I Cycled Through My First Balkan Country, Bosnia & Herzegovina, and It Was Up and Down

On the 1st of October I cycled into the grand city of Budapest in Hungary. Grand, indeed. Everything in the city is BIG, it makes you feel like you’ve stepped back into the ancient Roman era. The city is undoubtedly steeped in history, and I was in complete awe. I stayed in the city for three nights. After long days of sightseeing I would settle at my hostel for dinner and route planning.

At that point I had been cycling for 77 days in Schengen, a system of 29 European countries that allow certain travelers to spend up to 90 days in a 180 day period visiting their countries visa free. You have to leave when your 90 days are up, and you cannot reenter into any Schengen country for another 90 days. 

Hungarian Parliament Building in Budapest

I began this leg of my trip on the coast of France on June 30 and am on my way to Turkey. I would have already had to exit Schengen if I hadn’t flown back to the States for the closing of my house, which I had put on the market before I left for Ireland back in May. (Neither Ireland or the UK are part of Schengen.) I was in the U.S. for two weeks before flying back to where I left my bike, Dusty Carnation, with a good friend of mine in Germany. 

I was in Budapest and I had 13 days left in Schengen. There’s not a chance I’ll be able to cycle across Romania to exit at the border of Turkey before my time runs out. So I decided to reroute and cycle down to the Balkans.

First country; Bosnia & Herzegovina.

First impressions

I cycled into Bosnia via the Šamac border from Croatia. There was a small supermarket just past the border, so I stopped to grab a few goods. A little boy ran up to me. I think he might have been asking for money, I’m not too sure. I locked my bike at the rack in the parking area and picked out a few pieces of candy for the boy. He seemed to appreciate the gesture.

In the middle of town, there was a crowd of people and children dressed in various costumes. There was music and dancing and even bubbles. I took a path to the right to get down to the river. I leaned Dusty Carnation against a tree when I saw a man approach from across the path. 

“You can camp anywhere here. But it’s better to pitch your tent over there,” he pointed to a clearing in the field. “It’s quieter there.”

“Thank you!” I said, before walking my bicycle through the grass. I pitched my tent before having a walk around town. By the time I got back to my campsite, I was so tired I didn’t even fix dinner.

The next morning I watched a beautiful sunrise over the river while cooking a healthy breakfast.

From Samac I cycled to Maglaj, which turned out to be a lovely surprise. Cycling into town I spotted a bridge, which I then crossed to find a place to sleep. Once I got set up, I walked back over the bridge, which was decorated with pink balloons (perhaps in recognition of breast cancer awareness month?). I walked up the hill to check out Maglaj Fortress, a medieval castle complex which sits 182 metres above sea level. It was a beautiful view of the Bosna river from the ruins of the fortress towers. There was even a pre-wedding photo shoot taking place; just the bride, groom, and photographer. 

The bridge in Maglaj over the Bosna River

Bosnia’s main city, Sarajevo

Once I arrived in Sarajevo a couple days later, I climbed and descended some massively steep hills. I had already cycled over 65km (over 40 miles) that day, and I gravely underestimated the steep grades I would have to climb in the last several km. It was dark by the time I arrived at my host’s apartment. He was a young college student, though I unfortunately cannot remember his major. He had two roommates who were also students; a young man from Kenya and a woman from Azerbaijan. 

What was supposed to be a short 2-night stay turned into a week. I felt so at home and got on so well with my hosts, especially Ian, the Kenyan roommate. We walked all the way down the main city street to Baščaršija, a vibrant bazaar that takes you down cobblestone streets past shops and historic landmarks. After several hours of walking and talking, Ian had to catch the rail to get to class. I continued to peruse the colorful shops and found a cozy little spot to drink a traditional Bosnian coffee. The shop owner brought out a džezva (a small copper pot) filled with coffee, a tall glass of water, a dish of sugar cubes, and one square treat called rahat lokum (or Turkish delight) - all presented on an iron tray. She gave me a briefing on how Bosnians drink their coffee, explaining that, unlike the Turks, Bosnians boil their water before adding the coffee (Turks combine and boil together). 

“You stir the coffee because it is so thick on the top,” she explained. “Then don’t drink it right away. Let it settle for a few minutes. It is bitter so you can dip sugar cube in coffee, bite it, drink coffee, then drink sip of sugar water.” 

