BRAVO

Bravo! Bravo! I feel like I have experienced every version by now: accompanied by clapping or by deep bows, by cheek kissing, by hand kissing, or even falling to the knees on the hot asphalt or, like yesterday, an actual photo session! I receive a huge 'Bravo!' at least once a day by a man in this part of the world. These guys are not hiding their opinion: a woman biking across Europe by herself, that is courageous and super cool. I take the "Well, well, it is not that big of a deal" approach but they won't have any of that.

Talking to all these male cheerleaders, it becomes clear that it is not just that they like independent women but several have also mentioned they admire independence of material things, traveling with just a bike and tent (I honestly never thought of that). And then there is the bad rep former-Yugoslavia has. Many people say they are so happy I am not afraid to travel in their lands.

And for every 1 of those Bravo guys, there are 50 cars a day honking and giving me the thumbs up, and people from the roadside yelling their encouragements while waving full force. I might miss the celebrity status once I get to busy cyclo-tourism land.

MOVING TO THE COUNTRY

I'm moving to the country and I'm gonna eat a lot of peaches...

And paprika sausage and apricot jam and ajvar and fish soup and hazelnuts and honey. And drink bermet and rila wine and plum rakija and walnut brandy. And see baroque churches and ancient wine cellars. And visit towns like Novi Sad, home of Exit festival (known for the protests against Milocevic in 2000).

The Vojvodina district is Serbia's little paradise. No wonder I got stuck here before passing the border to Croatia today (hallelujah, no more potholes).

LAZY AFTERNOON

It is a long, busy, hot ride out of Belgrade (it has been an unusual 30+ degrees Celcius...and temperatures are climbing every day). Finally I roll into Sremski Karlovci as it is getting dark. I have carp for dinner in the local tavern, which soon fills up with villagers, visitors and a group of musicians who play the traditional 4-string tambura, and in the midst of the party fun I start talking to Mika, a silversmith and world traveller from nearby Novi Sad. She and her partner Sacha invite me over to their friend Ivan's cabin on the other side of the Danube for a Saturday afternoon of cooking, eating, drinking, talking, and spending time with all those who have hand-built shacks on the river shore.

The next day starts off with a supply shopping stop at the winery (no fancy schmanzy happenings here, just choose your fave juice and then plastic bottles get filled with a hose.) After a quick boat trip across the Danube we get to a small community of artists, fishermen, village folk: a place where lovers of the good life have built semi-permanent camps with outdoor kitchens and lots of hangout space. We cook, eat and drink. We talk about Serbia and about the world. We cheer to this peaceful community on the Danube.

BELGRADE

For days there was only goodness along the Danube: robust cliffs, cutesy beach towns and lots of sunshine. Then the atmosphere changed. Big open mines--for miles and miles--rough and poor towns, industrial areas, trash dumped everywhere. I pedal as fast as I can to get out of this area, uncomfortable at the max. Belgrade is waiting at the finish line of the first cycling stage.

Less communista than fashionista, Belgrade is taking me by surprise. I am not blind to the bombed buildings, the beggars, the Tito-era architecture and the overwhelming unemployment numbers but man, are they a bunch of hedonists here! Smoky basement dens, bakeries on every corner, pedestrian streets with sprawling outdoor cafes, city beaches with nightclub barges (Belgrade does not have enough land to fit all the hotspots), white linen courtyard restaurants with dinner for less than 8 euros, Barbie-style girls wearing Balkan Bling (including many shocking anorexic examples), and smoking and drinking 24/7 (according to my observations I am the only non-smoker in Serbia).

Belgrade is not 'hip' per se but very happening. And I might not blend in with the bleach-blond, pursed-lip catwalk look of the local ladies, I sure fit the sidewalk cafe culture seamlessly.

PS. Did you know I have not had a single less-than-wonderful glass of wine in all of Bulgaria and Serbia (only drinking the local stuff)? And that it is 28 degrees Celsius?

I AM PART OF ALL THAT I HAVE MET

With my terrible sense of direction, undertaking a cross-continent bike trip is not a likely success. But there is hope: after crossing the border I found out the entire Eurovelo 6 route is signposted in Serbia. I barely need a map anymore. Bonus: every sign shows a travel quote and this one really stuck with me: "I am part of all that I have met."

