684 people have visited Ian's blog

Thought you might like to know that so far 684 different people have visited Ian's blog 834 times.

• 834
Visits

• 684
Absolute Unique Visitors

• 1,380
Page Views

• 1.65
Average Page Views

• 00:01:25
Time on Site


This is where they're from:
Only the first two columns are of interest, really: where the visits originate and how many

1.	United Kingdom	644	1.71	00:01:38	76.71%	69.72%
2.	United States	50	1.32	00:00:47	100.00%	78.00%
3.	India	25	1.08	00:00:03	100.00%	96.00%
4.	(not set)	11	1.36	00:00:56	72.73%	72.73%
5.	Ireland	6	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
6.	Italy	4	1.00	00:00:00	75.00%	100.00%
7.	Canada	4	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
8.	Belgium	3	2.33	00:00:26	100.00%	66.67%
9.	Australia	3	1.67	00:00:17	100.00%	66.67%
10.	Netherlands	3	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
11.	Vietnam	2	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
12.	Jersey	2	1.00	00:00:00	50.00%	100.00%
13.	Germany	2	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
14.	New Zealand	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
15.	Poland	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
16.	Barbados	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
17.	Philippines	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
18.	Latvia	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
19.	Romania	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
20.	Antigua and Barbuda	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
21.	United Arab Emirates	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
22.	Croatia	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
23.	Denmark	1	2.00	00:00:16	100.00%	0.00%
24.	South Africa	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
25.	Sweden	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
26.	Greece	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
27.	Saudi Arabia	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
28.	Bulgaria	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
29.	Brazil	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
30.	Slovakia	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
31.	Finland	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
32.	Argentina	1	1.00	00:00:00	100.00%	100.00%
33.	Hong Kong	1	1.00	00:00:00	0.00%	100.00%

Skopje - Macedonia

The hassle-free journey continues. That is, until I get to Skopje. I see a lot of Skopje, an hour more than I intend to. A taxi driver can clearly see that I am struggling. He approaches and speaks perfect English. Within minutes I am following him on my ‘to hard to describe’ route. Skyrise apartments tower over us, him being in a battered Lada and me on Suzi. We eventually arrive at my destination, Hostel Hostel.
So good they named in twice!
Hostel World has awarded Hostel Hostel as being the second best hostel in Eastern Europe. It is a quirky little place, a throwback to days gone by. But it is hard to depict which century let alone which decade they are aiming for. With bright and bold colours on the walls and curtains, furniture that would have been at home on a Pride and Prejudice film set, make this a true gem. The garden is the masterpiece, though, with gazebos dressed in cloth and trees sprouting up in the middle of pathways. The focal point of this calm and tranquil garden is an old-style bike spray-painted gold. It is hooked up to the mains… I am reassured that is for the bike's head lamp, I don’t push my luck and give it a wide berth.

Once decamped, I join Pero, the owner, Matt, an American and Richard, a 70-year-old Texan. It isn’t long before we are discussing every subject possible and the air turns pungent with the smell of weed. I am the only one not partaking (I am not just saying that cause my mother will read this!). More people join us, all smokers. Two of note are Richard and Tim. They are both German and both studying politics in Germany. They are very interested in the German elections the following day and are keen to get an invite to the German Embassy to watch the results come in.

Tonight is Light Night in Macedonia; a Bank Holiday of sorts. All I know is that it makes for a big party. The German lads are so intent on getting that invite that they talk of going to the German opening of Light Night. As soon as alcohol and pyrotechnics are mentioned, my ears prick up and Matt and I are on board.

Something got lost in translation. I am stood in a white, brightly-lit room watching a girl act out silently a story through the form of expressive arts. The big finale is that she bites through a bag and then proceeds to drink the contents off the floor. The narration was in German and the paper I am holding is in the Cyrillic alphabet. I have no clue what is going on. The only thing I can think is that the clear liquid is vodka and she wants to have a cheap night out. It turns out to be a very bizarre but memorable way of starting a great night, which turns out to be a little less memorable but this can be attributed to Jack and his friend, Coke.

On Monday night I get invited over to chat with the 'Duty Manager', although there is no name badge in sight. She is sat with three of her friends in what would be a haze of pungent smoke, if it were not for the incense. I find out that in the south of Macedonia they grow really good gear, as well as vineyard grapes, her female friend adds trying to have an air of sophistication about her.

This girl can't half talk! I mention the reason for my trip, not the fact I am doing it so I can get out of work, but cause I want to find out about the recent history. Instantly it makes the duty manager feel tense and uncomfortable. After five minutes of listening to Chopsy talk about events leading up to and including the split of Yugoslavia, I try to change the subject as the Duty Manager is becoming noticeably agitated.

