare.

Hey, isn't there a story about that?

Below, Top Centre: Speaking of tortoises

Below, Bottom Left: Which lane, left or right?

I sat and had a breather and a coffee in the lovely small town of Ćapljana.

It was stunning in the late afternoon. I've noticed that as the days get longer I tend to have longer breaks in the middle of the afternoon, as it's so stunning riding by the dusk light.

Eventually I found a little campground with green grass, the river, fresh water, wifi, a bathroom, and a lovely caretaker, a Croat woman called Dragna. She was super sweet, and we chatted for awhile in German, as she doesn't speak English and, well, my Croatian isn't exactly the best.

Like it's nonexistent. I know about ten words.

Below Right: Hugely exotic feast, as usual.

There's been a lot of rain, and the river's high, with part of the bank flooded.

I went strolling via the moonlight. There must've been a blue moon.

To Mostar

I didn't leave the campsite till after lunch, I was having such a good time. There was a little café there, and I sat writing for ages, and chatting with the young waiter, a guy called Milan. It's quite a popular name in the Balkans. Milan was so sweet, and not only that, but he gave me my coffee for free.

Below Left: Morning bug

Below Centre: Exotic breakfast

Above Left, Centre: At this amazing confluence of two rivers, the faster flowing waters of the wider river spill over the banks of the smaller one, creating sideways waterfalls inside the river. It was very beautiful, and really unusual.

Above Right: There were a lot of these old metal railway bridges. This is what the Sydney Harbour Bridge would look like if they stopped painting it.

Eventually I cruised into the beautiful and famous city of Mostar, famous both for its ancient and historic old city, and because it was brutalised by a particularly ugly war in the 1990s.

Like all of the Balkans, Mostar was part of the Muslim Ottoman Empire from the 1400s. In 1878 the Christian Austro-Hungarian Empire took over, and in 1939, at the start of Sorld War II, it was annexed by the Nazis, who seemed to like doing that sort of thing.

Mostar prospered when it was part of the Federated State of Yugoslavia, with new residential and industrial construction on the western bank of the river, and renovation of the old parts of the city, which led to a tourism boom.

But then came the Bosnian War.

When Bosnia-Herzegovina proclaimed independence in 1992, the city was immediately attacked by Yugoslav forces (mainly comprising Serbs). Croatian forces and Bosniaks fought back.

Every single bridge was destroyed in the city, and nearly all of the mosques. The Croats manage to push the Serbs back, but then, not content with the ending of the war, the Croats and Bosniaks started actually fighting each other.

The city became divided, the Croats on the Western bank, and the Bosniaks in the east.

Eventually a US brokered peace deal was signed, but trauma and rivalry still besieges the city. The EU, World Bank, and various other agencies, have spent a lot of money reconstructing the old city, and tourism is booming there again.

The famous old bridge is UNESCO listed.

Mostar's buildings are still riddled with bullet holes, a constant reminded of the fear and craziness of the war days, which weren't that long ago.

When I arrived in the city I headed over to Majda's Hostel, on the recommendation of my trio of American cycle buddies.

It's a lovely spot to hang out.

I unloaded, and ate burek, as you do.

The old town is very beautiful, but these days is really just full of overpriced cafés and tourist shops, and the laneways are swarming with tourists at certain times of the day.

I'm not sure why all tourist towns eventually end up with their most popular districts feeling so different to the rest of the place.

Below: Mostar's old bridge, which the town is named after (most means bridge). Mostar means guardians of the bridge.

Yeah, you can cruise up and down the river, and can even jump off the bridge, if you pay the exorbitant fee and are willing to risk your neck. Literally. A guy at the hostel told the story of a friend of his who got spinal injuries from jumping off a bridge here, and hitting the water at a really bad angle.

Yeah, it's personally not my go-to sport, but a young Aussie guy from the hostel did it while I was there, and he was still blabbering on about it 24 hours later, as the adrenalin rush and fear had affected him so much.

Above Centre: The railway station

Above Right: Hard negotiators

Below Centre: I love the word for friseur here, which is German for hairdresser, derived from the French word for "curler," hence frizzy hair.

Parking Up, Bewdy

I've been riding for ten days straight, as I need to get somewhere, to meet my dear friends Phil and Isa, as we're going hiking for ten days.

Yeah, I have such a hard life.

So after a really long stint of cycling, I've decided to park up my old faithful treadly and take a break for a couple of days.

Yes, in my next episode of this seemingly infinite vegabondal journey, I'll be taking you on the scenic train to the city of Sarajevo, capital city of Bosnia and Herzegovina, and the site of the longest military siege of any city in modern world history.

And that was only three decades ago.

Not only that, but it's a beautiful place.

And you can come with me, for free. I'll shout ya❤️

http://buymeacoffee.com/krolesh9