Cycling through the Balkans
🚲️ Bulgaria 🚲️ Macedonia 🚲️ Kosovo 🚲️ Serbia 🚲️ Bosnia and Herzegovina 🚲️ Croatia 🚲️ Slovenia 🚲️
Prologue: The joys of travelling on a bicycle
For years, I’ve wandered the world with nothing more than a backpack, always seeking that sweet balance between challenge and freedom. There's something exhilarating about navigating unknown cities, figuring out how to get from one place to the next, and meeting people who, just like you, are trying to make sense of this beautiful, chaotic world. I’ve spent countless nights swapping stories in hostels, discovering new systems in cities, and always managing to enjoy the small moments—like finding that perfect, hidden café or enjoying a quiet sunset after a day of endless walking.
In 2022, I stumbled upon a new obsession—cycle touring. It felt like an old dream suddenly reignited, a way to travel with both speed and immersion, to cover more ground yet experience everything at a pace that allows you to truly savor it. When I think back, my first bike tour wasn’t so much a grand adventure as it was an introduction to a whole new way of seeing the world. It was 2003, and I pedaled from Goa to Mumbai with a few friends. We planned where to stay, where to eat, and spent days on the open road. We were fresh graduates, with no money, but relished the freedom of being outside with nothing but our bikes and the open horizon.
Fast forward to 2024. My adventurous spirit, forever seeking new paths, was calling me toward the Balkans. This time, however, I wasn't just aiming for a quick escape. I was setting out on a long journey with my partner—one that had started in Singapore, and already gone through Malaysia, Thailand, Taiwan, Italy, Turkey, and India—with the promise of winding through countries, meeting new people, and discovering unknown places. The route now placed me at the doors of the Balkan region as my partner prepared to go back home to resume work. I was by myself now. There was no ticking clock, no exact finish line. Only the open road and with weeks of cycling ahead of me, the freedom to adjust, recalibrate, and take detours where my heart (and my wheels) took me.
Along the way, I found joy in unexpected encounters, from the comfort of a warm host’s home to the serenity of cycling through landscapes so beautiful they almost made me forget the sweat and strain of the climb. I would eventually bike over 2,200 kilometers in the Balkans, 32 days in the saddle, and countless hills (10,000 meters of elevation gain!). It wasn’t just the destinations that defined this journey—it was the process, the rhythm of travel on two wheels. Less than half my stays were in hotels or hostels; the rest were with the kind of hosts who make a journey feel like a genuine exchange—through CouchSurfing or WarmShowers.
This travelogue captures some of those moments, the highs and lows, the people I met, and the landscapes that took my breath away. It’s more than a story about cycling; it’s about what happens when you give yourself the space to get lost—and then find your way again.
Bulgaria
From Turkey to Bulgaria: Tough Climb, Easy Transition
The climb from Lüleburgaz to the Bulgarian border is relentless. The road winds through villages that seem smaller than their dots on the map, offering little more than a chai shop or two. I huff up the pass, saved from the monotony by two young cyclists out for a weekend ride. They spot me inching up and decide to join. They think I’m some kind of pro! I’m not, but I do enjoy a good challenge. We hit it off right away, sharing stories about biking adventures. Their company provided a welcome distraction as we tackled the long, grinding ascent together.
"We’ll ride with you to the border!" they say, full of energy. Fifteen kilometers later, they realize the border isn’t as close as they thought.
“We send greetings from Turkey to Bulgaria with you!” they say as we part ways at the border.
The border sits high up in the Strandzha mountains. These woods are special—they’re the last big forests in Europe with evergreen laurel plants. I skip the car line and head straight to the border hut. Leaving Turkey is easy, but the Bulgarian guard seem confused.
"Why are you biking? Are you carrying drugs? What’s in your bags? How did you even get here?" he asks.
He is genuinely perplexed it seems, borderline concerned.. "Where will you sleep? Do you know where you are going?" What begins with one officer’s curiosity soon turns into a mini event, with three officers now inspecting my life choices. Eventually, their stamp lands on my passport with a satisfying thud.
"Ok, welcome. You can pass."
As I move off quickly, the evening prayer call broadcasted from the Turkish side echoes behind me. Gaining an extra hour due to the time zone change, I continue onward.
The "Do you know where you are going"? question stuck with me. I don't really know. My route in Bulgaria is a sketch based on suggestions that a Bulgarian-Canadian friend of mine came up with. Blagodarya! Most of the time I don't know where I'm going, but that's the thing about bike trips! I'm very lucky, in that, I know or met people throughout this trip that helped me figure out where to go and more importantly where not to go. Also, because I'm a guy, not all of those social safety concerns apply.
From the border, it is a short but delightful descent – a reward for my earlier suffering? Having spent six weeks in Turkey, deciphering Cyrillic signs takes some effort, as does adjusting to roads that look and feel different. It is nearly sunset, and I am tired. The winding roads and the scent of the forest keep me alert. Soon, I see a sign for Malko Tarnovo and turn onto a smaller road leading to the village.
Malko Tarnovo: Getting to know Rakia!
When I get to Malko Tarnovo, it’s nearly dark. The village looks deserted, like an empty movie set. Thankfully, my offline maps guide me to my stay for the night. The accommodation is run by an older couple who greet me warmly. They point me to my room upstairs and tell me to come down when I’m ready. 'For what?' I wondered, but by now, I had stopped questioning such things.
Soon, I find out—they’ve made dinner! A homemade beef burger, tomatoes, and fries. Since nothing else is open, I’m grateful for this meal and happy to avoid eating another energy bar. Conversation is limited by the language barrier. My brain, still tuned to Turkish, now switches to Russian in a desperate attempt to communicate since I don't know any Bulgarian. To my relief, both hosts speak fluent Russian and graciously endure my linguistic train wreck.
Exhausted from the ride, I am ready to sleep, but grandpa has other plans. He wants to see more photos from my trip, and soon declares it is time to drink, prompting an eye roll from grandma. Out comes a bottle and three shot glasses.
"Kakvo eto?" (What is this?) I ask, a bit wary of the answer.
"Rakia, of course," comes the reply. The rakia is golden and smells very strong, its sharp, fiery kick softened by a fruity undertone. Grandpa raises his glass with a hearty "Nazdrave!" The strong drink burns as I gulp it down. My glass is promptly refilled. I’m two shots in, giggling like a schoolkid. My Russian becomes fluent. Funny how that happens!!
Little do I know, this rakia thing will become a recurring theme throughout my time in the Balkans. Every household proudly proclaiming "ours is different!"
After cycling 103 kilometers, climbing 1,080 meters, spending 10 hours on the road, and downing a couple of shots of rakia, I drift off to sleep before knowing it.
The morning is crisp. Malko Tarnovo, nestled in the heart of a national park, greets me with birdsong and a fresh forest breeze. A knock on my door announces breakfast: tea, an orange, and a spinach-cheese pastry. Surprised, I double-check my accommodation booking. There is no mention of meals. And yet I leave well-fed and deeply touched by the kindness of my hosts.
Welcome to Bulgaria!
Strandzha Nature Park: Riding Through Paradise on Two Wheels
Bidding a chao-chao to my hosts, I am excited to begin an 80-km ride, mostly downhill, to Burgas. I am hungry already and only have a few nuts left. I'll make it through, right?
I love mornings. The dew on the asphalt glistens, and my tires leave satisfying tracks. The ride is utterly beautiful. This forest is largely deciduous—oak, beech, and a humid subtropical mix. The river Veleka rumbles through a limestone gorge, carving its path through layers of ancient rock. These woods, rich in biodiversity, are a haven for rare species and a remnant of the primeval forests that once blanketed Europe. The air is heavy with the aroma of damp earth and fresh foliage, mingling with the occasional burst of wildflower fragrance. All these shades of green overwhelm me with happiness. I stop a few times, snacking on trail mix, listening to the sounds of nature— birds chirp, leaves rustle, and a stream gurgles somewhere … or wait, is that my stomach?
Today is my first real day in Bulgaria. I have to activate my phone card, exchange some money, and figure out how to go about. Turkey and Bulgaria are neighbors and were Ottoman subjects for a large part of recent history followed by a digressing path during the Cold War era. There are remarkable similarities but also differences. For example, I was shocked to find that this is not an in-your-face tea culture like Turkey is. The bustling tea shops, with people coming and going, are nowhere to be found. In Bulgaria, you drink coffee.
And there is coffee everywhere. But not like Italy. It’s all about coffee vending machines here. And these aren't the eat-your-money kind or dispense lukewarm murky liquid kind. They are actual coffee machines! Wow. Soon, instead of chai, I am offered coffee.
On my first morning I stand in front of a coffee machine for a while trying to understand how it works when someone comes by. I only have Euro notes and this machine takes change. No change? “Nyama problem”, this is on me says the guy behind me. Ok, so caffeine taken care of, what do you eat for breakfast? I have no idea. In the first village, Zvedzets, all I saw were people staring at me and entering or exiting a building - which I would later understand was a market. I didn't know what to do. I see three racing cyclists who are passing through there. I bike hard to approach them. I must have looked like a madman on a bike yelling "zakuska, zakuska!" (breakfast! breakfast!) and they took right off. All I wanted to ask is where do I find breakfast but didn't know how to do that. Oh well, trail mix it is—the last bit of it. And no water.
It's past mid-day now and the god of hunger is tormenting me. Because it's a national park, there isn't much here in terms of restaurants. Multicolored spring flowers in grassy patches along the road keep my spirits going. Soon the village of Krushevetz appears. I see a restaurant.
"Govorish Angliski?" (speak English?) I ask the guy working there tiredly. I don't even know if that phrase makes sense; I am that tired. "Da, little," he says.