I didn’t touch the sugar cubes, but I savored the rich coffee and the sweet, soft lokum. The experience brought me back to my visit to an authentic Yugoslavian restaurant just outside Denali in Alaska the year before. I had dinner there at the recommendation of an employee at the bike shop next door, where I had went to buy some fuel for my campstove. It was exquisite and the coffee with lokum was delightful, just like it is in Baščaršija. (Check out this really cool post by Undiscovered Balkans about how to drink Bosnian coffee.)

To top off the day I took a steep walk up to Sarajevo’s Yellow Fortress, or Zuta Tabija, and took in the panoramic views of the city. The walk down took me past an old cemetery.

That weekend Ian and I took a cable car up to Mount Trebevič, the site of the 1984 Winter Olympic games, which overlooks the entire city of Sarajevo.

We walked around a bit until Ian had to go to class. He jumped back into the cable car to head down the mountain. I had all the time in the world, so I opted to walk down via the old Olympic bobsled track. I was fascinated by the reality that the 1984 Winter Olympics were hosted in Bosnia & Herzegovina just eight years before the Bosnian war broke out. As I walked reverently inside the graffitied track, I imagined what it would have been like. The crowds cheering, the whirring of the sleds, the adrenaline of being part of such a revered and inspiring global event.

It was a hauntingly beautiful walk through what are now nearly abandoned remnants of history. The tall skinny pine trees set an eerie tone for the landmark as I reflected on the ideals of the Olympic Games in general. I silently marveled at the fact that countries from all over the world, even those that don’t like each other, come together for this world event every four years. That even though the Games are competitive, teams from everywhere are honored and celebrated for their wins.

Back on the road for an unexpected turn of events

As much as I enjoyed the stay with my hosts in Sarajevo, it was time for me to get back in the saddle. Sarajevo has a bicycle path that runs next to the main motorway taking you out of the city. I took a slight detour to pick up some groceries from the giant supermarket, Bingo. They had tons of produce and non-meat products like tofu.

I continued down Sarajevo’s bike path until I hit the end of the sidewalk and onto a rushing highway. I stopped - trying to determine another way around. It was just a short distance to the other side in Ildiža, but there was so much traffic and I needed to get to the middle lane, because the lane straight ahead was an off ramp. After several failed attempts to find a street that would take me around, I let out a breath and went for it. I received a couple of horn honks for my daring feat, but within seconds I made it safely to the other side.

I was looking forward to cycling the Trans Dinarica, with Mostar as my end point. The first day I cycled to Kreševo. There was a long stretch of unpaved trail, with huge rocks and a lot of loose gravel. With my narrow tires I couldn’t cycle several sections of it, so I had to lead my bike down the rocky slopes. I honestly think walking the bike down rocky paths is worse than pushing it up. It requires a lot more attention to footing and I have to move so slow to prevent my bike from sliding down and leaving me behind. When I emerged from the rocky terrain and onto a more packed dirt path, I was greeted by a litter of adorable puppies.

In my research on this section of the Trans Dinarica I had learned about the most adorable hobbit village accommodation in Rakova Noga. It’s inception is such a cool story, about three sisters and their idea for this village, you can read more about it here. It was a bit pricey, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to experience it. The hill to get up there was brutal. Halfway up I removed my rear panniers, carried them up the hill, and went back down for Dusty Carnation. First time I’ve ever done that.

The owner was very sweet, and she showed me to my hobbit house. It really did look like a scene out of Lord of the Rings (which I think is the point). There were several little hobbit houses, each with its own color theme, and each with its own little garden surrounded by a hobbit sized fence. Twinkle lights and little fairy trinkets graced the gardens. I could see the chickens roaming around the green hills. The houses sat on the edge of the mountain, overlooking the Bosnian countryside. 

My hobbit house was red-themed. It had a tiny round door and a grass-covered roof. The houses are literally built into the ground. Inside my hobbit house, the ceiling was made out of stalactites and the tiny home was decorated with cute red essentials, including plush blankets and a tray on the bed that held two coffee mugs.

I put on a Halloween playlist (it was October after all), took a gloriously hot shower, and happily cooked myself a carb dinner of pasta. I sat outside in the garden, with the view of the rolling hills ahead of me, and devoured my meal as I took in the crisp autumn colors.