One thing I do find out is that in the new year Macedonians will be able to leave the country for up to three months without having to get a specific visa. One of the lads thinks that 5,000 Macedonians will leave on the first day!

The evening turns into night and I manage to apologise to the DM for my initial interest in what Mia was saying. She smiles and waves it off, it just leaves me wondering about her, or her family's experiences, that has left such a deep, visible scar. The night becomes a lot more relaxed and a lot of fun. I am taught a Macedonian version of bridge. I take to it like a duck to water.

I retire victorious but my thoughts linger over certain conversations and their hidden depths. My last thoughts though, are about tomorrow's journey.

Prishtina - Kosovo

Getting lost seems to be a practice in which I am becoming an expert. Even with a map in my hand I can’t fathom where I am or where I am trying to get to. What I do know is that I am still in Prishtina and it is 9 o’clock in the morning.

Like a capital with OCD all the shopkeepers are sweeping, hosing and even mopping the paved shop fronts. They show such dedication, I just wish this was the case shown in other areas of the country. Tipping and dumping seems to be a big issue. I stroll into the Kosovo Museum, a must see on a short ‘to do’ list. I stand in the entrance hall and admire the scene before me. A spacious dimly lit, but in a professional way, room which has more of a casino feel than a museum is in front of me. The highly-buffed marble floor reflects the glass cabinets containing a whole host of Kosovo’s rich history.

1999 not only saw a brutal war in which so many people lost their lives, but the museum also lost something. Hundreds of precious artefacts were transported to Serbia for ‘safe keeping’. The war has long since passed but the artefacts are still being held by Serbia. With Kosovo’s recent breakaway from Serbia, I have to think that the livelihood of the items returning decreases as each day goes by.

Upstairs is a stark contrast from downstairs. The warm low-level lighting that provides a hospitable feel has gone. It has been replaced by natural light. It makes the cavernous room feel cold and bleak. The glass cases also have gone. Mortars, machine guns and RPG’s are left strewn about the place lying haphazardly on the floor, they aren’t even roped off. Not being able to read the Cyrillic alphabet I have to rely on the pictures to tell the story. Some of which are harrowing and gruesome in nature. As hard as it is to see, they tell the story more vividly than words could. Prishtina hardly shows the scars of war in comparison to its neighbours, but it seems there is a lasting memory bubbling under the surface.

Leaving Prishtina heading south is very pleasant. Not because of the picturesque scenery; far from it. It’s flat! For the first time since Germany I can make good time. Car breakers, petrol stations and car washes are how I will remember Kosovo’s businesses. With so many suits driving around in UN-marked cars it's clear to see that these are the car washers' prey.

The road may be flat, but is far from being a snooker table. The roads have been repaired so many times that there are more patches of tarmac than the original. In Prishtina I witnessed a man repairing a speed hump using very rudimentary tools, that consisted of a wooden plank with a log attached.

I pass both turn offs of the sights I visited yesterday. Gadime Cave, although was closed, gave me a great insight into a small Kosovo village. I constantly got lost, which I attribute to the lack of signs but I saw the poverty of which 22% of people live in.

The other sight was the very interesting Gracanica Monastery. The building alone is a fantastic piece of architecture which consists of a series of ornate arches which make the roof. The inside is just as fascinating. Top to toe is covered in frescoes, every arch, every pillar is flawlessly covered. The background is one solid colour, black. With no electricity, the monastery feels cold and eerie. The fact that the ancient Turks have scratched off the eyes of all the people in the frescoes didn’t help me feel any more at ease.

I am shaken back to reality and find myself at the Kosovo/Macedonia border. Soon I will be in Europe’s poorest country.

Bar to Prishtina

They must prefer legs to breast. Mind you my breasts are covered in hair, while my legs are, like my facial hair, slightly sparse. My legs are covered in the red blotches that can only be attributed to lovely mosquito bites.

A quick check of all my documents and I am away with a deliberate early start. My route is to hug the southbound coast heading into Albania… Plan A! An hour later and I am passing the campsite heading north. Plan A was thrown out when the road ran out, well one lane did. The thought of doing 60 miles on a single track road did not appeal. Plan B is to take a longer and miss out Albania but to cross a narrow strip of Serbia before getting to Kosovo.