I proceed to demolish a pork steak, salad, soup, and chips. It had been a while since I ate any pork! The pork is succulent and smoky, the salad crisp and refreshing, the soup warm and hearty, and the chips golden and perfectly salted. I don’t know if that’s how it really is but being hungry that’s what it tastes like. 😆 A group sitting at the adjacent table attempt to talk to me. They look like Indians but not quite. We just smile at each other as the waiter brings me a beer I didn't order.
"It's from them," he says, pointing to the next table. Cheers! Satiated from the meal and glad I speak the common language of beer, I get back on the saddle.
Burgas is near—I can smell the sea.
Burgas: Getting Used to The Hostel Life
Leading up to Burgas there's a dirt bike trail that lasts for a while but then disappears. I see recreational cyclists there - a dad and two kids. I think the dad wants to talk but the kids are more interested in the family of ducks at the edge of the trail. We wave and continue. Soon I arrive at a hostel, greeted by the cheerful people there. They are setting up for the summer but manage to find a bed for me and space for my bike. I clean up and hit a grocery store, coming back with food supplies, only to find a trio of young guys who are already on their third beer. “Hey! We hear you biked here?” I settle in for a chat I had not planned while eating my dinner. It is going to be a long night - I forget what's it sometimes like at a hostel.
The next morning the hostel-manager wakes me up early.
"Wake up, you need to leave." "Huh?" I ask, confused, annoyed.
"It's going to rain a lot, so better if you get a headstart. Don't worry, I made you breakfast!" she beamed. I had narrated the zakuska incident from the day before.
Wow, people are so caring! Caffeinated and full, I hug my hostel friends goodbye and set out to Nessebar, only 40km north.
Nessebar – A disappearing scenic trail adventure
The route today is short because I want to enjoy riding along the Black Sea coast as the pictures online promised. But alas, the weather had other plans—rain, winds, and more rain. Still, there's a dedicated bike trail along the sea, or so the tourist brochures say. I can only imagine the views on a clear day. I stay optimistic—at least I'm not getting splashed by traffic. But, like a plot twist in a bad rom-com, the trail ends. Abruptly. Unceremoniously.
Did anyone at the tourist office think someone would actually cycle all the way to Nessebar? Did the budget run out mid way? Hmm what are my options now... Backtrack to the highway or push my bike through a potential hiking trail. Spoiler alert: neither option is ideal but I pick the trail.
My wheels and sandals are caked in mud. I am wet, a bit cold, and annoyed. I should just have stayed in Burgas another day. I could hear Burgas saying “told you so!”... However, the weather forecast is not expected to change for many days. So might as well push through this. And as these thoughts swirl in my head – wait for it – I reach a hilltop with a view, and a water point. I bow to the magnificent Black Sea. You look so strong and powerful! Life is good again.
But just as quickly as it arrived, that joy vanishes. The trail now meets a highway. Today is the day I would discover what cycling on roads with two lanes and no shoulders feels like. With rain and winds an added factor. Now I’m facing a road with fast traffic, rain, wind, and a dash of desperation. I'm fairly sure bikes aren’t allowed on this road, but what choice do I have? In Bulgaria, no means yes, right? (Seriously—look up the sideways head nod.)
Traffic picks up. The Orthodox Easter holiday is on the horizon, and cars whiz by at 80 km/h, inches from my face. Or a huge truck running down the road with urgency. I have nowhere to go. There is a ditch next to the road. Maybe I should be nervous? Nah, my high visibility vest is definitely doing the trick... right?? Well, I have to believe in something...
I make it to Nessebar, heart pounding, and cross my fingers that my accommodation is less than creepy. It's a Russian hotel complex run by a Hungarian family who have been to India and want to talk about it. I delay that conversation - I am not in a social mood. The complex looks empty, like a set from a horror film, but I’m relieved to find a nice room. The view? Well, it’s grey. Very grey.
I step out to grab dinner and check out Nessebar old town. Nesebar is a rich city-museum defined by more than three millennia of ever-changing history. The small city exists in two parts separated by a narrow cobblestone isthmus that was so windy, I had to walk my bike. The older part bears evidence of occupation by a variety of different civilisations over the course of its existence. I bike around the old fortifications, basilica, churches, and houses. This city is a UNESCO World Heritage site for a reason! Dinner is a salad and chicken cutlets, with a couple of car-tourists from Poland. I return to the hotel to hang out with the operators, exchanging stories over, you guessed it, rakia.
Satisfied from today's work, I head home and stand under hot shower to make my muscles happy.
It’s the small victories.
Byala – Surviving on roads with no shoulder
Today’s journey is one of those "exciting but terrifying" days. We already know the roads here lack shoulders—this trend continues all the way to Austria.
Layer on the geography of today’s climb - a mountain pass through the eastern Balkan mountains to get to the ‘other side’. These mountains are serious and the forest thick. The roads are narrow, foggy, and slightly ominous due to that thick fog. I race to the next clearing, only to stop, catch my breath, and let the cars zoom past. Drivers are surprisingly considerate, though. I do everything short of waving a neon flag. High-vis vest? Check. Lights front and back? Check. Loud music blaring from my travel speaker? Check. Anything to be noticed!
Despite the fear, I’m actually enjoying myself. It’s the good kind of Type 2 fun—how often do you get to bike through a forested Balkan mountain pass in a fog?
Byala, a quaint old Greek town turned Roman settlement, has a fortress. Sadly, it's closed today, and I’m too shaken from the ride to do anything too ambitious. So, I chill by the beach, listening to my good friend, the Black Sea, and contemplating life.
Varna – Expressway to the sea
From Byala to Varna, there are plenty of scenic routes. Again, some look pretty – seaside towns, idyllic beaches, panoramic views. But today, I’m feeling efficient. It’s another grey, dreary day, so I’m not gonna see anything. So let’s get to Varna fast on the best route. And that brings me to the expressway. Yeah, I know. Bicycles aren’t allowed on expressways, but it’s Bulgaria, where “no” can mean “yes” 😉. We’ll see what happens.
Nothing happens. There is one traffic barricade with a guard. He is probably puzzled seeing a cyclist and doesn’t know what to do. He looks at me, I look at him, and keep cycling. “Don’t look back” I say to myself. Surprisingly empty and with a wide shoulder, this expressway is a gift from the cycling gods. I am enjoying this ride! I cheerfully cruise into Varna, check into a hostel, and decide to stay a couple of days. There’s a lot to see in this city and I need time to wash and dry my damp smelly clothes. Because, you know what I have been through.
I did some standard city sightseeing things - the big cathedral, the theatre, the pedestrian street with fountains and plazas and musicians. And I ate well here. Döner, sausage, baklava. The next day I went to this fantastic Bulgarian traditional restaurant and admired how similar but unique the food is. A lot of intercultural influences for sure.
Travelling solo: The Surprises and Snafus Along the Way
Travelling solo can get lonely sometimes – but hey, that’s where Couchsurfing comes in! For years, it’s been my secret weapon to find community while on the move. Depending on my energy levels, I’ll pop onto the Hangouts app just to see who’s around and what’s happening. I’m so glad I did this time! A guy invited me to join his family for snacks. And what were we doing - Colouring Easter eggs! Yup, you read that right. Picture me, a solo traveller, sitting at a table with a Bulgarian family, dipping boiled eggs in various vibrant colours like some kind of surreal art project. Wrapping up over a shot of rakia, they gave me strict instructions not to open the eggs until Easter Sunday. Fine, fine – deal. I’m nothing if not obedient when it comes to following tradition!
And speaking of socialization, Warmshowers is another treasure I’ve been using on this trip to find fellow cyclists. It's like Couchsurfing but for two-wheelers. More than just a bed and a meal, I get invaluable tips and advice from other cyclists who truly get the whole cycle-touring lifestyle. After a soggy day on the road, covered in mud, and feeling like I’ve earned the right to just collapse, my Warmshowers host knows when to leave me to my own devices and when to offer some soothing conversation. Because nothing says "I get you" like someone who understands the weary, post-ride exhausted look.
By the time I rolled into my next host’s place a few days later, it was Easter dinner time. I proudly brought along my haul of coloured eggs. The grandma of the house gave me a knowing smile. Later, we all played a game of Last Egg Standing – the Easter version of a gladiatorial battle. You knock eggs together and see whose survives. You know it’s serious business when you’re trying to prevent your egg from being crushed by a grandmother’s weapon of choice. I lost the battle, but I think made it worthwhile for my host family’s hospitality towards a stranger.
If you have heard about these sites but hesitant to try them, maybe reading the above will inspire you. It's easy to go from place A to B, but to get a flavour of community - not so easy.
At the fundamental level I find that people the same around the world. We all crave friendship and community. I am so glad for the hosts that open up their homes with wide arms, and also travellers who agree to be vulnerable, open, prepared for whatever experience that might be like.
At times like these I recognize my privilege as a cis man. Of course there have been questionable hosting experiences, but it's a rare occurrence, not at all the norm.
The Petrified Forest: Rocks and more Rocks
After almost a week along the Black Sea coast, most of it being rain and not so great cycling weather, I turn towards the interior of Bulgaria. The next few days are bright and sunny and I recover some of the lost distances and time from last week.
Three days of back-to-back cycling from Varna to Veliko Tarnovo, and I’m in the mood for some geological wonders. I stop at the Petrified Forest—no, it's not a plot twist from a fantasy novel, but rather a region of unique rock formations that scientists still debate over. Some think it's the result of ancient coral activity, others think it's from weathering or desertification. All I know is, I’m very impressed by this cool phenomenon. And it’s just there next to the highway!
If I could, I would totalyl camp here and say I've slept in the middle of a petrified stone forest!
