Author: bengarbutt

The Wild West

My biggest day yet. Not the furthest, but accounting for the total elevation gain (the most I’ve ever done in one day) certainly the biggest.

I started early, getting into the Bosnian wilderness after an early stop to stock up on food.

I don’t think I saw another person all morning. Tarmac, forest tracks, big climbs on gravel, slow descents over steep rocky ground for miles, gripping the brakes – it was a true adventure out in the sticks.

At one point, in the middle of nowhere, but only 30km south of Srebenica, a large and well kept memorial site appeared. The date was 1995 and there were 80 or so names carved into stone. The Bosnian flag flew, a rarity in these parts. Since leaving Sarajevo I’ve been in the Republica Sprska and have seen only Serbian flags. The inference (to me – perhaps I’m wrong) was that ethnic bosniaks lay here.

Just before lunchtime I came down to the river which forms the border with Serbia. I would have to follow this for about 20km eastwards to get to the border bridge, only to turn and follow it westwards along the opposite bank to get back to a place I could see was not more than 300 metres away. Somewhat frustrating! Still, count your blessings hey? I wasn’t too sad.

I filled up again in Bajina Basta, the border town, after having crossed into Serbia. There were comical exchanges on leaving Bosnia and entering Serbia.

The Bosnian guard wanted to look in my bags – I think to satisfy his own curiosity rather than as any official check. He explained “We don’t get many strangers here.”

On entering Serbia, surrounded by a phalanx of guards, the seniors had left the questioning to the new boy.

“Do you have anything dangerous? Any weapons? Any drugs?”

“No”

“Where are you going?”

“Istanbul”

Laughter from all his colleagues.

“OK you can go”

What remained was a climb as large as my alpine ascent. Grit the teeth, put something on the headphones, and try not to check progress on the GPS every ten seconds. I got there, of course.

Arriving in Mitrovac, a tiny little village at the top of the hill, more comedy. I couldn’t reach the owner of the BnB to get in. Exhausted, and eventually using Google translate at the nearby restaurant/mini-market, the staff helped me to contact him. “He’s useless. He’ll be in the woods picking mushrooms.” We got there in the end.