I am so glad that Plan A failed. Today’s 9.5 hour journey was long, but at times breathtaking, exhilarating and downright fun. Views galore especially as I leave the Sutomore tunnel to be confronted by tranquil water and rich green trees. The road nearing Slepac Most leaves me speechless but with the most tranquil images rolling before my eyes.

The Serbian border guards don’t seem too happy today. Although the weather is nice they have no building, no booths, it's just police standing in the road checking documents by hand. The border to enter Kosovo is much different, so was the police’s mood. They were more concerned about Suzi’s looks than my documents. Eight suited-and-booted, fully-armed police men crowd round and gawp at Suzi. They even make me hold back a laugh. They are like children at Christmas with a huge present in front of them. With a smile, one guy runs off with my passport. I am left chatting to the few closest. Within five minutes, I am waved off feeling like a champ as I enter Kosovo. It's strange how little things like that make a massive difference. I have a smile on my face and a good feeling about Kosovo, although I do have a numb bum.

I am flagged down by a white van a few kilometres outside of Prishtina. I have doubts and am unsure what is going on. I keep Suzi in first and my hand on the throttle. A guy in his early forties gets out and jogs over to me, a smile across the width of his face. He shakes my hand and proceeds to explain that he has a ‘Yaiha’, with a photo I understand what he is saying. He has a ‘Haya’ as in Hayabusa, a monster of a machine that makes Suzi look like a pussycat in comparison to a lion. He invites me for a coffee, I decline as I have been on the road for so long. I also have glimpsed a sight of the city in the distance. It looks like a giant haystack, with my hostel being the needle, armed only with an address I know I am going to have my work cut out. I leave him and press on into the obis. three full lanes of traffic, no road markings, no signs and no right of way, the first roundabout engulfs me. I keep one leg dangling, just in case!

Utjeha - Montenegro

Another brilliant blue sky awaits, I wonder if today is going to be my last day in Montenegro. Midday comes and goes. This means I will be staying for one more evening at least.

I’m lying on the beach, soaking up the sun, when the campsite manager gets my attention. This surely is it! The long-awaited letter from the folks. One look and I know it is from my mum. If the handwriting hadn’t given it away, then the copious amounts of Sellotape, which I am sure weighs the same as the envelope, would have.

It’s the documents setting me free! Not that I feel I have been kept a prisoner in Bar. In fact, the longer I stay, the more charm the place has. Sticking my head out of the tent, looking down the drive and seeing the great blue sea staring back at me gives a good feeling. So does swimming in crystal-clear water, being able to see curious fish swimming up and investigating what I am doing in their space.

In all honesty it is hard to fault Utjeha in Bar. I suppose the biggest gripe would be with the nightclub which woke me early on Sunday. The music was so loud it was like you were at the party without being inside the four walls, and in my case, without any clothes on. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time before I had a whiskey in my hand. Long enough, you’ll be pleased to know, to don some clothes.

Also staying on the grounds is a Serbian girl. Her family has been staying here for 15 years. Her English is very good, but because mine isn’t conversation doesn’t flow as much as I would like. Using as much tact as I can muster I ask about the events leading up to and including 1999, and the subsequent independence of Montenegro and Kosovo. Nevena lives in Belgrade and was 10 when NATO took the decision to systematically bomb her city. She tells me a house in her street felt the impact as a bomb decimated it and its contents. I think back to when I was 10. My biggest fear was which girl would catch me when playing kiss chase. Hardly had the same consequences!

I mention that I was going to go to Belgrade in between Sarajevo and Dubrovnik but chose not to. Nevena looks at me gone out and stresses that I must go. She even offers to help plan my stay while I am there. So I loosely say I will be there in the new year, fingers permitting. It will be nice to have a familiar face to highlight and recommend places to see in their home town.

Watching another attractive sunset slowly disappear makes me feel sad to be leaving Montenegro, after all I have been here eight (osam) days, my longest stretch so far. On the positive I am leaving the second newest European county and heading into the newest. Kosovo here I come.

Utjeha - Montenegro

Maybe it’s because of the ocean lapping against the rocks below. Maybe it’s the mountains on the other side of the bay, that get larger but fade with distance. Maybe it’s the sun slowly sinking into the sea. Maybe it is just because I am soft.

Whatever it is my eyes are leaking single tears that gently trace into my patchy facial hair. I have no understanding or reasoning for these tears. They are not filled with sadness or with laughter. I start to think about the emotions running through me. The gratitude to all those people that have helped and enabled me to sit on the end of Utjeha dock (Just call me Otis).

To my family and friends that have helped, all I can say is that I will be forever in your debt. For the first time in a long time I feel content, I feel that I am living. My only regret is that none of you are here with me.