Madara Horseman: The Original ‘Rock’star
Imagine this: an almost life-size horseman carved into a 100-meter-high cliff. It’s like the rock version of a Renaissance painting, with a spear in hand, a lion beneath his horse, and a dog chasing after him. The horseman has a halo and garments, as well as the bird in front. The symbolism? Debated. It is generally accepted to be inspired by traditional mythologies of the Thracian people in this area intermixing with the arrival of the Bulgar tribes. It's a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
The location? Well, it’s perched on a cliff, so getting there was... let’s call it “character-building.” A 12º climb - ugh, I swear so much throughout!! Why did they have to carve that thing up so high? So inconsiderate of cyclists.. Haha! The sweat and effort are worth it in the end—the view is stunning.
“I have lived here for 20 years and never visited that place” my host says later that night. Funny how that’s so common!
Indian? No? Who are you?
Cycle touring isn’t just about riding – it’s about observation and understanding the landscape you’re passing through. It’s is a great form of slow travel because it allows me to see things I would easily have missed otherwise.
When I first cycled past a small village, I thought I was seeing an Indian community – it wasn’t the first time I had this impression. [Also, let's admit, Indians and Chinese people are EVERYwhere so why not rural Bulgaria?] But upon a cursory inspection, their mannerisms, clothing, and language told me I was wrong. After a brief moment of feeling culturally clueless, I realized they were Romani – and they’re actually a large part of the Bulgarian population. Official stats say this is a very disadvantaged group, often marginalized. I would wave and smile at a group of people staring at me intensely with suspicion. I’ve never seen a sharp gaze melt into a warm smile so quickly. My Bulgarian may have been butchered, but I was a hit with my attempt to say “hello” and “goodbye” in Romani. They laughed. I smiled. Some bought me coffee or snacks; everyone offered a beer at 10am.
Of course, I didn’t just interact with the Romani folks – I got my fair share of chai and baklava too, courtesy of the Bulgarian Turks. They were just as amazed that I had biked all the way from Turkey, a country most of them had never visited.
The older generation Bulgarians I met knew more about India than I thought - some had watched movies. One started humming an old Bolywood song tune. We have such intercultural pollination in the world, don't we?
Honestly, I felt like a travelling ambassador at that point, bringing the news from afar. This totally reminded me of travelling in Central Asia. People living across the borders from each other had never visited what were sometimes their ancestral places of origin.
Rural Central Bulgaria – Farm roads and shared roads
It is another lovely spring morning today. The village seems quiet after yesterday's Easter Sunday festivities and Easter egg-games. My host invites me to Easter Monday mass, which I attend, though I’m not sure what’s more interesting—the service or the gathering of people who are on their phones.
“It’s important to show face,” says my host, “even if I’m not religious.”
We stay for a bit, then leave for a cafe. I have about 70km to do today, some hills, but not bad. The host, a cyclist herself, recommends a route that goes through farmlands. "It's a good route", she assures me, sensing my apprehension because the route does not appear on my map app.
And what a fantastic road it is! Through pastures and farms, over channels of streams and groves of forests, a tractor here and a worker there. I merrily ride through these rolling hills and somewhat long-ish "inefficient" road. I wave at grazing sheep and smiling shepherds - "idyllic" is an adjective I'd use here. Although the total distance is a bit longer than a direct route, who cares, this is way more enjoyable! I don’t need an expressway!
However, the honeymoon phase ends in the final hour. I find myself on a narrow road full of trucks, heading to/from Romania. The road is packed, and the authorities have put up barriers in the middle to discourage aggressive passing, meaning I can’t let cars pass me. I start sprinting in short bursts to let traffic go by, but everyone’s courteous. We’re sharing the road—how noble.
I see a clean-looking lunch shack and decide to stop. The lineup is long but I need time, first to read the menu in Cyrillic, and then look those dishes up on the phone. The guy at the cashier looks bored. But he perks up when he sees me. He can speak some English and is eager to make a meal for me. “You decide" I say. He rattles off a list of foods. I just nod. A hearty meal appears – kebapche (sausage), kofte (meatballs), pickled veggies, and a beer (the same price as water but definitely more fun). I praise the spicy pickled chili and he gives me more. Full, I jump on my bike and peel off the highway to a smaller road that leads me to Veliko Tarnovo.
The guy who served me food is very chatty and inquisitive - we run into each other again in Veliko Tarnovo at a market. He’s carrying a basket of produce; we say hello like familiar friends.
Veliko Tarnovo – Beauty nestled in the mountains
This city is a stunner. Nested in the mountains with the Yantra river meandering through its centre, it’s also referred to as the "City of Tsars” It's the historic and cultural capital of Bulgaria. The old part of the town is situated on three hills - I visit one of them, Tsarevets. This hill has the main palaces, the main cathedral, and fortifications. The Ascension Cathedral in the picture below operates as a museum and has a lot of murals from religion and Bulgarian history, depicted in a modernist style. It offered fantastic views of the surrounds! Don’t miss it!
I meet a lot of tourists here - first time since, I don't know, Istanbul? There are Canadians too; curious about the Canada and India flags on my bike and the story of how I ended up here. Such a random encounter. I sometimes wonder what tour-bus visitors think when they run into a cyclist.
He's not bound to a schedule or an itinerary. He can go anywhere he wants. But he has to figure out logistics and find food and accommodation...?
Everyone has a style and a reason to travel. Tour buses are not for me, at least not yet, but I know they will be at some point. I have a lot of respect for people that travel. Getting out of your comfort zone is not easy.
The downtown area is hilly and pretty - a lot of restaurants and markets, pedestrian streets, trinket shops, and monuments scattered along the centre. My host takes me to a couchsurfing meetup in the evening where I meet some expats that live here. It takes a lot of effort to operate in a foreign language or be mindful with people who speak English as a second language. So I feel relaxed in this environment here.
While visiting the castle I meet an older guy who’s biked through much of Eastern Europe – the Soviet Socialist Republics of Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, Poland, Belarus, Lithuania, Latvia, and all the way to Estonia. He insists I join him for coffee and tells me tales of his travels. His voice quivers as he recalls the old days, showing me black-and-white pictures of his mates on his phone. I’m moved by how cycling has shaped his life. I relish moments like these and listening to stories that are hard to find otherwise. He simply wants to hang out with a touring cyclist and share a part of his life that’s in common with another human whose reality is very different. I hope I'll have a chance to do that when I'm older!
I stay in this town for three days thanks to a welcoming host. This is the time to relax, recharge, catch up on emails, and the glamourous task of doing laundry. Although I couldn't smell it, I was aware that I probably smell like a cyclist haha. My clothes come out warm and fragrant from the machine, my bike is cleaned and oiled, we're ready for the journey ahead!
A cycle touring trip invariably bring a moment where the traveller has to decide if cycling is worth it and/or safe. I had that happen in Veliko Tarnovo. Should I cycle through a steep rain-soaked mountain pass or hop on a train? It doesn't take much to convince me to take a train—especially when rumors of a cloudburst started floating around. I ended up chugging into Plovdiv on rail, surrounded by stunning mountain scenery. At other times, predictably the traffic becomes a bit much, especially getting closer to large cities such as Sofia in my case. I once again opted for the train from the suburbs to the centre.
Some people asked, is it considered cheating? You be the judge, tell me what you think! I bike to enjoy the ride, not to fulfill some exclusively human-powered travel ambition. I admire the people that do that; I'm not one of them!
Plovdiv – Hostel halls and Job calls
I check into a fantastic hostel in downtown Plovdiv, where the city's charm practically jumps out at you. It was crowned Europe's cultural capital in 2019, and I get why. From ancient ruins to good eats, this place packs a punch. I spend my first day wandering around, pretending to be a history buff as I check out all the ruins. I meet with a running group here - they are running up to the Red Army Monument, which offers 360-degree views. It's sure to make you feel like you're on top of the world. The views are definitely worth it but good luck fitting that massive statue in a selfie. I chat with some of the runners after. I can feel the burn. Yes my leg muscles are strong, but for cycling, not running!
Now, as an introvert, I’m perfectly fine with my own company. But hostels offer a delightful blend of socialization and opportunity for me to retreat back to my introverted roots when I need a breather. I end up sharing my dorm with two guys, though it’s more like they’re scattered elsewhere. We bond over quiet nods and the shared understanding of what a "perfect hostel moment" looks like: peace when needed, but a touch of chaos otherwise.
And today—get this—I'm doing an interview from the dorm room. Yep, the guys are happy to give me some quiet, which I’ll admit is a bit of a miracle. I pull it off, and—drumroll—I get the job (which I would hear about in Sofia). So, Plovdiv will forever hold a special place in my heart.
It’s two days later and I resume the cycling journey. Heading from Plovdiv to Sofia now. It's a lot of cycling in the plains leading up the plateau where Sofia is. Soon, the traffic picks up and it starts to rain. I get lazy. I take a train from Pazardjhik to the capital. To be honest I never thought I'd be cycling all the way. I'm quite apprehensive of the suburban areas of big cities... It's a reoccurring theme: Kuala Lumpur, Mumbai, Bangkok, Taipei, Istanbul.... big city = no bikey.
Sofia: The underdog capital
Welcome to the capital! The city is like that unassuming underdog that quietly surprises you with its talent. Most of the tourist sights are centrally located, so you can do them in a day—but don’t expect to feel like you've “experienced” them. If you’re after the artsy vibes – theatre, opera, cultural shows etc, you’ll need to plan ahead.
I, of course, did no such thing. Instead, I meet an artist on the hosting app and go to a show with her. 😎 There are fireworks later that night - I don't know why. I also get invited to a queer night at a bar. This city is alive!
