Pirot to Sokobanja, Serbia. June 25 to 27.
It was time to once again exit the EU and enter Serbia. This would mean that my SIM from home wouldn't be useful and I had already decided I would not get a local one this time. An upside with having no data available is that you are free of most distractions and have to focus your digital needs to the times when you are connected. I cycled into radio silence armed with offline maps and the trust that whatever happened it would be okay.
The first night in Serbia I stayed in a lodging near Pirot. The place was known among locals for the spring water. Dozens of young Serbians enjoyed the summer afternoon in the fresh water, jumping from a cliff, playing music and causing all kinds of mischief. Once they returned they seemed, just like any seasoned tour cyclist, to have learned the lesson of focusing the weight to the front. On the bicycles they gave each other rides with the passenger sitting on the steering bar rather than in the back like you would see in my home country. For some reason the young and the foolish acting their age only reassured me that it would indeed be okay.
The second day I had my aim for what appeared to be the cheapest accommodation available within a day's ride north. It wasn't clear exactly what it was, some kind of homestay, but there were pictures on the page so finding it shouldn't be impossible. And find it I did, but there were no signs or anything else reaffirming that guests were in fact welcome. I entered the garden to the house and met an older lady who seemed surprised but calm about my presence. I tried to use my most simple English to communicate that I had booked a night to stay and she seemed complacent with that but in no way convinced that I had booked something that actually was for sale.
While waiting for... well, I wasn't quite sure, I sat on a bench in the yard beside a bear, big and brown. Hung for dry upon my arrival, she had now placed him beside me. I looked in the eyes of the bear. Just like me and the woman, he was clueless as to why I was there, but just like his housemaster the bear seemed perfectly calm about that. I decided to follow his example.
In time the lady returned and gave me her phone. Her son was on the line, who for a change did speak some English. Obviously he had made the listing with limited understanding from his mother as to what it would entail, and to whose benefit I don't know. But as it was I was shown to a room and could take a shower. Then the storm came and the power went out.
"Beware the thunderstorms of Serbia."
As I rode through the rain to the nearby town Minićevo in search for food the warning echoed in my mind. To this day I don't remember exactly who had uttered it but I believed it was Katerina in Plovdiv (see chapter 39). And just then, a flash in front of me. It was deep red behind the clouds and the reflections painted the entire sky pink for an instant. Soaked, I was no less impressed by the forces at display. When I returned to the house there was still no power but the lady had made me popcorn and left me a candle and matches. She would keep on proving that whoever had her as a grandmother was in a safe place in this world.
There is a certain kind of clarity that only old women can radiate. When they speak, no matter what they say, it becomes the truth and there's nothing you can or want to do about it. I would never dream of having a shot of liquor for breakfast but as I finally understood that was indeed what she was offering me the following morning, I heard myself say "da" and then happily drank it as she cooked me red meat on the firewood stove. The cycling that day was easier than ever.
There was something else about her. While her legs had lost strength and balance over the years her hands seemed strong as ever, no doubt capable of lovingly straighten any son or grandson with a firm pinch in the cheek. Although the age showed in the wrinkles of her face she was no less beautiful for it - she carried herself with a grace and pride that made her husband smile in his grave. And despite the rain that poured over her house and her somewhat stern look, she carried the element of fire within her, no doubt about it.
She reminded me a lot of my own late grandmother, Sally. Even in her late years her grip was stronger than anyone's and no matter the moment or the angle, when caught on camera Sally never once failed to look absolutely stunning. As for my new Serbian grandmother, I never learned her name, nor will I ever forget her face.
I turned inland to Sokobanja. At this point I made out the plans on the day, waking up without being sure where to go. All I knew was that I had to be in Budapest on the 9th of July and I was good on time.
Sokobanja is popular with outdoors enthusiasts for its inviting surroundings and wide range of hiking trails. I was only going to stop for a night but I wanted to experience something of the nature and since I arrived around noon I had every opportunity in the afternoon. One trail led to a waterfall not far from my lodging. I looked out - the clouds wore a grey expression but seemed calm enough. I would take the bike and be there in no time. What could possibly go wrong?
"Beware the thunderstorms of Serbia."
I had learned nothing. The storm brought haste but no mercy. A different waterfall started long before I reached the one I aimed for and the steep gravel path couldn't redirect the oncoming flood making the ascent a most challenging endeavour. But stubborn like a boy who has set his mind to get from Iraq to Sweden, me and my bike were going up that hill and there were no two ways about it. Once the a storm reaches a certain intensity, something awakens inside me. While the downpour did nothing to help me traverse the magical forest trail, nor to capture it with my phone camera, it painted a smile on my face that would stick around until it ceased.
In many ways the weather and nature was representative of what I sensed from Serbians throughout the time in the country. Warmth and sunshine aplenty, beauty in abundance but also instability with swift tempers and painful tears. Life of Serbians seemed highly energetic but by no means easy, as the next chapter will tell.
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