Day 101, 102 and 103: Bulgaria to Bosnia

Hello everyone. Life is good right now.

I’m in Goradze, Bosnia. It’s fucking beautiful – like New Zealand levels of beauty. I wish I could explain that better but after writing more than 50 posts I’m feeling a bit creatively strained. Here are some pics.

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I was supposed to hitchhike all the way to Dubrovnik, Croatia but at around 5:30 the scenery started getting ridiculous and the the World Cup was about to start. What are my priorities again?

Excellent decision me. Now I’m sitting in a lighthouse like room above a hotel that looks like a 1970s interrelation of a Greek palace*. I’m watching the World Cup with some drunk Bosnian dudes. About two hours ago I thought I was high. I was sitting in a Bosnian restaurant and I had just received a giant plate of Burek, the love child of cannelloni and meat pie.

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Just after the waiter came and smothered it in Bosnian yoghurt this happened. Half an hour later Australia is ahead and a loosely toothed local is feeding me free pizza. Australia may have lost but fuck we played well, I had a fucking excellent pastry, outside looks like a medieval New Zealand and when I go home I’m going to meet some dutch kids and play hacky sack.

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I hear Dubrovnik is beautiful. Hahahahaha.

I had no plans after the festival. Honey Vader’s got a real life job so Selena was my next target. She was planning on going to Dubrovnik for a half of week of beach side nothing. I’ve been slutily and hurriedly traveling for however long so beaches and sun sounded like paradise.

Selena and Annika had some complicated plan of busing there but I had previously made a promise to myself – no more long distance busses or trains unless it’s extremely necessary. They’re expensive and boring. Only hitchhiking or cycling allowed.

I stayed in Kraljevo last night. I’ve never heard of it either. It’s a town in West Serbia near the border with Bosnia. I’m only here because the truckie I hitched with didn’t speak English and thought I wanted to sleep there. I was pretty sure it was vaguely on the way to Dubrovnik so whatever I guess.

Before my miscommunication with the truckie I’d enjoyed a rather successful two days. The previous day Selena, Annika and I had made our separate ways to Sofia. The next morning we went to dig up some good pastries. We found a promising place and as usual I asked a local what the best shit was. We ended up chatting like little grannies and when he found out I was hitching to Croatia he laughed and offered to drive me to the highway. Boom ride number one – wait time 0 minutes. From there it was smooth sailing all the way into and through Serbia. The only hiccup was getting a few times in the moutains – didn’t matter too much though because they usually looked something like this.

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I love getting rides with truckies. They’re so comfortable and bored they don’t really give a fuck about anything. It’s totally contagious. After a few minutes in the cabin I’ve got my socks propped on the dash board, I’m eating peanuts and preparing for a nap. I feel like I could sing, shit or bake bake* some meth – I’m totally comfortable and the drivers don’t care.

Also I feel really powerful. Sometimes I day dream I’m driving the truck and there’s some despicable cunt driving in front of me. Without a second thought I maliciously hoof the accelerator and crush the bastard. ‘Take that Tony Abbot’ I say while I thunder towards Robin van Persie.

Hitchhiking is terrible for eating. All the control over when and where you eat is sacrificed for the ultimate goal of getting a ride. Once you’ve got one, you’re probably want to go with them as far as you can. There’s no ‘hey let’s stop a nice restaurant in the next town’, you just keep going. Sometimes you’ll be lucky and there’ll be a pit stop at a supermarket but otherwise it’s gas station food or nothing.

At least gas stations are different in every country. Every time I go to a new place I never know whether to go for safety and get fruit, cans of tuna and maybe an ice cream or risk it and try a local snack. That may sound uncharacteristically conservative but gas stations aren’t exactly food Meccas, there’s a lot of shit mass produced confectionary out there.

Hitchhiking summary:

Rides taken: 13
Distance travelled: 567km
Average wait: 26mins

*probably exactly what it is.
*no idea if baking is how you make meth.

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