On a crisp Sunday morning I bike around the city centre, which feels like the perfect "I'm living my best life" moment. I pass by the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, which is so massive and grand it feels saintly just from the halo of the sun behind it. Just as I’m admiring its grandeur, the bell orchestra begins. There’s something about the music in Eastern Orthodox churches that feels like the world is just... slowing down. I sit, close my eyes, and pretend I’m the lead in a slow-motion movie scene about cycle touring. It's as spiritual as I’ll ever get, honestly.
I fuel up with a hearty breakfast of banitsa and boza—a combo so traditional, that it’s not for everyone. Then it’s off to the market streets where the produce section is buzzing. Bulgaria's agricultural heart beats here, and cherries are in season, which is basically my excuse for grabbing a handful to snack on.
Rila Monastery – Spiritual journey through the mountains
My route next took me south, towards the Rila National Park where Bulgaria's most important monastery is located. The Park is very beautiful. You can see its snowcapped mountains from Sofia. Alas when I was there, hiking routes were still not open. I am very keen on going back and hiking a multi-day circuit there. For now, a bike trip will have to suffice.
The country south of Sofia seems very different! Noticeably warmer, but that might have to do with the lower amount of precipitation. I was cycling down a valley. A river flowing in the middle with settlements on either bank. There is an expressway, roads, a rail line. A lot of transportation happening on this connection with Greece! The soil here must be very fertile because the area is filled with greenhouses. After merrily biking mostly downhill from Sofia, I have a snack and turned east. This road now climbs up to the Rila Monastery.
I book a stay at a guest house at a town called "Rila", naïvely believing it was the location of the monastery. That isn’t true. The monastery is 700m high and another 20km away. Thinking I had time, I had taken a short hiking detour to the Stob Pyramids earlier. Now it is too late in the day to bike to the monastery from Rila. I ask my guesthouse for advice. “Take the bus!” So it shall be. The bus is pretty straightforward to figure out and it is scheduled to return in 90 minutes - ample amount of time to explore the grounds of the monastery.
Founded in the 10th century, Rila Monastery is regarded as one of Bulgaria's most important cultural, historical and architectural monuments and is a key tourist attraction for both Bulgaria and Southern Europe for religious tourists... and in my case, cyclists. It is Bulgaria's UNESCO World Heritage Sites and the third one that I visit on this trip.
Although I am not at all religious, I’ve been to enough religious places around the world to know that monasteries and temples and these places have some spiritual impact on me. Whether it's the chanting or the incense or the imposing iconography, or it's the collective energy that visitors are pouring into the space that's giving it a purpose - I don't know. The Rila Monastery does the same thing. I sit inside with my eyes closed, smelling the fragrant air, and listening to muffled prayers. A little path leads outside the monastery walls and across a little bridge to the kitchen.
The kitchen is making fried dough which I see people buying and dusting it with cinnamon. I must to do that. In fact, I got two, because fried dough and sugar is a universal miracle food, is it not?
Hiking to the Stob Earthen Pyramids
On my way to Rila, I make a detour to the Stob Pyramids, a collection of conical mushroom-shaped rock formations. They look like something out of a geology professor’s dream. It’s a short hike and the views are magnificent. My bike and luggage are kept safe at the ticket office while I explore. The formations seem like they belong in a sci-fi movie, but really, it’s just another one of those things that makes Bulgaria so interesting.
On the road to Macedonia!
It's my last couple of days in Bulgaria. Today I bike to the south-western-most corner of the country, where North Macedonia and Greece meet. The highest points along the east-west Radomir mountains mark the border between Greece and Bulgaria. There is a bunch of hot springs and geological activity here. Microclimates, good soil, all that jazz! I am staying with a young couple who live only 5-ish kms from both borders. They moved here to find peace and quiet and, of course, to make their own rakia. I play with their high-energy dog followed by a delicious stew they made for me.
On the way here I see a guy on a light road bike going in the opposite direction, his head down focused on the road. He has a minimalist bikepacking setup. It’s very uncommon, almost rare to meet a cyclist on the road so I shout a hello at him and we stop to chat. He’s on a mission to bike the iron curtain trail, one of the Euro Velo routes which meanders across Europe marking the cold war borders. He is on a mission to beat his personal best record from a few years ago. I ask if he was going to the Rila Monastery and he says no, it’s not on his GPS. Sofia? No. "I'm not going to see any tourist places." he said. People travel for various reasons and he and I clearly have very different reasons to tour. I don’t follow a GPS route for my trip, my stops are unplanned, I change based on recommendations and weather, and I only know what I’m doing 2-3 days ahead from now. I’m happy that everyone has the freedom to do what they like and travel the way they want. That's the freedom of cycling!
As for me, I am sad to be leaving Bulgaria. Just when I start getting comfortable, it's time to leave. My adventure in Bulgaria lasted a little over 2 weeks, covering a distance of about 700km and total climb of 4,500m. I think I got a good glimpse of this place.
Macedonia
Officially: North Macedonia
Alexander the Great and Mother Teresa—two famous Macedonians 🇲🇰 who embarked on their respective quests to India.🇮🇳 Whether benevolent or not, successful or not, righteous or not, it's not for a traveller like me to comment on; ...what's undeniable is that both left behind powerful legacies. So, you can imagine my delight at the opportunity to cycle through Macedonia and say hello to them both.
Cycling through Macedonia has been an absolute pleasure. My route from Bulgaria took me from the southeast corner of the country near Strumitsa, through Shtip, Skopje, and onwards to Serbia. The rural landscapes, quaint villages, and serene forests make it feel so tranquil here. The kindness of the people I've encountered has been truly heartwarming. It's a joy to see people wave and smile as I pass by, even though I can't help but wonder what they think when they see a cyclist with a Canadian and Indian flag passing through a village road more frequented by tractors. I realize that many of them may not have travelled far (statistically speaking), and I'm humbled by the thought of their possibly remarkable lives.
This culture of hospitality I've encountered so far leaves me feeling a bit uneasy at times. Strangers have graciously paid for my meals, bought me coffees, or offered snacks without hesitation. While I appreciate their generosity, I find myself unsure of how to reciprocate. To avoid any awkwardness, I've started paying for my meals immediately upon ordering at restaurants, before anyone else has the chance to insist on treating me. For now that’s how I’m navigating this kindness overload. Well that, and my entertaining broken Bulgarian, err, I mean Macedonian.
Dear world: You're filled with such lovely souls. To the politicians—well, f off. Thank you, cycling, for continually allowing me to experience the kindness of strangers, reminding me of the goodness that exists in the world.
—From India and Canada to Macedonia with love. 🇮🇳🇨🇦🇲🇰❤️
Young country, old baggage
Switching from Bulgaria to Macedonia is not as stark as say Turkey to Bulgaria, but it’s an interesting shift. Crossing the Zlatarevo (BG) - Novo Selo (MK) border was a breeze. The officer reminded that I was exiting the EU and that I should count the days correctly for re-entering and exiting. The whole affair took under five minutes.
The first thing I notice are signs where the word "North" was scratched off the name of the country. The country became independent from Yugoslavia in 1991. It was admitted to the UN but Greece blocked the name "Macedonia". It was only in 2019 that the country was renamed "North Macedonia" to secure the Greek vote for its EU membership application. However, Bulgaria then blocked the membership citing some other political disagreements. A quarter of the country is ethnic Albanian, there are Bulgarians, Turks, Roma, and the remaining majority is Macedonian. While cycling I passed a village with a mosque and an Albanian flag, and then a village with a church and a Macedonian flag. Some Bulgarians I met had a lot of views about Macedonia. And so did the Macedonians about Bulgaria (and Greece and Albania..). I could read and chat about the complexities in the Balkans, and the former Yugoslavia forever, and yet only have scratched the surface. It’s a reminder that the history here is as tangled as the roads are windy.
But let’s be honest: I’m here to bike, not to unpack the Balkan political situation. So, let’s talk about my ride instead. 🙂
Stip (Shtip) - Hot Springs!
Today, I’m beyond excited—new country, gentle uphill ride, and... hot springs! The weather’s overcast, and I can already tell I’ll be dodging rain for the next few days. The bike ride is peaceful, winding through farms and villages. In Strumitsa I have a snack and stop at a bike shop to get some lube. I can hear some sounds my bike is making that are not normal but to be expected after all this cycling. The bike guy lubes up my chain, tunes the breaks and stuff, and wishes me a happy journey – he’s very excited to meet a cyclist from far away and insists on not taking any money. I buy him a cup of coffee from a machine across the street.
After Strumitsa, I find myself on an expressway, which I quickly decide to embrace. It's way easier than battling the no-shoulder roads of Macedonia.
By evening, I roll into Stip, where my host greets me at a restaurant, and we head to the hot springs. I’m in absolute heaven! The guest accommodation has unlimited access to the springs, so naturally, I take full advantage. I soak in the soothing waters both at night and in the morning. Pure bliss. In the morning I get invited to breakfast by a guest staying next door with whom I chatted with in the baths.
I also meet up with another traveller to try some rakia cocktail. This drink is everywhere, and I've had it pretty much every time I was hosted by someone. So I was curious to try it in a citrusy cocktail. It was very tasty!
Skopje: Monumental Fun
Skopje is up next, and the ride is fantastic. There are three main routes to get there: the expressway (safe but soul-sucking), city roads (too chaotic), and rural roads (which are remote and beautiful, but require a bit of patience). While expressways are safer for cyclists than inter-city roads due to their wide shoulders, these highways also feel very disconnected. Everything looks the same; you have fast vehicles on the left side and guard rails on the right. No people, stores, farms, or houses.
I pick the rural route, and it’s perfect. No one in sight for most of the day except for a few very vocal sheep. Oh, and a dog that decides to join me for a few kilometers, offering both company and entertainment. As a cyclist you are used to dogs chasing after you. Something triggers their chase instinct. But this fellow is simply playing. I have to admit, this dog was waybetter at endurance cycling than I am.
