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With a girlfriend to the sea, again! The August 2nd
If you don't want to read, skip the text and see the images of this dayhere.
You can see the map of this day of the journey here.
The joke is followed:
Success in the life of man is:
- at the age of three not to pee in diapers
- at the age of seven has a friend
- at the age of fourteen has a girlfriend
- at the age of eighteen has a sex
- at the age of twenty-five has enough money
- at the age of fifty still has enough money
- at the age of fifty-five still has a sex
- at the age of sixty-five still has a girlfriend
- at the age of seventy still has a friend
- at the age of eighty still not to pee in diapers
Although I have not yet reached the 80s, for my part I add that success is too:
- at the age of twenty-eight, to goes by bicycle to the coast with a girlfriend
- at the age of fifty-six still to goes by bicycle to the coast with the same girlfriend
This time I will skip the description of what was happening in our souls from the moment this idea was born to the first pedals turn. I will only mention that, as far as I'm concerned, I had another myself behind me, who constantly, persistently and relentlessly pushed me forward to that first pedals turn. That other myself did not allow, for a moment, any thought, any doubt whether it was prudent and right what we were getting into. If I would allow that doubt to show, even just for a moment, it would be enough, so I would give up for the journey, and I would fall into the grey safety of every-day life again. That another me succeeded into that pushing, and I congratulate him for that. He had a difficult and extremely demanding task in which there was not even a moment to rest. No matter how master I am, not just the humble amateur as I am true, it is impossible to me to paint, describe, present that relief and alleviation at the moment of the first turn of pedals. What a huge rock of worry, anxiety and uncertainty fell from my heart at that moment.
The two of us had only us and the road in front of us. We left everything else behind, not looking back.
That first pedal turning was made in the Novi Varoš place, some 9 km before the Stara Gradiška place. We had been driven to this place from the Požega town by car, to get to the camp behind the Banja Luka town by the end of the first day.
Before proceeding with the travelogue, it is my turn to introduce the reader to the itinerary, just enough he get some impression of what he or she will encounter in the continuation of the reading. So, after Banja Luka, Jajce, Uskoplje, Jablanica, Blagaj, Medjugorje, Imotski, Omiš, and at the end, Split where we will take a train for coming back to the Slavonija region.
So let me start with the story ( the introduction is not too long, isn't it !?). It was a little over 10 om when we turned that famous first pedals turn. The morning, which was already about to end, was fresh, half foggy.
If you look a little more carefully, you will notice that there is no shadow in the above image. The sun struggled well with the clouds that summer. And with what kind of clouds! Most of June and almost all of July were more in the sign of rain and gloomy clouds than in the sign of clear and bright sun. As that humid and rainy July dragged on, we hoped that all of the rain would fall out, so that August would be cheerful, clear and sunny as we need on this journey.
It was just a dream!
"Our areas are influenced by the anticyclone field, but humid and unstable air will continue to circulate in the upper atmosphere, which will cause variable and unstable weather over the next couple of days," that was last night's weather report which wished to us a happy journey. I don't know what they meant by "a couple of days," but it turned out to be much more than two days. Although today's day will roll out as dry, unfortunately, it will not be the case with all other days.
Crossing the narrow bridge over the Sava River, on which there was a standard traffic jam, we entered in the Bosanska Gradiška town. This crowd did not significantly slow down our entry into Bosnia, as we, as cyclists, allowed ourselves a standard crumb of arrogance while we were bypassing other vehicles.
After crossing the border, we got into the town in search of a bank for the Euro (€) transaction in Convertible Marks (KM) which was officially the Bosnian currency.
Although I have travelled many times through bicycle and car through Bosanska Gradiška, this is the first time I have entered into the city. I was surprised by its size. Contrary to my previous impression, it seemed to me now a much larger, real city rather than a small settlement.
To my regret, the city was devoid of the old part of town and the old architecture. A typical social-realist buildings of the fast industrialization of the small settlement, which engulfed former state in the middle of the 20th century. Only a few older buildings shyly appear in this monotonous sea of concrete and steel.
But that is why there are representatives of the new, modern times, as we are witnessing in Croatia. The magnificent building, in the absence of a better expression, I will call it a modern villa, strutting in the centre of the city. I find it a bit of improper environment because it seems to me that this kind of house is more for an elite neighbourhood than this one, side by side with the humble homes of ordinary mortals on one side, or the concrete cubes, already mentioned, on the other side.
There is also a gold panel on the front of the villa, probably with the company name or whatever. So what profession is that one who lives, sleeps and dreams in a building like this? An engineer? Constructor? Doctor? No, none of that. The man is a notary public, or as he is called here - a "notar".
I quickly got tired of this city and, having done my job at the bank, I suggested to my wife that we continue the journey immediately, which she accepted. What about me, I have some general urban saturation which has been catching me it in recent years, with a convulsive tendency to escape to the countryside, to nature, to the places where the least people are and where the pace of everyday life is different than in towns. I guess that's the consequence of my ageing!
Before it gets better, it will be much worse!
This saying, said by some economist, although it relates primarily to the economy, with a little imagination can also be applied to life circumstances, in general.