I have not met many foreign travelers (still early in the season?) but the local folks have made my travel days. The bearded music lover and regular at Sofia's Egg Bar who thinks Seattle rocks. Travelbug-infected Teddy in the train to Vidin, Bulgaria. Vladimir in Serbia, sharing his memories and opinions about the 1999 bombing with teary eyes. Blagi and the Grand Moustache and their other friends showing me partying Serbia-style. My fellow hotel guests in Kladovo: taking a sunset cruise on the Danube, live tamburitza music and all, they prove that any time is good party time. Every single person is singing, clapping, dancing within minutes of boarding the boat.

And I am part of it all.

BIKING ALONG THE DANUBE

I know I was going to follow the Danube (Donau) route for most of the way but I was not sure what to picture. The first day I follow a dirt track right on the river. There are small weekend houses and the whole thing has a beach feel to it, complete with fishing shacks and sandy beaches.

(Blagi! If you read this: I must have passed the weekend house but never saw the fishing lake. Once I realized this, I was at least 5km further. Sorry I missed your dad's wine!!)

The next day the scenery becomes truly spectacular. Breathtaking really. Or is that the 5km stretch at a 10% grade? The road is in a canyon and the cliffs are enormous (this gorge is called The Iron Gate and the Danube gets to its narrowest point here). The tunnels are unnerving: please remember I am not a very gutsy woman. They are clearly marked so I know I have 17 more to go. There is no shoulder and  little traffic.

And sometimes there is a different kind of distraction: a castle built in the rocks or the hugest pig I have ever seen, dead or alive.

WELCOME TO SERBIA

I feel welcome in Serbia from the moment I enter this country that I know  so little about. The patchwork road rattles my bike and my butt is burning. I couldn't care less as there are red-cheeked women on tractors smiling, sheep herders waving from far away, and people in the village store asking questions.

I arrive in the town of Negotin and within 1 minute of sitting down for dinner--okay, maybe 30 seconds--the guys at the the next table ask if they can join. Sure. A long night of wine drinking follows. In true Borat style I am complimented by "Me like meeting strong woman" (that is, I take it as a compliment.) The procession of people that follows all agree: we love to meet foreigners. Hungry for travel stories they lap up my adventures from Asia, then begging for more. We finish the night with a huge slice of Burek: fatty filo dough pie stuffed with minced meat. Every country has its specialty late night snack to soak up the alcohol. And this might be my world-wide favorite so far.

THE VAN INCIDENT

A story I forgot to share. So here it is, especially for those who warned me for the unsavory types waiting around every corner in Bulgaria!

Biking on a deserted road in Bulgaria I am thinking of funny cultural quirks. I think about how tracksuits (trainingspak) are everyday fashion --lucky me, fitting right in, riding my bike in Hema sweatpants-- and how Bulgarians don't spend energy on little niceties. How the lack of smart phones makes people look around them instead of at their screens, and how many Bulgarian guys look just like the stereotype Balkan criminals you would see in a Hollywood movie: the scrawny, unshaven gypsies and the burly, gold chain-wearing dudes. I snap out of my thoughts when a rusty, yellow van passes me (you know, the kind that would be just perfect for the same movie). The van pulls over and an arm appears out of the window signing for me to stop. I stop, try to look tough and peek inside the van. My heart skips a beat. There is the cast: the scrawny, unshaven gypsy man, a wide grin showing his one golden tooth and most others missing. The driver is a burly white guy who resembles a pittbull, lower jaw sticking forward and all, wearing a shiny track suit and a huge gold chain. The pittbull jumps out of the van and comes to the other side of my bike, standing uncomfortably close. I can see the faded tattoos in his neck and the many scratches and scars on his hands as he suddenly touches the map that is mounted on my handlebars. He bends over to take a closer look and points at a town on the map enthusiastically, then clapping his hands with relief. I saved them with my map, they finally found their way! The couple drives away as happy as two little puppy dogs.

BICYCLE DAY NR 1

A bit nervous I leave the hotel in Vidin, bike all packed up, me in fluorescent vest, and with a whistle around my neck for nasty dog encounters. Through rolling hills, crumbling villages, dormant vineyards and blossoming trees I roll through my last day in Bulgaria. Leaving behind a country that seems to be a tough place for its people, so many Bulgarians seek their future somewhere else. Leaving behind the reserved people who don't approach me but are as friendly and helpful as can be when I approach them. I think I will visit again but first things first as I see the Serbian border crossing in front of me here in Bregovo. I sure hope that the big smile of the immigration officer is a telling sign of the Serbian people's attitude!