While this route is remote and beautiful, it is also deserted. The only stop I see is a little gas station where I buy some fizzy drink. By 3 p.m., I’m starving, it’s drizzling and I’m cold, but I finally find a little ethnic Turkish enclave with a bakery. Tea, snacks, warmth—what a lifesaver. My Turkish vocabulary comes in handy when I pay for my €1 worth of order with a €50 bill and have no Macedonian money. Calls are made and the lady agrees on a good exchange rate. A little Turkish never hurt anyone, right!?
Finally, I roll into Skopje and find my hostel with zero fuss. It’s nearly empty, so I get upgraded to my own room. Sweet! I freshen up and head out for a feast to a restaurant recommended by my host in Stip, because, let’s face it, after 100 kilometers of cycling, I’m not messing around with just a salad. Skopje is low-key for a capital city, which is exactly what I need. It has a good food scene.
Over the next day I walk around in the historic downtown areas, checking off tourist sights, bakeries and restaurants. I go to this one bakery that is so busy in the morning that the line-up extends a block outside. When you get to the counter you have to order really fast. I have no idea what to get so I ask the couple behind me. We've chatted a bit and they seem like they know what to get. I go back to my hostel with a haul and share the goodies. It's cheese and spinach-filled pastries, some olive bread, this and that. Skopje is a good place to relax and recharge for the next few days of intense rides.
And remember the job I interviewed for in Plovdiv? I finalize the negotiations and sign my contract here. That means, there is an end-date to this adventure.
Mother Teresa
Born in Skopje which was under the Ottoman rule at that time, in a devout Albanian Catholic family, Mother Teresa found her calling / duty in Kosovo and made it her mission to go to India. She founded Missionaries of Charity, a religious charity in Kolkata, India. She was cannonized by the Vatican, awarded the Nobel Peace Prize among other honours. Growing up, everyone knew about her and held opinions about her missionary work. To me, watching her casket being honoured in the Indian Parliament and having a state funeral were one of the defining moments of my teenage years. It was fate that brought me to visit her museum here in Macedonia and I was grateful for that. Her statues were in Kosovo too; along with streets and places named after her. What an interesting connection between Macedonia and India.
Alexander the Great
The other Macedonian historical figure that made it to India was Alexander. There are lots of stories and fables about this conquerer. My favourite one is an exchange between Alexander and a monk that he supposedly encountered as he arrived at the borders of India.
"What are you here for?" said the monk. "I'm here to conquer the world", said Alexander. "What for? It's already yours", said the monk, sharing the Eastern philosophical worldview that everything belongs to everyone and no-one.
Shortly, Alexander abandoned his quest and returned home. A lot of cultural and philosophical exchanges began after this expedition. Whether this story is true or not is secondary; what is symbolizes is a clash of worldviews which exists even to this day.
Getting to Kosovo: Almost Causing an International Incident
Skopje is close to the border with Kosovo and Serbia, both borders open and straightforward. However, if you want to visit both Serbia and Kosovo, you need to be careful of the order. If a visitor enters Kosovo directly from another country, e.g. Albania, Macedonia, or Montenegro, and then attempt to enter Serbia, the Serbian authorities might refuse that entry. That's because Serbia considers Kosovo an internal breakaway province not an independent country. Therefore Serbia does not recognize the international borders that Kosovo has with other countries – the entry-stamp in your passport is invalid. Since I wanted to go through Serbia, I therefore had to bike first from Macedonia to Serbia, then Serbia to Kosovo, and finally back from Kosovo to Serbia a few days later.
Knowing I have to do all that, I get up early and bike through the city under an overcast sky. The statue of Alexander bids me farewell as I cross the river and navigate the narrow maze of the Turkish market. Borek and chai would be had here before stepping out of the city and heading north towards the mountains. I bike up a gentle contour along the edge of the mountains, across little villages seen in the distance. I am heading to the Lojane (MK) - Miratovach (RS) border. There's a village square with a large Albanian flag flying and kids are heading to school.
"Where from?!!" the kids wave and yell. "We are from Albania!" they follow up attesting to the "Greater Albania" vision. A Macedonian government health unit is setting up a camp in the village square.
People are saying something to me, but I don't understand what they're saying. This older guy really wants to talk to me. He's pointing at something which looks like a building. I don't get it. So, I just wave and keep going. I have to get to the border and that's all I have on my mind. I come across an obstacle and go around it. Maybe someone was carrying some dead tree for their stove, and it fell on the road.
I check the map again. The border is supposed to be only a couple of km away from the last village; I should be there by now, but I don’t see anything around. The blue dot on my map places me in Serbia already! But, how? Another guy working in his farm looks up to me and shouts out something. He makes a X mark with his hands. And that's when I get it. Although a road exists, this border is closed. It’s not an official crossing.
Ok. I think I almost caused an international diplomatic incident, I thought. I turn around and bike back as fast as I could. Back to the village centre. The old man who tried talking to me is now queuing up at the health checkup station. He smiles at me knowingly, probably muttering “I told you so”, and points to another way. "Serbia" he announces.
So I backtrack downhill to the official border - Tabanovtse. Guess what, it's on the expressway. Pedestrians and cyclists can't go across. But how else am I supposed to cross this border?
I decide to give it a go. The Macedonian border guard stamps my passport while chatting with his colleagues. I don’t think he even looks at me. The Serbian official on the other hand is very curious.
"This is a highway" he said. I give him a blank innocent look and don't say anything. Sometimes it helps. "Where are you going?"
"Belgrade, and then to Croatia."
"You must take next exit, No bike on the highway." He waves me off with a smile.
And friends, that’s how I arrive in Serbia!
Kosovo
Kosovo 🇽🇰. Before this trip, my knowledge of this country was about as deep as my understanding of quantum physics. I knew it involved the Balkans, images of wars on TV when I was little, stories of sectarian divide when I was a teenager trying to understand the world, and a whole lot of political drama that continues till date. Serbia 🇷🇸 says Kosovo 🇽🇰 is theirs, while Kosovo’s like, “Nah, we’re independent,” and most countries nod in agreement. This meant I had to pay extra attention to the routes I took for entering and exiting Kosovo, especially if I wanted to avoid a border guard face-off in Serbia. It felt a bit like the plot of a complicated spy movie, but with less glamour and more bicycle grease. Hmm. Where have I seen this before? Ok Israel-Palestine, Uzbekistan-Kyrgyzstan, Ghana-Togo pop into my mind but there are dozens of places around the world where borders drawn on maps have altered lives permanently.
People from both sides were full of 'helpful' advice: “Why are you going to Kosovo? There’s nothing there,” which flip flops to “Watch out in Serbia, it’s dangerous!” Do people genuinely believe such blanket rhetoric?
Guess what? I had a blast in Kosovo! Sure, it’s a young country and still looks like it’s going through a teenage growth spurt—construction everywhere. They use the Euro (fancy!), and serve omelettes for breakfast, a nice break from the usual batnitsa/borek flaky stuffed breads. There’s also graffiti everywhere, a lot of it trying to erase the Serbian past and wave the Albanian flag high. In the Serbian-majority border areas, it’s the opposite. Among other contrasts - a predominantly Muslim country where the prayer calls aren’t in your face, gay bars, pride parades, secularism. The ongoing tension in the air is palpable though, military convoys, police checks, and news about emotions flaring up. While this is a sad and scary reality for those living here, for me, it felt almost surreal. It was like watching a show—episodes of religious and sectarian tension, self-determination, and the struggle to preserve historical territories. I wondered what my role in all this was. I'll never know. In a few years, the details will blur, and only fragmented memories will remain.
The central region of Kosovo is a flat, crowded plain—not exactly the cyclist's paradise. The edges of the country, though, are stunning national parks, forests, and mountains. I visited a couple of old Serbian Orthodox churches, now UNESCO World Heritage sites, which exist as enclaves. My route: A loop from Serbia near Gjilan, to Prizren, Decani, Peje, Prishtina (the capital), and back to Serbia. That’s right, “I never left Serbia,” a line I had ready for the border guards. Spoiler: they didn’t care. They just wanted to know why anyone would willingly cycle such distances.
So, Kosovo might be full of contrasts and complexities, but it offered me an experience that was both bewildering and unforgettable. Between dodging construction zones and soaking up stunning mountain views, it was an adventure I wouldn't trade for anything. And if anyone asks why you'd go there, just tell them it's for the omelettes, the unexpected surprises, and the chance to be safely around a real-life drama that makes your daily soap operas look tame.
Into the Heart of Kosovo: (Not) Finding the Vibe
Crossing into Kosovo from Serbia at the Konçul border, I'm already feeling the exhaustion from cycling all the way from Skopje with the almost international incident of illegal border crossing. I see those Serbian ATM machines that have been in the news - Serbia encouraging border communities to use the Serbian currency. My body is begging for mercy. I decide to rest for the night in Gjilan, the third largest city in Kosovo. The motel I find is straight out of a B-movie film—empty, and every room smells like a mix of stale cigarettes and lost dreams under neon pink lights. I negotiate a room rate of €20 a night and pick the room that's the least offensive to my nostrils.
I end up at the only nearby restaurant, which happens to be located at a gas station. The place is clean, with young, enthusiastic waiters who seem to find my presence charmingly foreign. They pull out an old English-language menu, and I settle on an omelette with veggies. "It comes with a Kosovar beer," the server says. I’m sold. My tired muscles get a much-needed recharge.
The next morning, I set out early, knowing I have a long 100km day ahead of me. The road meanders westward through rolling hills before descending into the Prizren plateau. It’s beautiful, but not without its challenges.
