National Train Cancellation Day
Vojska to Belgrade, 21st - 22nd June
I left Vojska feeling entirely rejuvenated. I'd been a bit down on Serbia for the past few days, regretting my straight line route alongside the railway and main roads, but the party atmosphere and excitement of everyone I met in front of the school had lifted me significantly. I had just two days left on my way to Belgrade before meeting my friend, and I was excited to reach that milestone. It would also, sadly, mark the end of my European cycling. After Belgrade, I would make my way back to London for a little break before continuing on with my bike travels, so this was my last chance to enjoy rural Balkan riding. Calm surroundings, curious petrol station workers, and children calling out their stock English phrases ("what is your name?") - all the joys of bike touring.
My next stop was in Smederevo, where I'd messaged ahead to stay at with a Warmshowers host - or rather her father, since she wasn't home. He was a fascinating guy: now quite old, he'd been on bicycle trips back in the Seventies and he'd worked in different places around Europe - sometimes with a visa, sometimes not. He'd been spoken to by police a couple of times when working in Athens but was let off deportation after explaining that he was a law-abiding worker who wasn't causing any trouble. His English wasn't fluent (his German was much better) but we were able to communicate and I enjoyed hearing his life stories and the stories of other Warmshowers guests he'd had. One had even stayed for ten days and I was quickly invited to stay longer too if I wanted, even though he barely knew me. He was a woodworker and had seemingly crafted much of the interior of the house, with beautiful honeycomb pattern doors and a star shaped table. It was clear, though, that this was not a rich household, with few luxuries or appliances. His generosity was moving: there was only one beer in the fridge, and he poured me half after dinner. I had felt strongly that I needed to contribute somehow and cooked dinner for the two of us (his wife would get dinner at the restaurant where she worked), making sure to buy more groceries than required. I don't really know how to navigate situations like this, and I wouldn't feel comfortable at all if I felt like I was only taking and not giving anything.
My ride from Smederevo to Belgrade brought me, finally, to the Danube. This, I was hoping, would be a more picturesque final day going along the river. It was certainly much quieter, since the first part of the day was along a mostly-gravel path on a dyke on the north bank. The sun was intense and the river hidden from view by trees, with much of the visible landscape dry and yellow. With no shade on the road, the heat felt almost like I imagine a desert, although thankfully if I'd truly been in need of water I could always have pushed through the foliage and filtered some from the Danube. After passing through my last town before Belgrade for some lunch, I didn't feel like taking the grass-path on the remaining portion of Danube dyke, and took a larger road instead. This turned out to be a bit bigger than I'd bargained for - essentially, a motorway. Surprisingly, it felt totally safe: I could occupy the bus lane and the rare passing bus would give me a lot of space. Ten out of ten, I would recommend riding Serbian motorways on a bicycle. The trouble came a bit later, however, with the bridge to Belgrade. The bus lane came to an end and I was forced to share a lane with high speed car traffic; suddenly it was a lot less fun as I had vehicles overtaking me at serious speed. I think the past few months have prepared me for this kind of thing, though, and although I was obviously not happy with the situation I didn't get massively stressed out. I took the first exit I could after crossing the river, and there I was: Belgrade.
My home for the next four days was an Airbnb in a very Soviet old Fifties flat. As I've become used to in Serbia, the host was keen to have a full conversation with me when handing over the keys, and we managed to cover such subjects as whether Covid was made in a lab, if the weather is controlled by the powers that be, and how I should definitely visit the beautiful town of Subotica. A nice old lady, on the whole. Walking around Belgrade with my friend, we also saw the other side of the political spectrum: student protest blockades in the city centre and the squatted cultural centre, where non-student protesters were using the space to host events and hold meetings. Everything was rather quiet, as though waiting for the big protest on Saturday 28th where people from across the country would gather in the capital.
It sounded like it would be quite an experience and I was quite tempted to stick around an extra few days to see it, especially since my new friends from Vojska had told me I had to be there. On the other hand, after four days in Belgrade I felt quite ready to leave, and now that I had decided to return to London I could feel the call to begin my journey back - if I waited, I'd have to stay until Sunday or Monday. Though I'd spent over a week in the country, I didn't have a particular love for Serbia and it didn't feel like my battle to fight - I don't even speak Serbian. I'd be there as a tourist, taking rather than giving. Or perhaps that was just an excuse, and I just didn't want to take the moderate risk of joining in. In the end, I decided to leave on Friday, the day before the protest, and avoid the travel disruption of the weekend. My route out of Serbia with a bicycle wouldn't be easy: international trains are not running to Budapest or Zagreb these days but my friend had found a way for me to get to Zagreb by Serbian and Croatian domestic trains with a forty-kilometre cycle over the border.
Serbia had other ideas, however. On Friday, every train in the country was cancelled due to a 'bomb threat', which was coincidentally the same reason all the trains had been cancelled the day before the last big protest in March. Undeterred, I crossed the city to the main bus station to get a long-distance bus to my border town destination, Sombor. This didn't work out either, as it happened to be the same bus that went to Serbia's popular second city Novi Sad and was hence completely packed, with no space for a bicycle. National Train Cancellation Day isn't a great day to hope for free space on the buses, as it turns out, and there were no other buses to Sombor on Friday. Defeated, I took a cheap hostel for the night (crossing the city again) and amused myself with the resident kitten and visiting Americans. Saturday would be a tough day for travel, with no trains, packed buses, and blocked roads, and Sunday would be much the same with people returning home. I decided to try getting on the 6:25am bus to Sombor on Saturday morning - surely students don't wake up that early - and if it didn't work, I'd accept that I was simply fated to be in Belgrade for the protest. Either way, I'd have fun.
Saturday morning found me at the Belgrade bus station again after a strong five hours of sleep. To my great relief, the bus driver let me shove my bike into the luggage hold with nothing but an annoyed look, no bribe required. There was the small wrinkle of my assigned seat not actually existing in the bus, easily solved by grabbing the last empty one, and I was all set. Finally I was on my way to Sombor and Zagreb, and beginning my journey back to London over land. I had one last detour I wanted to make, though. When looking at the Serbian-Croatian border I'd be crossing by bike, I'd spotted somewhere that deserved a special visit: the unrecognised micronation of Liberland. This would be fun.