It makes me immensely proud to have the unconditional love and support of my family. To have so many friends, who are none judgmental in their view of me, puts a smile on my face.

I am not normally very good at expressing my emotions. Normally I would try to make a witty joke, that turns out to be neither witty nor a joke. In this moment of vulnerability I want to say thank you. You will have my love always

Bar - Montenegro

The main attraction for me to come to Bar was the Old Town, Stari Bar. Stari Bar is beyond what I expected. My notes from the Lonely Planet book say that there are 240 ruins that are thousands of years old. It conjures an image but a vague and broad one.

I approach the town via a pot-hole strewn road. As I stop, teeth still rattling, my mood is suddenly transformed from ‘this better be worth it’ (with a couple of choice words edited) to a ‘this is so worth it’.

In front of me is a market with a real vibe about it. My mind wanders off to days gone by as I watch the locals go about their daily business.

Two men are discussing the price for a few chickens. The chickens, in blissful ignorance, are more concerned posing for the cameras rather than whose plate they will be on later! This scene could have quite happily happened 400 years ago, except the chickens would have had to pose for a lot longer while a painter worked at his easel.

The market is completed with a backdrop of a fortified town. I take a punt and guess that’s where I should be heading for.

The ruins aren’t just a couple of bricks/boulders strewn around a village. Everything inside the walls is a ruin. Reading the guide of Stari Bar, it becomes apparent that they are trying to rebuild and restore Stari Bar to its former glory. A few buildings as a consequence stand head and shoulders above the crumbling rest.

It takes a lot of imagination to picture what it must have been like when it was a working village. With the clever utilisation of the ‘new’ buildings housing ancient finds and artists' impressions, it helps to create a sense of nostalgia.

Sadly, the funding stopped in 2000 and, although a couple of gardeners are loitering with machetes, there is no work being carried out. All Stari Bar would need, sanctions permitting, is one good sales pitch to the right people. The town could become, not only inhabitable but also a real tourist attraction. After all what do tourists bring, apart from cameras… money.

I understand that sounds like it would take away from the spectacle, but at the minute, its not so spectacular. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very nice, but it is a far cry from Dubrovnik or Split.

My recommendation is to watch this space about Stari Bar.

Kotor - Montenegro

It's only as I sit here after taking a front garden do I recollect all the details that have made today so interesting. It has been a day and a half. At times it has felt like a week.
It starts like a normal day. Wake up to blissful silence, only because I sleep with ear plugs in. The rain is hammering down. With my bags packed the night before, all I can do is wait for the rain to subside. I depart with a wet tent and a clouded sense of judgement.

The further south I get, the better the weather. So much so as I leave Croatia the sun is drying me off. I arrogantly wait in line for passport control. I know what I am doing now. I am an expert. One guy opens the door so you can leave the country and 200 metres down the road a guy opens another door so you can enter a new country. Not this time!
I leave Croatia without a care in the world, actually on a bit of a high. The weather has changed for the better, I have a full canister of camping gas and I have my USB lead.
I get to the fancy border crossing allowing people into Montenegro. It has brick walls, a roof and looks like a petrol station ration than a crossing point. I hand my passport over. He then states in a gravelly, barely-audible voice "bike documents". I hand over all I have. He looks over my Green Card, insurance, driving licence. "Registration" is all I get back. He looks quizzical. He fumbles through my documents after I nod and point to the pile of documents. He now looks thoroughly pissed off and barks "Registration! Registration!" I suddenly feel a wave of heat hit me. The realisation that the paper he wants isn't there. I turn from a laid back man into an anxious child that has done something wrong. I search everywhere knowing that there is a sizeable queue forming where there was empty tarmac.
A tour guide, from a bus in the queue, comes down and translates. I explain I have no idea where it has gone. My heart is in my mouth as I wheel the bike to a holding area. A uniformed officer has joined the party. This man, less stern, but seemingly with more authority, takes all my documents into the brick building. My mind is analysing and over-analysing everything. I realise that I have not had to show it before, but that doesn't help me now. I start to think of the what-ifs.
Time seems to be on 'their' side. Each minute feels like 10. A German bloke on a R1200 GS tries to chat. He is in the sin bin for having a copy of his green card. He makes small talk, but I am in no mood to talk. No documents and no foreseeable way to get into Montenegro.
The police officer returns with my documents in hand. He calmly asks where I am heading. "Albania" I blurt without thought. He nods and passes my documents back to me. I am free to go. I make sure I have understood and that I now have all the docs they had. I roll away very inconspicuously thanking my lucky stars that the best scenario unveiled itself!
It took about 20 mins for me to start to think about anything else. I realise that my panniers and luggage bag are sagging. I pull up outside a petrol station. Although the sun is blazing down, it has been raining. I didn't even have to look to find that out. Within a moment of stopping, a wave of water covers me. Water is everywhere; in my eyes, in my mouth. I can taste the grit from the road. I look around to see a double-axled Transit van speeding away. I try to act cool, but I know that anyone who had seen that would be in stitches. I know I would have been. Being in a stubborn mood, I decide to continue. I just turn my back to the oncoming traffic. That shows them who the clever one is!
Lonely Plant states that Montenegro 'lends itself to motoring'. I wholeheartedly agree. At one point I turned a corner and just gulped at the scene in front of me. My destination was going to be Bar, after passing through Kotor.
Kotor is in an inlet, the scenery is up there and potentially surpasses the Rhine Gorge. Around every corner there is a view worth taking a picture. Approaching Kotor, it just looks like a normal city. Nice on the outside, not so pretty in the middle. I then look up! A few hundred metres above, in the hills, is a fortress. The eye traces a line of steps from the fortress down into the 'Old Town', that it once protected. My mind is made. I am going to make that climb and see all I can see from the summit. After all, who knows when I will be back?
The views are worth every bead of sweat running off my fingers, forehead and other areas. I haven't learned my lesson, bike boots and trousers are not good for hiking. This takes people-watching to a new level. The people are smaller than ants. From this position you can watch the whole city function and how each person plays their part. I check to see if Suzi is OK. She is, and I realise it is time to head back to her.

