September 16th Stage
45 Vukovar to Sremski Karlovci (Novi
Sad) 80 kms
What a day! It was a
beautiful Sunday morning, very welcome after three days of heavy rain and
cloud. In Vukovar people were out in the cafes and I found it difficult to tear
myself away from this town which had obviously suffered so much ..and in my own
recent lifetime too. As the hotel receptionist helped me to retrieve my bicycle
from the garage she told me how difficult it is now for people to find work,
and not for the first time on this trip I felt that there was so much more to
be said.
A strange thing happened as I left the town. The road rises
slightly as you leave Vukovar and gives a very good view of the artillery-bombarded
water tower which has been left as it was as a kind of memorial against war. As
I was asking an old man if it was appropriate to take a photo there was a minor
car accident in front of us. It seemed an odd coincidence of situation and I hoped
not a bad omen.
I passed a large, carefully-tended cemetery and memorial to
those who had lost their lives in the conflict, and then I was into some woods
and out in the countryside. I now realized what a good decision it had been to
stay in Vukovar, because today’s ride would not have been nearly so
pleasant had it been on a working day. The road from Sotin to Ilok on the
Serbian border undulates with some fairly steep hills and nasty corners.
Usually there is heavy traffic. Today, the only slow moving traffic I had to
deal with were the tractors and trailers bringing in the grapes in from the
vineyards. I tucked in behind one such tractor and was pulled along comfortably
for kilometres. The ride to the border which came just after Ilok was very calming:
expansive views over to low lying Fruska Gora hills, the countryside patterned
with coniferous forest, vineyards and orchards. Our last experience in Croatia
was in the tiny village of Sarengrad where we took a coffee break on the side
of the river in a very simple café where the lady who had lived there all her
life described how in 2010 the river had overflowed its banks to a depth of six
metres completely flooding her entire house. But it wasn’t so bad, she told us
in faltering German, and I wondered what other experiences perhaps she was
comparing it with.
The young policeman at the Serbian border couldn’t have been
more pleasant. He wished me a cheerful “bon voyage”, stamped my passport, and I
was on my way into my eighth country. The roads were deserted even for a
Sunday. I joined Katherine for lunch on a bench overlooking our river in
Banastor, watching yet another ferry ply its patient way back and to, when a
gentleman approached us. He was from Gland, our neighbouring town in
Switzerland. He was Serbian and was visiting his family. He had seen the number
plates on the car and wanted to say bonjour. He did more than that. Not only
did he give us some good advice but he insisted on giving us a few dinar to
tide us over until we could get to a bancomat. If you ever get the chance to
read this blog, Pierre (from Gland) thank you very much. We needed your money a
little later in the day.
But by the time we had reached the outskirts of Novi Sad,
the heavy traffic, even on a Sunday, the long day, and the accumulation of
driving (in Katherine’s case) and continuous riding (in my case) was taking its
toll just a little. About four o’clock we stopped for a break in Sremska
Kamenica, and an indication of how tired we were was that we left behind us
both the map and our car keys. The young girl from the café came running after
us. We decided to call it a day before we had a more serious incident, put the
bike in the car and drove ten kilometres round Petrovaradin to the beautiful
baroque town of Sremski Karlovci where everyone seemed to be getting married.
We had an interesting evening, witnessing, amongst other
things, a 350 guest wedding, small by
Serbian standards according to the waiter at the hotel, and the third set of
magnificent wedding fireworks, this time set off from a small boat in the
Danube, of our trip (the others were at Blain and at Durnstein) and planned how
tomorrow, before I rode on to Belgrade, we would drive back to Novi Sad where I
would continue from where I had left off earlier today.
The day could hardly have been more varied.
80 kms Total from Schaffhausen 1760 kms Total from Galway 3670 kms
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