SOFIA TO VIDIN

After a mini photoshoot upon leaving Hostel Lavele in Sofia, I ride to Sofia's central train station: destination Vidin, starting point of my bicycle adventure. The train appears to not leave at the posted time of 12.00 but at 11.37. I buy a ticket and try to ignore the ridiculously rude attitude of the ticket ladies. With only 7 minutes to make it to the platform, I frantically look for a way to get to the lower level. All elevators are broken and the steep stairs don't have a bike runnel. I return to the ticket window to ask how I can get downstairs. The ticket lady starts yelling and I can't help it and yell back. This does not help in any way! I eventually take the paniers off, throw them over my shoulder and carry the bike down the stairs that way. I get to the platform at 11.38... the train is gone.

Five long hours later I board the next train to Vidin. And another five hours later the train rolls into the beach-like town at the Danube. Time for bed as tomorrow is my first riding day. The weather is finally bike trip-perfect.

OUTING WITH LILY

South of Sofia, Bulgaria

Igor (from Bulgaria and Seattle) connected me with Lily, a family friend of his. She is a very cool lady! Me being in Sofia gave her an excuse to skip work for a day and head towards the mountains with me: Rila monastery (you can only imagine how much I like the black and white stripes), St John's cave where we put notes with our wishes in between rocks, and Stob Pyramids where Lily took me on an adventurous off-trail hike!

SOFIA

Sofia, Bulgaria

Today the bike is coming out of its hiding place in the hostel's basement and we are off to Vidin.

Sofia was a great travel warmup: there are majestic buildings and boulevards, artsy cafe's (like The Apartment in photo below: 8-room apartment, each room different color and music), Roman ruins scattered around the city like an open air museum, spring water faucets where locals fill up gallon-size jugs, back/knee-ruining basement stores (as basements were cheaper to convert to stores than main floors during post-communism store opening frenzy), hidden doorways that lead to candle-lit hideout bars.

There are also many signs of poverty, grandma's on street corners selling everything from handmade baby socks to foraged greens, buildings and parks crumbling apart, streets that are more pothole than asphalt.

WILD FARM

Gorno Pole, Bulgaria

Too muddy, too cold, too much snow...the late spring rules out some of the walking ideas in Bulgaria's country side. Discussing my wishes with cool outdoor travel agency ZigZag in Sofia, the destination becomes clear: "You like beautiful landscapes? And see some wildlife? Traditional villages too? Oh, and you like good food and wine?" Apparently the answer is Divata Ferma, Wild Farm, in the village of Gorno Pole in the Eastern Rhodopes mountains of Bulgaria.

From Plovdiv I take a bus to Haskovo where my asking for a bus to Gorno Pole first gets answered by a lot of head nodding (phew, they know what I am talking about!!) to then only remember that nodding means NO! So I keep on asking until I receive enthusiastic shaking of the head, a reassuring yes...? Whoa, what an incredibly confusing Bulgarian custom, the opposite of most of the world. The head shaking has to be accompanied by 'Da' for me to believe it really means yes.

And yes it is! The bus leaves at 14.30, destination Gorno Pole. We zigzag our way through villages trying to avoid the majority of potholes. We pass cart-pulling horses adorned with red and white tassles, storks nests on telephone poles, dilapidated stone villages, women with flowery headscarves and harem pants, rock dotted fields, un-understandable folk music through the speakers (except the familiar "Hoppaaa!!!") and then we are there. The directions from Betti say: first house on the right. Sure enough, this is Wild Farm, a certified organic cattle farm (in fact the only one in Bulgaria) in a fairytale setting. White horses run around the village to the soundtrack of cowbells. The farm's 500 cows graze freely in the surrounding hills. And me... I am enjoying the organic homegrown dinner: honey and meat and veggies from the farm. And homemade cheese and wine and rakia as well.

The next morning I go on a walkabout with the wonderful biologist guide Tsveto. Up and down through the green hills, breaking here and there to watch the resident vultures and storks, hitchhiking to the tahini 'factory and outdoor tasting room' in Borislavtsi. Tsveto tells me about the challenging work of those working for protection of nature here in Bulgaria. Then we eat homemade banitsa in the birding visitor centre and walk down to the river. A heart-warming day.

PRETTY PLOVDIV

Plovdiv, Bulgaria

If you think of grey concrete blocks as the only architectural 'style' in former Communist countries, check this out. Plovdiv is Bulgaria's second largest city and has an amazing mix of styles including Renaissance and Roman. And tons of public art to boot. I am soaking up the sophisticated vibe before taking off to small town Bulgaria.