Dubrovnik - Croatia

As soon as I caught my first glimpse of Dubrovnik I was taken. Similar to Split, the city expands from the old town. Also like Split, the Old Town is a UNESCO Heritage Site, and deservedly so.

Step after step I make my way, like so many people before, up the city walls. The walls in places blend into the rocks that support them. The rocks then drop into the sea below. In modest estimation, I would suggest 750 people are on the walls looking down on the thousands of red slate roofs below. Due to the nature of the 30-minute circular walk, it didn't feel that busy. A few people ahead and a few people behind that's all you saw, with the odd exception of a group that were lingering in the wider areas whilst members of the group were buying 'I love Dubrovnik' mugs and other equally naff souvenirs.

The views have been etched into my memory forever. Especially standing on the South West corner looking North East over the city to the hills behind. A cross has been placed in memory of where the city was bombarded in the siege of 1992. My mind replays images of Sarajevo and images since of Dubrovnik being attacked. The city survived, and there is barely any trace of the war. If it weren't for the signs on every entrance and one pock-marked wall, you would have thought the city had escaped.

Dubrovnik reminds me of ancient history, not recent history. The place is steeped from top to toe with detailed architecture and crafted marble. The main street runs through the heart of the old town it creates images of a simpler time. On either side of the 20-metre walkway are three tiered buildings. The street bustles with tourists.

Some stop to take pictures not realising there is a queue of people behind wanting to proceed forwards. Tourists descend on the old town from all angles. Small boats make endless journeys to and from ferries moored out at sea.

I would love to come back to Dubrovnik and see it without the tourists. I fear that this is the norm though, and a way of life for locals. Dubrovnik is a truly great place to visit but not a place I would like to live.

Part of my afternoon is spent getting to know the locals, just not in the way I would ideally like. I bounce from electrical shop to electrical shop in order to find a USB jack (to replace the one I have misplaced). After a succession of polite but unhelpful "No, sorry's", I decide to learn a bit more Croation. Success... well kind of. A guy points me in the direction of a shop that he is sure will help. The problem is that the shop is shut until Monday. The moral of the story... go out of your way to help others and they will reciprocate the gesture.

I decide that I will stay in Dubrovnik until Monday morning... oh the hardships!!

Sarajevo to Dubrovnik

Eyes fixed on a TV screen watching a DVD inside the Kolar house. The Kolar family home was a lifeline for so many Sarajevans during the siege. They provided a vital tunnel allowing supplies, electricity and a rudimentary oil line that ran under the airport to the 'free' Bosnia. My thoughts of Sarajevo and the words I described it with ring in my head.

The DVD I am watching, whilst sat on an ammunition box, is a collection of press and personal camcorder accounts. Destruction. Systematic and random acts of violence carried out for one reason; to cause panic and to break the city. The image that will last with me is of a man running from a truck, seconds before the truck gets hit by artillery.