I spend a few days in Kosovo, but for some reason, I never quite catch the local rhythm. Every place has its own vibe—some cities are like a slow dance, others a fast beat, but here? I can't seem to get my groove on. Part of it is probably the palpable tension in the air, and the other part? Maybe it’s just me being a stranger in a strange land, unfamiliar with Albanian culture. But hey, there's a solution to everything: I just need to spend more time here, right? That's the plan. 🤞
Prizren: Youthful Energy Historic Capital
Designated as the historic capital of Kosovo, this second city of Kosovo is compact and picturesque, and brimming with energy. I arrive here on an overcast afternoon, deposit my belongings at a hostel and set out to hike to the fortress overlooking the city. Being a weekend, there are a lot of people here today. A lot of young people travelling in packs - laughing, playing music, running around, and behaving like teenagers. Along the route there are some old churches and buildings to see although those sites were closed.
After the relative emptiness of Macedonia, I was surprised to see a busy downtown and crowded squares here. There is a newly opened Turkey-sponsored mosque in the city centre and there's also a Turkish enclave with baklava cafes! The Prizren river runs through the middle of the city like a ribbon of tranquility, and offers pretty views by the river walk.
On the way from Gijlan to Prizren I saw a Thai restaurant that wasn't open. I was almost in tears when I saw this place: the prospect of eating something different, something familiar! I peered through the doors at 9:30am. The restaurant opens at 11:30. "We are not open, but come in" the owner said. And the next thing I know, I had a delicious plate of khao phad gai (chicken fried rice) in front of me. I used all 10 Thai expressions I recalled, much to their delight. We chatted about life in Kosovo and Thailand. "This meal is our gift for you" they said in the end and sent me off with a bottle of cold water too.
Ordering food is often a connecting experience, and it was easy to order food here. I would say words like "chicken" and "salad" and something fancy would come out. Once I asked if he had anything vegetarian. "I will make you something" the guy said. It was a delicious lunch, albeit with sausage. I don't think vegetarian is a common thing here, but it's available if you are clear.
Food is not just fuel. It’s a bridge between cultures, a way to connect and share experiences.
Peje
Cycling from Prizren to Peje, the journey is manageable—moderate traffic, some hills, but nothing too dramatic. On the way, I stop at the Desani Monastery, which I highly recommend. Peje itself is quiet; I stay at a cozy hostel in the city center and meet fellow cyclists. It's been a while since I’ve seen anyone on two wheels, so I’m thrilled to swap stories. I meet a couple from Germany that's cycling around the Balkans but more towards the Adriatic coast. And a Dutch couple that's heading towards Romania. The hostel has others - a Japanese couple touring around in their small van, and someone backpacking with their guitar, making videos in different countries.
I stay in Peje for two nights, taking a well-deserved break. I do a day trip to the Rugova Canyon and Pech Monastery. It's perfect to unwind after several days of back-to-back 100km rides. Peje has some tourist infrastructure, but it's still too early in the season for it to feel like a tourist trap. There are parks, a food street, and an oddly busy club. You know, the usual small-town features.
UNESCO World Heritage Serbian Orthodox Monasteries
Near the towns of Dechani and Pech are two Serbian enclaves guarded by the military. You have to deposit your passport at the gate to visit inside. The Visoki Dečani Monastery contains frescos from the medieval times that show defining moments from both Serbian history and Christian tradition. The paintings are considered to be a representation of Serbia's location at the confluence of the West and the East. The other church complex I visited was the Patriarchal Monastery of Peć which is being restored. The complex is located on the way to the Rugova canyon which was a fantastic day trip from the city of Peje.
Unfortunately, these and other Serbian orthodox churches in Kosovo have been the targets of ethnic violence and are therefore regarded endangered cultural gems. Visit while you can, and take in the beauty while you still have the chance.
Rugova Canyon: A Place to Breathe
The road from Kosovo to Montenegro goes through the spectacular Rugova canyon. This is a national park with steep windy roads, especially on the Montenegro side. I visited this place as a day trip and spent a few hours sitting by the gurgling stream and writing my journal. There is also one spot where spring water flows out on to the road, said to have healing properties. I filled up my water bottle here, despite being a little apprehensive of that claim.
There are a number of hiking trails and multi-day trips that can be done from here. At other times I would have said that it was nice to get some fresh air, but I'm on a bike tour so I do get a lot of fresh air, thank you very much. What really strikes me here is the stillness—the quiet that you only find in nature, away from the chaos of life.
The beauty and ruggedness of the central Balkan mountains really stands out. It always brings me a smile to bike through mountains and forested areas. It's the exact opposite of what I feel when cycling in cities. 😆
From Peje to the Rugova Canyon definitely stop at the Pech orthodox monastery. Bring your passport as this is a Serbian enclave guarded by the KFOR (Kosovo force).
Pristina: A Construction Growth Spurt
Kosovo's capital is busy and feels like a massive construction zone. Right in downtown there is a Serbian Orthodox cathedral being built near the main mosque and the long pedestrian street. The city is really showcasing to the world that Kosovo is multi-cultural, secular, and a pluralistic society where everyone is welcome. There are at least 2 gay bars here!
At the centre of the city is this giant sign that says "Newborn", symbolizing the country's status. The sign gets a new artistic look every year.
I realized in Prishtina that I needed a break. Cycle touring is a lot of fun yes, but can get monotonous. I stayed at a hostel here and met other travellers, mostly young backpackers. I recalled my backpacking trips from the past and the exact same feeling of monotony. I guess any activity will do that. Just need to mix things up!
Throughout Kosovo I sense this optimism and energy. About possibilities and a bright future. I hope things turn out for good.
The Bumpy Road from Kosovo to Serbia
Leaving Pristina is a nightmare of detours, road closures, and construction zones. Cyclists are clearly not a priority here. I’m covered in dust, dodging flying debris, and doing my best to stay out of the way of fast-moving traffic. It's a city and country being born; this is to be expected.
The ethnic and sectarian tensions in Kosovo are easily felt. I saw a number of roadside signs with Serbian names erased, and in the northern areas it was the opposite. Despite having travelled around the world I must say it was my first time encountering a road sign for tanks.
My exit/entry from Kosovo into Serbia was painless. They asked me to produce the entry stamp and that was it for checks.
Halfway through the day, I get a message from my host—turns out they can no longer accommodate me. So, I make a decision: I’m cycling almost 150km today. Dust, rain, and all. Let’s see what Serbia has in store!
Serbia
The road to Belgrade: A Biker’s Gambit
After crossing the Kosovo-Serbia checkpoint, I find myself quickly in a sparse, rural landscape. The road descends gently through forested areas, and the breeze rushes downhill to greet me. It's cool, but I can already sense a storm approaching. "I need to bike fast to escape it", I think to myself. But my stomach rumbles, a reminder of my immediate needs. I couldn't find places to eat around the border and hunger is catching up to me now. Food first, I decide. The town of Kuršumlija is coming up—surely, there will be something there. And yes, there it is: a picture of a hearty chicken sandwich. I flash my credit card at the owner who's smoking outside. "Ok?" He shakes his head saying no. I don't have Serbian money. Aargh!
"Gde bank?" (Where bank?) I don't know Serbian and my google translator isn't working so I try Russian.
He chuckles and shows me on a map where to get cash while making my sandwich. The universal language of hunger transcends barriers!
The clouds darken ominously as I scarf down my meal. I feel the rain closing in. The clock strikes 2 PM, and around 80km still to go. I should be winding down for the day—yet here I am, racing toward a downpour. The town of Blace has a gas station, and I grab an electrolyte drink, eyeing the sky nervously. It’s as though the storm is flirting with me—come on, you can take it. But no, I’m not falling for that.
And then it happens. I’m heading straight into the storm. Classic. I should have stayed in Blace, but no—my stubbornness wins. As I pedal, I hear the ominous roll of thunder, and suddenly, the rain comes down in sheets. Big drops. Those heavy ones that hit you and you feel them - ouch!. I make a break for a bus shelter, but there’s no real plan. I’m stuck as it gets darker, soaked to the bone. It’s not the sort of adventure I had in mind. Eventually, sensing some brief break in the storm, and I take my chances: high-visibility vest, check. Lights on, check. But my sunglasses? They’re supposed to keep the rain out, but all they do is make it impossible to see. It’s like I’m in some weird dance, trying to stay safe while simultaneously getting drenched. Great.
Finally, I reach Kruševac, looking like a rat drowning in mud. For 150 km and 12 hours. My host, looking mildly concerned, exclaims, “What happened to you?!” His reaction is equal parts horror and amusement as he surveys my mud-splattered, miserable self.
“Don’t worry, I have a washing machine and a hot shower, but first, you need a drink.”
I thank my lucky stars for this comfortable stay. Sometimes with being hosted by strangers, you never know what to expect. At least I always expect good rakia, and he serves one made with spices!
Serbia has given me a memorable dobro doshli (welcome) 😗 - I think I am going to like it here!
A dance of rain and shine
The next morning, the sun is shining. It’s like the universe decided to give me a break after yesterday’s watery nightmare. I take a ride up the hill to a lovely park with replicas of Serbian Orthodox Churches. It’s almost poetic: I’ve visited more than half of Serbia’s holiest churches without even planning it! Who knew!
I’m biking next to a river, through a lush valley with mountains on both sides. Farms and villages dot this landscape and all the traffic is on the expressway a few km away. The land is drenched from last night’s rain and the sun makes it glow in a fresh green. This is it for cycle touring! A perfect scene. Except, it’s starting to get cloudy, and I can smell the rain coming. Looks like it's going to be a repeat of yesterday.
