Southern Croatia and the BalkansJužné Chorvátsko a Balkán

The last leg of our cycling journey begins on the Pelješac peninsula. We leave Korčula behind and enjoy the coastal road. After about 10km without a single turn, suddenly a no-entry sign, with "Cyclists Beware!!!" scrawled on it in marker. Uh oh. We don't give a damn about the sign and keep going. The road turns into a thin little path, which then suddenly turns into stairs going up. Whoops. No matter, we drop the panniers and carry them up. The sign wasn't lying, the stairs are no joke. At the top the original asphalt turns to gravel, but it's made up for by the sea view, the complete absence of traffic, and great weather. That holds all the way to Dubrovnik, which is full of Game of Thrones fans. The city is nice, but too crowded, so we just take a quick look and speed on.

Tonight we have a place to stay with a guy from warmshowers.org (something like couchsurfing for cycle tourists). We arrive at his place around nine, his name is Marko, and he welcomes us in his pajamas. He says we should carry the bikes about 100 meters up some stairs up the hill, and we can pitch our tents there. Then he shows us a garden hose where we can wash up. Luxury! In the morning we chat a bit, and it turns out Marko is already 80 years old, lived in Canada for a while, cut off contact with his family, and would love nothing more than to bring back communism. Oh well...

Better get going, since today Montenegro finally awaits us. At the border there's a normal check, we wait a bit, and right after that a descent into the Bay of Kotor. The change is visible right away - buildings more worn down, more dirt, this is probably where the real Balkans begin. Kotor itself sits at the heart of the bay beneath cliffs over a kilometer high, the nature is brutal! We sleep at a hostel run by Draško, a friend of Janči's. The guys inside for 10/night, us in a tent for 5, proper local prices.

In the morning it's time to say goodbye, the guys are heading to the train to Belgrade. It goes without tears, and we watch them go, along with the storm rolling in from exactly their direction. The first drops start falling and we run back to the hostel. The forecast looks grim, and in the end it works out that we wait out three nights at Draško's before we can move on. The symbol of Kotor is cats, which wander around absolutely everywhere, plus a bunch of fishermen who occasionally toss them a small fish (we even catch one ourselves).

After three days it finally clears up, we load the bikes and immediately face a climb of over a kilometer up the Kotor cliffs. A fantastic road, at least 30 switchbacks, a brutal view, and an unbelievable change in weather after three days of rain. Honestly probably the most beautiful part of the trip. The climb takes four hours, and at the top we take panorama photos alongside a bus full of people. Two ladies from the tour group notice our little Slovak flags and immediately hand us bread, apples and cake. Nice.

With a heavy heart we say our final goodbye to the coast and continue into the interior. The landscape changes quickly, cliffs give way to rolling hills with lower vegetation. We're passing a grocery store and a guy behind us shouts: "Heey, do you want some food?!" Sure we do. We get bread, prosciutto, cheese and apple juice. Nice. After another 20-ish kilometers we're already in the middle of nowhere. Just the occasional sheep, cow, dog, rarely a car. Darkness falls and we realize that even though we can see far into the distance, there isn't a single light anywhere. Strange country, a bit unsettling. We camp by the road and polish off everything we were given today, so we don't have to carry it for nothing.

Sunshine in the morning, we ride well all the way to the small town of Nikšić. Suddenly a storm like the end of the world, no way we're continuing. An apartment via Booking, in a storm we don't feel like pitching a tent. The place is beautiful, total luxury for almost nothing. For dinner I bake fish, with some red wine to go with it, the ultimate chill. That leaves us around three in the morning, when the fish and the wine make a trip to the toilet bowl, and a Balkan-level stomach flu begins.

We spend the next three days lying flat, until we're just about able to get on the train to Podgorica. We've lost a lot of time, so all that's left is the train to Belgrade instead of the original plan of doing it by bike. We don't mind too much, because the ride to Belgrade is genuinely gorgeous - along the way we pass at least 300 tunnels and at least as many bridges. Bikes in the aisle, smoking car, an old man in our compartment gives us candy. Quite the atmosphere. An hour and a half delay at the border, customs officers looking for smuggled cigarettes. They check the trash bins, bang on the whole train, hunting for hiding spots. A different world.

The best bit comes at six in the evening, about 90 kilometers before Belgrade, where the tracks suddenly end and you continue by bus. I shove the bike into the bus, people stare at me, but it's just not going to work, let's be honest. The bus driver finishes his cigarette and, smiling, points northeast: "Beograd, Beograd, ninety kilometers, bicycle, go go!" I laugh. Kika's got tears welling up. Huge fun. We wave the bus off, throw the panniers back on, and pedal towards Belgrade.

After about 60 kilometers, around midnight, we're looking for a place to sleep - suddenly an old van in front of us, that's a sign! We put everything inside and are asleep within 5 minutes. In the morning we ride the last few kilometers and spend the whole day wandering around Belgrade. A sharp contrast with the rest of the country - I occasionally forget I'm not in Vienna but in the Balkans, genuinely a beautiful and modern city.

Since bikes aren't allowed on the train towards Slovakia, at four in the afternoon we board a bus to Vienna instead. The lady at the counter sold us tickets but has no idea whether we can bring the bikes along. Taught by past experience, we shove the bikes into the luggage compartment without hesitation, acting like we obviously belong there. The driver wants some cash for the bikes, so I give him everything I have, about ten euros total in at least three different currencies. Seems to be fine, we get on the bus and look forward to going home.

The last adventure is over seven hours of waiting at the Hungarian border, aggressive customs officers with batons, and Muslims praying in the parking lot at sunset. Around half past one they let us into the Schengen zone, and we wake up in Vienna a bit before seven in the morning. Goodbyes with the bus crew, then the train home, cold and rainy outside. We miss the Balkan summer, here it's probably already deep into autumn. Another cycling trip behind us, time to go dust off the skis.