I now understand why Sarajevo is in the state it finds its self in. Words can't do justice to the savagery that occurred in Sarajevo. Without the Kolar family and the tunnel, Sarajevo surely would have had to raise the white flag.

Feeling very foolish about my thoughts of yesterday, I leave Sarajevo with a greater understanding and sense of reflection about Sarajevo.

Heading south through the mountainous terrain the roads become cambered and snake-like. Great for riding! I think about opening the throttle and making good time, but before I have chance the front wheel slides sidewards, and out to from under the bike. I manage to stay upright by slamming my left foot into the floor, at the cost of pulling a muscle in my groin. I realise that I hit diesel, a biker's best friend!! For the next 2km of twisty, winding road diesel residue is over every corner. It makes for a very slow leg of the journey.

Four hours from Sarajevo and I arrive back in Croatia, to the picturesque scene that is Dubrovnik.

Sarajevo - Bosnia and Herzegovina

Leaving Mostar was not an easy thing to do. Although I had seen a lot, I wanted to see more. The place had a presence and a feel that, so far, no other place has.

The road from Mostar to Sarajevo is a journey worth taking; the road is smooth and there are enough bends to keep you moving but the best bit by far is the landscape, or lack thereof! All around are walls, great sloping rock walls. The valley is the width of the river at the bottom. The rock just drops into the river. For the large part you have the railway line on one side and the road on the other. It feels, in parts like driving through a tunnel with no roof - Jaw-droppingly stunning.

Purple. That seems to be the colour of Sarajevo. The women are top to toe in it. It seems that a national campaign has been enforced that all woman must adhere to. The campaign for the gents is just to sit and stare as the women go by.

Walking, from the only campsite in Sarajevo, to the tram is not something I wish to repeat. Although Ilidza is an expanding suburb on the outskirts, it still has a cold dark core. The new streets are pretty, colourful and quite relaxing. Turn two more corners and I am faced with a skyrise style apartment block. Graffiti spreading as high as the second floor whilst spreading the width of the building. Just when you think it can't get worse, I pass under an arch way - then I realise it is the worst estate I've been in.

To the left once stood a similar building to the one in front, now all that is left is the ground floor, which is supporting layers of rubble. On closer inspection of the inhabited flats, amongst the graffiti, there are holes varying in size all the way up to dinner plate size. One wall still had a shell embedded in it, around the shell are markings from what ever incendiary device was released upon impact. Each city has 'an' estate, but this one makes St Matthews in Leicester look like a retirement home for the rich and famous.


Getting bounced between a window and a fellow passenger, it hits me. I have no idea where the tram will stop. I speak rather quickly to the girl I have done nothing but elbow and physically abuse since she sat down. She gives an apologetic smile and points forward. It doesn't really answer the question "Does this tram take us into the centre of Sarajevo?" It makes me smile, she then very graciously, allows an old lady to sit and be harassed by an idiot without a clue!

I pay the money and take the map. I suddenly relax and enjoy my stroll around the old town. Like a weight being taken off my shoulder, the map eases the tension. I flick through the map and I realise I have not just brought a map costing 10 euros, that a two-year-old child could have drawn, it's also a guide. Nothing can stop me now!

Two hours later and I am swaying to and fro again. One hand on the grab rail, the other holding on to my Nesquick. The thoughts running through my head aren't about the mosques, aren't about the eternal flame. They are focused on the grim, gloomy and graffit-ridden city.

Sarajevo is a place that the mental images of 15 years still ring true. Without a doubt the city has come on leaps and bounds, but it is so far off what I had hoped. Mind you I am not a big fan of big cities, faceless people and no sense of community. That is not what life should be about. Mostar has 'the feeling' but they do have 'the' bridge. Sarajevo should have a bridge... actually they do have one, and look what happened there!

Mostar - Bosnia and Herzegovina

As I wait in line slowly edging towards the border I suddenly realise I am a little hesitant. Two thoughts dawn on me. The first, I am heading towards a monster of a man who is carrying a gun. The second, I realise I am heading into a country I know nothing about. With the other Slovak countries I had at least spoken to people who had been. No-one I know has been to Bosnia and Herzegovina (BiH). My guide book of Europe even excludes BiH - so I only have my gut instinct and Micheal Palin's New Europe to guide me. I slowly roll on the throttle and apprehensively ride from Croatia into Herzegovina.

I plan to use the New Europe route for the next few stops, first up Medugorje.
A few signs to the middle of nowhere then one corner later and you are face-to-face with what feels like a bustling city street. Bus load after bus load of people are unloaded like livestock at a cattle market, the only difference is that the person in control has a clipboard rather than a cattle prod.