I arrive at my next stop, Paraćin—a charming little town with a great cafe. I’m sitting under a massive tree avoiding rain and enjoying my late lunch when my host arrives to greet me. He has already paid for my food before I know it. We bike together to his place. That evening, we play a fun game of Serbian Monopoly with his kids (note: I totally lost) while his wife plates a generous amount of food. He also shows me a scenic, almost traffic-free route for the next day, and I’m sold. The next day, I merrily pedal through fields and forests, eating mulberries and singing at the top of my lungs. Then, predictably, the rain hits again. Classic weather pattern.
I reach Lapovo, thinking I can make it all the way to Belgrade, but the storm is getting intense. I have no desire to endure another evening of cycling in rain—so I decide to call it quits early and look for accommodation. Three hours later, I’m still in a cafe, dodging rain, playing chess with an older fellow, having lost all the games but at least providing some entertainment. There are no hotels nearby.
Finally, I message my host in Belgrade. “Hey, can I come a day earlier?” I am supposed to arrive tomorrow but not anymore.
“Sure! I will have dinner ready for you,” he replies.
I take the next train to Belgrade. This time I show up to my host's place dry and clean. And very grateful for his flexibility and hospitality and a delicious meal with his boyfriend.
Belgrade
Belgrade welcomes me with open arms, and I feel instantly at home. A fantastic host, who’s now a friend, and a reunion with an old Couchsurfing buddy make the city feel like I needed to spend more than a moment here. I feel like your impression of a place greatly changes based on who you know or hang out with and make a connection.
We bike around Belgrade, touring the historic downtown and stopping by a fortress that overlooks the confluence of the Sava and Danube rivers. I would cross these rivers multiple times in the coming days—first the Sava through Bosnia and Croatia, and later, the Danube in Vienna.
The atmosphere in Belgrade is vibrant, full of life, and there’s an undercurrent of familiarity. The streets are buzzing, filled with tourists, and the bars and restaurants are overflowing with patrons. I heard a lot of Russian here, initially thinking I was just mis-hearing Serbian, but no. It’s no surprise to hear so much Russian—Serbia has become a refuge for many expatriates escaping the war. It’s a friendly city, welcoming and warm, with a mix of old and new, tradition and progress. My meals are delicious: from hearty Serbian stews of sausage and beans, to international fare.
In between sightseeing, I take the time to catch up on emails, do some banking, and get some much-needed rest. And wash my cycling clothes that have seen cycles of sun, and sweat, and rain and fatigue.
The countdown has begun. I’ve booked my return ticket from Vienna, which means there are only a limited number of stops left on this wild ride.
I travelled with a drone on this bike trip but I have to figure out a better system for it. So many factors have to come together for a good drone shot - weather, landscape, energy levels. I didn't take a lot of footage on this trip.
Besides a drone, I travelled with a laptop, an action camera that was strapped to my bike, and my faithful android phone. Those were the electronics I carried and probably enough for a journey like this.
Serbia to Bosnia and Herzegovina
After a well-earned rest in Belgrade, I hit the road again, heading toward Bosnia and Herzegovina. The border town of Bijeljina is still far off (125 km), but the route is flat and relatively straightforward. The fog in the morning adds an eerie yet romantic touch as I bike through rural roads, both paved and dirt. My gear is damp from the morning mist, and the weak sun struggles to pierce through. It’s a decent route for biking, not much traffic or people. I fly my drone here and try to take videos like they show in travel promos. But I don’t have the patience to shoot a lot of footage. I push on, knowing that the border is waiting for me.
Just before the border, I stop at a grocery store and spend the last of my Serbian dinar. My time in Serbia has been unexpectedly beautiful. Kind people, great cycling infrastructure (still no shoulders on roads but we’ll have to deal with that), and a very stress-free environment. I would easily come back and maybe cross into Romania next time.
At the border, the Serbian official checks my entry stamp (from the Macedonian border) with a grin. Glad I entered Kosovo from Serbia, I think to myself, dodging any border drama.
Bosnia and Herzegovina
My three days in Bosnia and Herzegovina are quiet—more rural landscapes, smaller towns, and the endless charm of the Sava River. The region was largely countryside with smaller towns along the Serbian and Croatian border. I biked from Serbia to Bijeljina, Brčko, Šamac, and Bosanski Brod, from where I entered Croatia.
The signs here are strange yet intriguing: “Welcome to the Republic of Srpska,” and “Welcome to the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina.” The country’s political structure is as complex as its past, shaped by sectarian conflicts and a unique blend of ethnicities. One country, two territories, three presidents, multiple ethnicities... Bosnia and Herzegovina is a vivid example of the plurality and complexity of the Balkans. The history is fascinating and ringed with waves of conflicts and peace, ups and downs.
Brčko is a particularly interesting place—it’s technically part of both entities but is a self-governing city. When was the last time you visited a self-declared "free city"? It’s a fascinating country to say the least.
As I ride along the river, I cross from Bosnia into Croatia, my route wrapping up this chapter. Bosnia’s mountainous terrain awaits, and I plan to return one day to tackle those peaks.
Croatia
Through the Croatian countryside
Like most of the places I bike through, I have no idea of what to expect in Croatia. Beyond Dubrovnik and Miss Universe participants, I have little knowledge of the country. My first impression is the town of Savlonski Brod. As soon as I cross the river Sava from Bosnia to Croatia, a bike path appears. It is separated and well marked. I am not prepared for this transition! Sure, they use the Euro here, but am I already in “Europe” proper? I hear more about Croatia's rapid transition post Yugoslavia while having some locally made salami and cheeses with my host family. They are well travelled.
The next day I head to Zagreb, cycling through the countryside. It's Croatia’s National Day. Villages are decked out with little pop-up shrines, people in traditional dress fill the churches, and the streets are alive with festivities. The vibe is festive, and traffic is strangely light, making for the perfect cycling day.
I am lucky to encounter mostly good weather. One rogue thunderstorm catches me off guard. The rain is quick and pounding, and I dash into the nearest building (which is a restaurant but I don’t know that yet) for shelter. A towel appears almost instantly, and just as I sit down to dry off, a schnitzel lunch appears on my table, courtesy of the table next to me. It’s moments like this that remind me of the power of human kindness and hospitality.
My hosts in Croatia were incredibly generous - from a young Indian migrant worker to a musician to a bike mechanic. I felt very touched with this hospitality near the end of my trip. The Indian fellow came to Croatia as a farm labourer looking for opportunities in Europe at the age of 24, and he’s hosting travellers in a small village by the greenhouses. I saw a lot of myself in him, and it was nice to meet someone over chai.
Zagreb
The capital of Croatia feels quite international and has a lot going. The historic area is located on two hills with a stream that ran down the middle in the past. I stay with a friend of mine, an old connection from couchsurfing that I kept in touch with. Again, another data point to support the hypothesis that your enjoyment and connection to a place is directly proportional to the people you meet in the city. Or in my case, my fantastic hosts.
I go with them on a walking tour, check out old buildings and interesting things along the way - markets, residential areas, a lift going up the hill, a sun clock, and so on. There are a lot of artsy things happening in the centre and it's lovely to watch people enjoy their time on a sunny day. The park along the banks of the Sava river is nicely kept and quiet enough to doze off on the soft grass. Yes, this is the same river that I've been crisscrossing since Belgrade!
Outstanding beauty in the north
After a thoroughly enjoyable time in Zagreb, I head towards Varaždin along a northern route through the mountains. It takes me through Zaprešić, Zabok, Krapinske Toplice, Krapina, and Lepoglava. This region is beyond beautiful, and easily among the top scenic areas on my journey. The landscape is lush, the mountain roads steep (14º incline), and it looks spectacular under a cloudy sky. If you have a choice of routes, I definitely recommend going through this region. It rain a bit on my ride, but nothing like what I went through. Just enough to make it beautiful.
My host here is a bike mechanic who services my bike following which his wife has prepared a meal with cabbage rolls. We have tea and chat about travel. It's raining and a bit cold tonight, and that means a very peaceful sleep...zzz
My last stop in Croatia is in the beautiful city of Varaždin which has a lovely city centre and a lot of places to see. My host takes me to a music concert after playing the piano for me and talking about his trips to India. I have met the most wonderful people on this trip! From here I debate between two options: one through Slovenia into Austria, and the other more direct way through Hungary.
Being near the end of the trip is bringing up a lot of mixed feelings for me - sad about the trip ending, excited about going home. My next few days of cycling involve very long distances. I have cycled almost 11,000 km by now, and been on the road for almost 9 months of the last 14. I miss being home.
Slovenia, Hungary, Austria*
* I realize I'm straying outside the geographic region of this Balkan bike tour travelogue!
The end of my trip from Turkey through the Balkans and former Yugoslavia is in sight. It is about to end in Vienna, Austria, so I'm including some closing discussions here. I hope to continue the bike trip from Austria onwards and maybe this section will retire or move to another travelogue then!
The borders between Croatia and Slovenia were unmanned and open. The border between Slovenia and Hungary was manned but nobody flagged me to stop so I simply waive at the guards and kept going.
Without borders and stamps it feels strange to say that you are crossing into another country. Not much changes in terms of the geography and terrain. Political systems - well yes, that's a more drastic change.
Slovenia
My route passes through the south-eastern tip of Slovenia, through the city of Lendava. I visit the Jewish heritage museum here and stop at a cafe. I wish I could have planned a route that went longer through Slovenia. However by this point I am quite done and want to get to the finish line in the most efficient way possible.
Hungary
Hungary comes as a pleasant surprise – because I’ve been warned of this country’s roads being unfriendly for cyclists. The saga of no shoulders continued, and I even biked on an expressway here - by accident of course. 😉 Szombathely was the only big city I biked through in Hungary. A great lunch stop at a Chinese restaurant satisfied my craving for something different.
My hosts are in a small village, a retired couple from western Europe who had home-made bread, spreads, and a dinner for me! It was adorable to watch their loving relationships and life experiences they've collected over the years.
