THIS wasn't a character in a Bond film, nope... this was my life.
I left Gradac reluctantly.
THE sun was already poking over the mountains to the east. Looked like another great day for riding shaping up. My 2 day stay in this lovely little city had been enjoyable indeed. Not only did I have a fabulous "penthouse" apartment for two nights, but the town itself was made for walking, the beaches were beautiful and the hospitality warm and comforting.
I'D cooked a scrumptious home made meal the evening before, drank a cold Croatian beer sitting on the balcony overlooking the Adriatic as the sun set slowly into the west, and it had cost me 15E per night to do this. I was seriously thinking of coming back the following winter and staying right here for several months.
LOADING the Divvie, my host family insisted on staying a wee bit longer for a bite of freshly baked Backlava, sweet and hot it was too.
ALAS, good as it was, I had to be on the road if I were to make Greece tonight.
THE highway here is sinewy and tight, following the coast. Several Islands are just offshore, popular with tourists from all over Europe. It wasn't yet hot, but was certainly warming. The scent of the sea was constantly with me. No matter where you travel, if you have salt ocean nearby, your nostrils will pick that up like a fly to sugar.
I passed the E 73 turn-off that carries you to Sarajevo, that historic city that is unfortunately best known as the place where the First World War began. Here the Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand and his wife were assassinated, an event that ended the Austro-Hungarian empire, and plunged the major powers into a 4 year long stalemate where millions died. I wasn't going to the Bosnian capital today, but I did pass a series of checkpoints a few miles later on. Bosnia you see, has a narrow strip of land that borders the Adriatic at this point. You ride from Croatia into Bosnia and a mere stone's throw away, you reverse the process.
AT Dubrovnic, the road-bridge crossing the inlet was shut down for repairs and a long detour took me through the city itself. Wild it was too, traffic thick and fast, drag racing from one light to the other. A friendly, English speaking scooter rider directed me to follow him, as many had done before and since, back onto the highway. Once in Montenegro, I headed inland at Kotor, through the capital of Podgorica (formerly Titograd!!) and cross country through mountainous terrain where I entered my fifth country of this trip, Albania. The crossing was at a tiny little mountain outpost that felt like I was back in time to the 40's.
WOODEN buildings, a narrow dusty street and very stern looking border officials that seemed to be searching everyone. When my turn came, several guards, smiling and joking and pointing looked me over.
I was getting attention from three different directions at once, not understanding a word they were saying. Finally a fellow from the money exchange booth came over and in broken English explained that they wanted not only my passport, which they had in hand, but the document for the bike including insurance.
I followed the official in charge into a tiny customs building, no larger than 10x20 feet and he viewed my papers in dim light that barely made it's entrance through a very dirty single window. My benefactor accompanied me and explained that my documents were not in order. Surprise obviously showed on my face as he obligingly stammered that my personal document did not match the ownership of the Moto.
YES, I explained, I as a foreigner could not 'legally own' the motorcycle I was riding, but had a family member hold the title and registration and the document in his hand allowed me permission to ride it legally... and indeed I was insured.
I believe having an international driver's permit helped in convincing them I was not smuggling the bike into their country. I was beginning to feel like this was going to be one of those instances I'd read about where some well placed Euros would, ahem... ease the situation.
IT would be a gamble, every country and it seems every crossing have rules that make sense only to them. Who knows, a bribe may land me in Albanian jail, not a pleasant prospect indeed...
I left Gradac reluctantly.
 |
| Isabela and her family. |
THE sun was already poking over the mountains to the east. Looked like another great day for riding shaping up. My 2 day stay in this lovely little city had been enjoyable indeed. Not only did I have a fabulous "penthouse" apartment for two nights, but the town itself was made for walking, the beaches were beautiful and the hospitality warm and comforting.
 |
| Is this the life or what... I ask you. |
I'D cooked a scrumptious home made meal the evening before, drank a cold Croatian beer sitting on the balcony overlooking the Adriatic as the sun set slowly into the west, and it had cost me 15E per night to do this. I was seriously thinking of coming back the following winter and staying right here for several months.
LOADING the Divvie, my host family insisted on staying a wee bit longer for a bite of freshly baked Backlava, sweet and hot it was too.
 |
| This is not the sea but an inland lake! |
ALAS, good as it was, I had to be on the road if I were to make Greece tonight.
THE highway here is sinewy and tight, following the coast. Several Islands are just offshore, popular with tourists from all over Europe. It wasn't yet hot, but was certainly warming. The scent of the sea was constantly with me. No matter where you travel, if you have salt ocean nearby, your nostrils will pick that up like a fly to sugar.
I passed the E 73 turn-off that carries you to Sarajevo, that historic city that is unfortunately best known as the place where the First World War began. Here the Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand and his wife were assassinated, an event that ended the Austro-Hungarian empire, and plunged the major powers into a 4 year long stalemate where millions died. I wasn't going to the Bosnian capital today, but I did pass a series of checkpoints a few miles later on. Bosnia you see, has a narrow strip of land that borders the Adriatic at this point. You ride from Croatia into Bosnia and a mere stone's throw away, you reverse the process.
 |
| Entering Bosnia. |
 |
| Leaving Bosnia 15m later |
AT Dubrovnic, the road-bridge crossing the inlet was shut down for repairs and a long detour took me through the city itself. Wild it was too, traffic thick and fast, drag racing from one light to the other. A friendly, English speaking scooter rider directed me to follow him, as many had done before and since, back onto the highway. Once in Montenegro, I headed inland at Kotor, through the capital of Podgorica (formerly Titograd!!) and cross country through mountainous terrain where I entered my fifth country of this trip, Albania. The crossing was at a tiny little mountain outpost that felt like I was back in time to the 40's.
 |
| Entering the twilight zone, Albania. |
WOODEN buildings, a narrow dusty street and very stern looking border officials that seemed to be searching everyone. When my turn came, several guards, smiling and joking and pointing looked me over.
 |
| This was the official that helped me out with his broken English |
I was getting attention from three different directions at once, not understanding a word they were saying. Finally a fellow from the money exchange booth came over and in broken English explained that they wanted not only my passport, which they had in hand, but the document for the bike including insurance.
I followed the official in charge into a tiny customs building, no larger than 10x20 feet and he viewed my papers in dim light that barely made it's entrance through a very dirty single window. My benefactor accompanied me and explained that my documents were not in order. Surprise obviously showed on my face as he obligingly stammered that my personal document did not match the ownership of the Moto.
 |
| Talk about your time warps! |
YES, I explained, I as a foreigner could not 'legally own' the motorcycle I was riding, but had a family member hold the title and registration and the document in his hand allowed me permission to ride it legally... and indeed I was insured.
 |
| This posted over a wooden, one lane bridge. |
I believe having an international driver's permit helped in convincing them I was not smuggling the bike into their country. I was beginning to feel like this was going to be one of those instances I'd read about where some well placed Euros would, ahem... ease the situation.
 |
| See... |
IT would be a gamble, every country and it seems every crossing have rules that make sense only to them. Who knows, a bribe may land me in Albanian jail, not a pleasant prospect indeed...
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