It takes me about two minutes to realise that the way forward is to stay on two wheels. I head to Cross Mountain. Which on reflection, if not religious, the end product may not be worth the steep climb and the jagged rocks. It is without a doubt the hardest hike I have ever done. Mind you, biker boots and trousers didn't help and didn't fit in with others who where singing and recanting Bible passages.

Apparition Hill followed Cross Mountain. It is a shorter route but still very tough terrain. Apparition Hill is the reason for people's pilgrimage to Medugorje. In 1981 The Virgin Mary and Child appeared to six children. She returns to one lady still to this day. Palin sums up well by suggesting a cynic would think this a great way of creating jobs and bringing a lot of money into a very poor area pre-1981. I must be a cynic; I ride away with mixed feelings. My next destination though is certainly one that has had the whole world's eyes on it.

War and Peace - you can't have one without the other
I understand the logic, but as you stroll around Mostar, a city gutted in 1993 as a result of war, I find the reasoning for war hard to agree with.

I find myself standing on the peak of the Old Bridge in Mostar. A bridge that was bombarded until it lay in the river flowing beneath.

The bridge has been fully restored to the exact specifications of its predecessor. Although it took on day longer than when it was first built in the 16th century. Upon the completion, a crowd gathered. One larger than the population of the city gathered to witness and celebrate the new Old Bridge.

It was the last bridge to be destroyed by the Croat guns.To the people of Mostar, the bridge was more than just a means of crossing the river. The bridge represented strength and unity, something guns cannot break.

I was shown around the old town by a very exuberant guide called Asim. He spoke of the old bridge and its replica, a smaller identical one in the city. Well it was identical, this bridge also fell in 1993, and when it was rebuilt, there's a slight difference. Asim isn't upset about this, he just shrugs and says "There is a tradition in Mostar. We have a war every 50 years. So in 30 years we will replace it properly". His attitude, like other Bosniaks I have spoken to, is quite blaze and very matter of fact. Although Mostar still bears the scars of war all around.

Walking around the Old Town, Asim seems not to pay any attention to the bullet holes in the abandoned shells of buildings.These derelict buildings stand side by side with new shops and hotels. A strange feeling comes over you while walking around here. My thoughts linger with the reason these buildings still stand. Is it so people don't forget, so people can take solace in the fact they survived, or a memorial to those who died fighting?

I like to think it is because of strength and unity and what hardships people have gone through so others can live.

Hvar - Croatia

I have decided to put more time and effort into my writings rather than just state my thoughts as they blurt into my head (unlike me, I know). One thing that I am becoming aware of is that the longer I progress on this journey the more belief I have that it will change my perception on life and consequently change me as a person.

Since my last entry four days ago I feel I have accomplished a vast amount. I suppose the reasoning behind that lies in the planning. Once in Croatia I was going to take some time to myself and use the time as a 'holiday'. It turned out that I had itchy feet.

I spent four nights in Strobeč with regular visits to the UNESCO sites in Split. Split is a very historical place with fantastically-preserved architecture, Diocletian's Palace is quite rightly the jewel in the crown. The Old Town, well-publicised for being quaint and steeped in history, is hardly an eyesore although tourism has left its mark. Tourism is a major business in Split and therefore every square metre seems to have been thought about for one purpose - money. Which, to me, has meant that Split lost some of its charm. I am aware that I am there as a tourist and stating that it is too touristy is irony but still I want my bread buttered on both sides!

This is why my bags are packed and Suzi is good to go. That and the stones I had been sleeping on were starting to play havoc on my back, it was like having a massage from a butcher wielding a meat tenderiser.

My good old time keeping meant I got to the ferry 30 minutes after the first ferry left - two and a half hours before the intended ferry was due to depart.

As I walked away from Suzi precariously poised on the centre stand with a bit of rope tethered to her, acting as an anchor, I could not help but feel slightly scared for her safety.
After 2 hours with my heart in my mouth as we rode every wave, I returned to find Suzi standing up right and all bits intact.

On arrival in Hvar Town I stumble fortuitously on the information point. I am less fortunate to be accosted by 10 locals, all brandishing paper advertising different apartments. A quick scramble through and I make it to the information point with wallet intact. The girl behind the desk suggested the best accommodation was with the one of the gang members. Wallet in hand I venture out like a lamb to the slaughter.

5 minutes of renegotiating and I am following Andrej to his block of apartments situated on the main road in.