At 2am I was hit with an intense wave of nausea, and my lovely dinner was soon expended. The nausea was so sickening I couldn’t sleep, even though I desperately wanted to. I puked until there was nothing left, and then it was all dry heaving. The dry heaving was so gnarly that it was physically painful.

As the morning went on, my energy stores were used up. I was so exhausted and I wanted to sleep, but every few minutes the nausea would send me back to the toilet, even though there was nothing left to vomit. 

I thought by mid-morning I might be over it and able to resume my route. But mid-morning came and I knew that was not going to be possible. I couldn’t stay there a second night, it was too expensive. The small but slightly bigger town of Kreševo was just down the hill, 8km south. Maybe I could at least cycle that far.

Nope. It just wasn’t going to happen. My head was throbbing, I was so weak from all the dry heaving I could barely stand. I decided to share my condition with the owner.

“Oh no,” she exclaimed. “I can call my husband and he can bring his truck to take you and your bike into town.”

She went inside the office and came back out with a handful of pills and a glass of water. “My sister is a doctor. She says charcoal will help with stomach.” She gave me verbal instructions on how often to take the medicine. 

“My husband doesn’t speak any English,” she said. “But he can take you to town.”

I thanked her, and after her husband dropped me in town, I thanked him too. Then I checked myself into the only hotel in town, and spent the rest of the day laying in bed with a fever, my rest interrupted frequently by nausea and dry vomiting.

I ended up staying two nights at that hotel. It was inexpensive by American standards but a very comfortable and classy place. It even had a spa. My second day at the hotel I had regained a little strength - my fever had broke at least and the nausea, while still present, was less intense. I was able to enjoy a little time in the hot tub and sauna, though couldn’t really stomach any meals yet.

The third morning, I was still very weak and the nausea was stubbornly lingering (and did so for several weeks thereafter). I had a decision to make. I could continue on the Trans Dinarica, which based on the ride profile was going to include many steep climbs and unpaved paths. Or I could cycle back to Sarajevo and take the train to Mostar. Someone had told me that the train ride was beautiful and I had talked to many cyclists who took their bikes on the train.

Ultimately I made the decision to take the train.

Getting to Mostar

I loaded my gear and cycled back to Sarajevo. The route felt easier going back, but maybe that’s because I knew what to expect. Or because instead of leading my bike down steep, rocky descents I was able to push it up, which somehow felt less grueling. 

I stayed that night in Sarajevo and woke up early to catch the train to Mostar. There’s no way to know if your bicycle will be traveling with you until you get up to the platform and talk to the conductor. If there’s room, they’ll let you bring your bike. The trains are pretty roomy inside so fortunately there was plenty of room for Dusty. 

Any self-doubt I had been carrying about my decision to take the train was quickly dissipated as I marveled at the valleys and the mountains on the route to Mostar. The fall foliage created a perfect picture to behold.

Mostar was a beautiful city. It’s small, but absolutely charming. I got a room in a hostel there, one of the few that was open in October. I was surprised to learn that many of the hostels and guesthouses were closed. Especially since the city was bustling and the streets were packed with people.

Stari Most Bridge inn Mostar

I’ve been on a tight budget so I didn’t spend any money, but still enjoyed exploring the bazaars and market stalls all along the stone streets. There is definitely a heavy Turkish influence. The river was so wide and blue, and the famous medieval bridge, Stari Most, takes you over the Neretva River. I did spend a few KMs (Bosnian currency, officially called BAM or Convertible Mark) on a lavender gelato, which was so silky and creamy and provided a floral freshness that lingered on my tongue.

I met several travelers at the hostel. A couple of girls from Germany who had never visited the U.S. told me if they ever go, they want to see Target and Chipotle. The Chipotle thing seemed random to me but I kind of get why the interest in Target. When I was in the UK my host there had remarked on the popularity of Target as an American phenomenon. I guess there is some truth in that.

I would have loved to spend more time in Mostar - well, actually I would have liked to check out the surrounding Dervish monastery and a few hikes around the area - but I needed to get back on the bike before the rain came in.

So, with that, I packed my bags for the ride back to Croatia via the Ciro Trail. This will take me to the opposite end of the border, since Croatia’s shape allows it to meet Bosnia & Herzegovina at the northern and southern borders. 

Stay tuned for Part 2 to read about my adventure along the Ciro Trail!

See you down the road - and proceed with caution; I’m on a pink bike 🌸