A funny experience in Hungary was at a cafe where the server said "seeya" when I arrived. So odd, I thought, maybe she's learning English? But then other patrons kept coming and the server kept saying "seeya, seeya"... Only later it clued in for me. "Szia" is hello in Hungarian. 😂
Austria
By the time I cross the non-descript border from Hungary to Austria - it is not even an official looking border sign - I can smell and feel the end of the cycling trip.
The eastern state of Burgenland by the border throws me a nice welcome to Austria. Large farmlands, rolling hills, patches of forest, and big wide open sky. The end could not have been nicer. My host, a fellow cyclist, is so welcoming that I change my plan to stay another day - this rarely happens! My subsequent hosts closer to Vienna are also incredibly warm and welcoming. I am invited to a concert in the beautiful Konzerthaus in the middle of Vienna where my host is performing, and the following day I go out to the pride parade with others and their friends. Vienna Pride is a big celebration, and I feel a bit overwhelmed to be surrounded by so many people after being alone for all this time. I meet a cyclist I biked with in Thailand, then another friend of a friend, and I get to see different parts of Vienna with them.
I feel like I've made lasting connections with this city and I hope to see all my new friends again! A couple of days before my return flight, I run around the city looking for a bike box, bring one back in a tram, and pack up my bike for my return journey home. Disassembling my trusted bike, packing it in a box, and carrying it to the airport. It is definitely very sentimental.
Food, Transportation, and Other Logistics
What do you eat in this region?
I find it fascinating to understand food cultures when travelling. I got a touristy glimpse of the Balkan cuisine. Here are my notes!
For breakfast, stuffed pastries are warm and fresh in ubiquitous cafes and bakeries (pekarna). These take the form of banitsa, burek, spanakopita which exists in the whole south Eastern Europe. Stuffing is often cheese, spinach, mushrooms, and meat. There are other kinds of breads and croissants too. There are coffee vending machines or the cafe will make it. Many of the places (especially in Bulgaria) were express stalls - they did not have areas to eat, so you order from a little window by pointing at things, pay, and go to a park nearby to eat. There is always a park bench waiting for a hungry cyclist! Fair warning, stray dogs and/or cats might join you! I also started enjoying a fermented maize and wheat drink called boza - try it, it's not for everyone though!
For lunch I would typically get some kind of meatball (kofte) or hot dogs (kebabche) and eat it with a salad. There's also döner, pizza, pasta, cutlets, and other standard fare. Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia had a lot of sauusage and beans style lunches with fresh bread. Kosovo was the only place where I found western style omelettes for breakfast very commonly. I definitely ate that everyday there!
Because I wanted to maximize daylight cycling time, I would opt for a quick breakfast and lunch. But there were days when I couldn't find anything so it became a late afternoon eating frenzy.
Many places have a buffet style option and those would be my favourite. It's a good thing that you're on a bike - you can eat anything! I was blown away by the wide assortment of pickled veggies. Those go great with some lutenitsa, aivar, hummus and spreads like that. Soups are also hearty and having something warm on a cold rainy day makes a big difference.
Whenever possible, I would make my own dinner to compensate for any food groups I was missing. This would involve going to a supermarket for fruits, and selection from the deli - olives, cheeses, salads, bean stews. It might sound odd but there were days I had no social battery left to even go to a restaurant and very much preferred to eat quietly alone - Ironic, I know, given how many hours I spend cycling alone. 😆 If I had access to a kitchen I'd buy veggies, season and fry them, eat with a can of beans with some olives and cheese. There's an order to this in every country and I definitely had to re-learn the systems from place to place. That's fun!
Can you be a vegetarian?
Yes! Easily! I found the trick was to look for specific food or order what you want directly. If you say you are vegetarian, people might not know how to react. I heard this from multiple people I met in hostels etc. Most of our food is vegetarian anyways - beans, salads, bread, cheese, fruit. Main courses might not have vegetarian option but the appetizers, soups, salad courses sure will. If you're looking for more protein, ask for some fried eggs on the side, nobody said no to that.
Taking your bicycle on a train? Easy!
A cycle touring trip invariably bring a moment where the traveller has to decide if cycling is worth it and/or safe. I had that happen in Veliko Tarnovo. Should I cycle through a steep rain-soaked mountain pass or hop on a train? It doesn't take much to convince me to take a train—especially when rumors of a cloudburst started floating around. I ended up chugging into Plovdiv on rail, surrounded by stunning mountain scenery. At other times, predictably the traffic becomes a bit much, especially getting closer to large cities such as Sofia in my case. I once again opted for the train from the suburbs to the centre.
Some people asked, is it considered cheating? You be the judge, tell me what you think! I bike to enjoy the ride, not to fulfill some exclusively human-powered travel ambition. I admire the people that do that; I'm not one of them!
Taking a train in Bulgaria was very straightforward. The online booking system in English works, but I preferred to go to the train station in person. Firstly because I was worried my credit card company would flag the transaction (it didn't), and secondly the online schedules may not always be reliable, as I would discover later. When you are purchasing a ticket, there is an option to add a bicycle to the purchase. It's a flat fee of 2 Lev or 1 Euro regardless of the distance. And it's as simple as that.
Inside the train, you are to go to the last (or the first) compartment and tie your bike at the end of the carriage. On one train the attendant asked me to take it inside as it was a newer car with designated space for bicycles and wheelchairs.
I also took a short train journey in Serbia (near Belgrade) and Croatia (near Zagreb). Ditto to get to Vienna. All were very straightforward. When it doubt, ask!
In the end, I took trains for about 650km, most of that was in Bulgaria.
Definitely one of my most scary road sections through a narrow canyon. Soon I would see an expressway and switch to it.
How are the Roads? Beautiful, but deadly.
The roads, from Bulgaria to Hungary, through the Balkan and former Yugoslavia regions, at least the portions I cycled through, were in great condition. Rarely did I encounter potholes, although I didn't take the very small routes. At the same time, cycling on roads was very scary at times. Mostly because there was absolutely no shoulder. You had a six inch space next to a ditch.
Trucks would swoosh past a foot away from me. The air pocket alone pushed me off the pavement. Cars would swivel into the oncoming traffic lane to pass. Often I wondered how enforced or followed the speed limits are.
I started becoming aggressive and taking up the whole lane. I would pull over from time to time to let the traffic pass. Thankfully the traffic wasn't busy. Avoid roadways getting in and out of big cities and consider taking a train.
So, if you are cycle touring in this region, be aware of these points. I suggest you take expressways instead - such nice wide shoulders! Bicycles are not allowed on expressways, but I don't know why. People drive at a similar speed on regular roads anyways where there is no space for a cyclist. The other alternative is taking small paths through farms - I did that many times too, however each time the path would abruptly end and force you to backtrack. Or it would become a muddy road suited for a tractor not a bicycle loaded with panniers!
And for the government transportation departments: my sincere appeal to please consider building a wider shoulder when you are upgrading the roads! It really helps with safety!
For cyclists: I am an advocate of wearing a helmet all the time, and be ready with lights and a reflective vest. Be safe, be seen!
Epilogue: My 2023-2024 Bike Odyssey
And just like that, it’s over. Nine months, 11,000 kilometers, countless thunderstorms, a few rogue schnitzels, and an unholy amount of dirt roads later, I roll into Vienna, my final destination. The city that, quite honestly, I didn’t know much about when I started this journey—except that it had a lot of history, coffee, and cake. Now it’s the symbolic finish line, but honestly, I feel like a paradox wrapped in lycra: both exhilarated and slightly deflated, like the tires on my bike after the 100th pothole.
Looking back, it was a trip that had everything: a charming cast of characters, ancient monasteries, unpronounceable town names, and some of the worst weather I've ever cycled through. From rolling hills and thunderstorm drama to unceremoniously efficient bike paths, every country was its own wild ride. I pedaled through rain, sunshine, fog, and the occasional “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be on this road” moment. There were moments of sheer panic—like the time I had to dodge a thunderstorm while pedaling like a man possessed—and moments of quiet serenity, like stopping in a café to play chess and losing so badly that even the cafe cat pitied me.
I also learned a lot about myself, including the fact that I can survive without a plan, a functioning GPS, or even a reliable map app. I can always make do with a good chai and a positive attitude, even when I’m riding through the rain so hard that my high-visibility vest might as well be camouflage. And if I’ve learned one thing for sure, it’s that cyclists are resilient creatures: when the wind’s against you and the road’s unforgiving, you just keep pedaling. And if you can’t keep pedaling, you find a café, make some small talk, and hope the rain stops. If it doesn’t, just call it “character building.”
Sure, I had moments where I felt like I was going to get caught in a never-ending storm (literally and figuratively), but those moments didn’t last long. They never do. And somehow, they became some of the most rewarding parts of the journey. After all, what's a bike tour without a little drama? A whole lot of sunshine and smooth roads would have made for a boring travelogue, don’t you think?
I’m caught in a swirl of emotions. Part of me is already plotting my next big adventure – definitely a cycle tour. Another part of me is wondering what to do with the hundreds of photos I’ve taken of roads, buildings, and clouds. Do I turn them into a coffee table book? A very niche calendar? Whatever I decide, the real gift of this journey is in the memories. The generosity of strangers, the thrill of discovering new places, and of course, the joy of pedaling across countries like a free-spirited road warrior.
As I prepare for my flight home, I feel a sense of closure. The journey might be over, but the adventure never truly ends, does it? It just turns into stories. Stories that will live on, in the bars and cafés where I'll regale anyone who will listen. And, hey, if they don’t want to hear about my cycling adventures, I’ll just have to find a new audience—or better yet, a new bike tour.
Thank you for reading. Peace, love, and happy riding! ❤️🙏🚲