Two English ladies are my neighbours, Ginny and Errol. On more than one occasion we spoke at lengths about travelling, politics and generally putting the world to rights. We had lots in common, so much so that I start to think that we are from the same generation, although 35 years separate our births. I attribute this to them being young at heart rather than the reverse!

The girls leave me sat on the balcony reflecting my true age. Just before thinking about counting the rings around my trunk I come up with a better idea, alcohol, that's what young people do on Friday nights (so they tell me). A quick chat with a Brit and she raves about a Full Moon Party on one of the nearby uninhabited islands.

As I deliberate with a €4 bottle of Becks in hand, a saying drifts through my head on the harbour breeze. 'Regret the things you do, not the things you don't.' Next thing I know I have the ocean spray in my face as I sit with 30 people on a boat made for 20 heading for some neon lights on the horizon.

3am... I decide this is the appropriate time for someone who is trying to prove their age is less than 60, but not trying to compete with the gap-year uni students. I also lost my company for the evening, Megan and Geoff, a Brit/Oz couple currently living in London. So I soberly head back to the awaiting taxi boat.

I drive the length of Otok Hvar to catch the ferry from the small port of Sućuraj. In Micheal Palin's New Europe, he writes about the size of the port. The road forks one way to the centre and the other to the ferry. Within 200 metres I am faced with a dead end with a ferry waiting to sail.

Palin talks of Hvar and the famous lavender and herb smells. I expect a constant barrage of smells to be wafting over me. I feel slightly disappointed to get only a faint whiff. My clothes could do with a good airing!

Stobreč - Croatia

I sit here writing this with the sun beating down on me, with the faintest Croatian sea breeze blowing through my hair. Well what is left!! I have realised that 2 things are occurring, the first, I am losing more hair than I am growing. Yesterday I washed my face and hair in a sink to find more than 15 hairs left in the sink! The second is that I am bearding quite nicely, slightly patchy but on the whole, well. I do have a definite grey section. When I start getting animals nesting, I believe this will be a good resting place for the elderly animals.

Anyway, enough of the flora and fauna, let's get to the travels.
I believe Croatia makes my seventh county I have set foot in, or at least ridden through. The weather has been fantastic, apart from having to pack up the tent and ride from Postojna to Plitvice in torrential rain. Good thing was that as soon as I got out of the mountains the weather turned hot again and soon back to being glorious. Weather has to be covered, as Brits always ask about the weather!!

My days have been mixed into a blur, and I have no clue about the date! With covering so many miles and always pitching and packing the tent (or so it feels), I enter Croatia knowing that I would spend some R+R here. That was until the stressful rain-soaked journey, which ended in me getting very annoyed about getting repeatedly lost trying to search for a campsite - not knowing if there was one or not!! (Note to self: Always make sure you know where you are going to end up) This would have also help as I entered Split. I knew there was a nice campsite to the north, (thanks to Steve Boud). Although my sense of direction kept sending me into the city centre. After 45 mins I found myself about 4km south in a pretty village called Stobreč.

R+R seems, to me, to come in the form of sunbathing, swimming and exercising (not a prerequisite, but as I find myself with a lot of free time, it fits in nicely).

Camping, although good fun for the most part, doesn´t seem the best way to meet people who are like minded. There are a lot of couples but very few people to actively interact with. I made a mistake in leaving Postojna, I left when it was good. The campsite was nice and I was settled - probably the most settled so far. There was a Brit couple from Manchester Uni. They were cycling from Ljubljana to Trieste. I also got chatting to a German couple who do a lot of touring by motorbike and they were filling me in on the places they have been. Ralph and Andrea a really nice couple.

As far as chatting in Croatia, there are fewer and fewer people able and willing to chat in English. I know that is the reason for the route, to step out of my comfort zone and to learn more about different cultures, but Croatia seems more reluctant to initiate conversation. Maybe it is me, but the last couple of days has given me a lot of time to reflect on me and the past. I have been missing contact with people and am starting to realise that the further south I head the more this will become a reoccurring issue.

As a result I have decided go to bars and restaurants in the evening. At present I have had one night where I was up later than 10pm!!

So the journey so far (cont)
Tournai
St Goar
Wertach
Kobarid
Postonja
Plitviče
Stobreč

I think that that covers it.

Croatia: A spectacular country. By the sea the hills are so green and they just seem to roll an roll until they disappear into the sea. Whilst inland it is the complete contrast. The land is quite baron and flat. Tiny villages and almost nothing to do. A stunning contrast.

My journey is def going to continue south, although my thoughts currently linger with my friends and family to the north.

More photos

Some photos