This morning I pedalled out of Gradiška through a thick, misty fog, with 54 kilometres ahead of me and no idea what little adventures the day might hold.
The world felt quiet and sleepy — except for the occasional rooster, a few honking geese, and an army of cats that seemed to materialise from nowhere, each one claiming ownership of the road.
I passed through farming villages where cheerful waves came from tractor drivers and farmers tending to their crops. Some gave me puzzled looks, probably wondering why on earth someone was cycling through their fields instead of around them. A few “Dobar dan!” greetings from morning walkers reminded me again how warm and welcoming Bosnia feels.
By 10:15 a.m., I’d been invited by a farmer and his wife to stay for dinner — and possibly breakfast, judging by the size of the pig turning slowly on a spit! It still had several hours to go before being ready, so I politely declined, thanked them, and rode on. Turns out, it was definitely the day of the pig — I must have passed half a dozen more on spits before lunchtime.
As I cycled, I sang to the cornfields and cabbage patches, while yellow butterflies and curious little birds fluttered alongside me, cheering me on. The ride was blissfully flat the whole way — no gears needed — though my legs still felt like jelly by the end!
Bosnia continues to charm me with its warmth: smiles, waves, and genuine kindness everywhere I go. The only real challenge? City bike paths that double as parking spaces!
I rolled into my cosy apartment around 3 p.m., legs happily exhausted. I’ll be staying here for three nights — time to rest, recharge, and explore the nearby hikes that are calling my name.