We need to go to the Banja Luka town by a road that goes through the plain, mostly through settlements. So, it should not be difficult. And it would be so if the traffic was not heavy and the road was not too narrow. Combination of these two facts from the previous sentence grows sickly to the cyclists, with the frantic struggle for an inch or two of living space. The trucks were endangering that space mostly, by squeezing on a narrow road alongside cyclists. In such circumstances, and the greatest optimist on the bike quickly loses the will to ride and search for something beautiful in the surrounding area.
In one of the respite from such a traffic situation, we stopped in front of a restaurant that had an interesting decoration in the form of old carriages packed with colourful flowers.
After 10 km of such a ride, which resembled Russian Roulette, we decided on a longer, but much quieter option. In the Nova Toplola place, we said goodbye the heavy traffic on the main but narrow road, and turned left to the east.
It is as if we have entered another time-space zone!
Around us peace, with the pleasant sounds of a rural idyll on a summer morning. There was no any kind of traffic. The abundance of freedom and relaxation was so great that we allowed ourselves the luxury of carefree riding by side-by-side. Not only that we also started chatting, more precisely relaxing chatting, again feeling the beauty of that sunny summer morning. This already looks like the reason for which we started this journey.
We could not withstand to pass by the big shade just like that. That's why we stopped at the exit from the place to visit this shade and to exchange a few SMS messages in peace (more precisely, these messages were exchanged by my wife while I idly enjoyed by watching the surroundings).
After about 3 km we turned south at the intersection. About a hundred meters to the left of us wind the Vrbas river. We did not see it, but we had some conclusion that it is around, considering the trees, mostly willows, which testify to the vicinity of the water. The road is also a kind of embankment, which is well noticed based on the rare houses on the left that show a line on the wall as far as the water reached during the May floods this year.
In the case where we drive through villages, significantly more houses are somewhere down on the right side of the road. While we watched them from a height, from an embankment, we felt an extra charm. The road was straight as an arrow, there was endless plain around us, there was no traffic. Rarely, very rarely does a vehicle pass, just enough to let us know that the road is passable and that we are not alone in the world.
All of this together made especially delighted my wife who particularly liked riding through this endless plain. Extremely shyly, I tried to point out to her that this current flatness of the terrain was largely the exception at this journey.
At first, I drove somewhat resigned, just enough to go the extra miles. But gradually my rigid view, that driving by the straight flat road of the plain is boring and nothing interesting, gradually began to change, and in the end, I caught myself in the keen observation of the events around us. Here, for example, in one unbounded yard, completely freely and obstructed from no one, was walking a hen with its flock of small chicken. These chicks were not ordinary yellow, no, they were painted in all possible colours, from black, brown, blue to red…it would take a long time to list all these colours. Mostly the scene takes me back 45 years ago, to my to childhood, where in the village of my aunt this scene was every day. Colourful chickens were a guarantee of brown, real homemade hens, not those artificial, sterile, white ones. There was no doubt that these homemade were far better than "the ones" in terms of eggs, in terms of meat, ... in terms of everything.
It was only the first day of the journey, so I was still in doubt as to what to film with my camera and what not, so in that indecision, I missed a lot of scenes, as was this hen mother with her children. And now as I write this I still regret not filming them.
After a nice morning freshness, the sun was trying hard to justify the season what was, so in one of the side villages in his shop, we refresh our liquid supplies. We were pausing a few more times, drinking a little and eating, and yet during at one pause the first persistent signs of hunger appeared, which were not satisfied with just one or two small bites. My eyes were staring far ahead of me in wishing to see the welcome sign at the Laktaši place, where we would do something about that particular hunger.
And I saw it!
By entering the place, or even a small town, we also got into the crowd from which we escaped a few hours ago. But, the traffic jams of the next 5-6 km had no alternative, so I did not think about it. Instead, I focused on exploring the place where we would combine a pleasant vacation with a delicious meal. The cacophony of sounds, the dynamics of the traffic of all kinds, their hustle, made this my search surreal, almost frenetic.
Still, the search has come to fruition!
In the thick shade, there was a terrace with tables and comfortable chairs, which we immediately sat down. In an ambient that one can wish, we slowly and with enjoyment rested our mind and body, sipping a cold drink and nibble on warm "ćevapi"(Bosnian speciality of grilled minced meat). A true Heaven on the Earth!
As is the case in these situations, when the aforementioned spirit and body become calm and lazy it will be just like the Tantalus' torment to restart again and to continue the journey.
Only with great patience and unwavering persistence we were able to get started, and continued pedalling with our legs which were as heavy as lead. Those first hundred yards after a (long) break, our legs are always as heavy as a rock.
Before continuing, we were riding extremely slowly through the town in search of its peculiarity. Thus, we saw a luxuriously, freshly built Orthodox church, and across the street from the health centre.
Seeing nothing more interesting, we headed south leaving the Laktaši town. On the way out, I noticed the entrance in the hall of the city pools, and a little further I saw a lavish, I suppose, a residence. This "I suppose" is because there was no inscription anywhere. The first association at me, when I saw it, that it was the railway station in some Arab country.
About 3 kilometres further, to the place of Klašnica, it was necessary to drive again on the main road with huge traffic in both directions. At cited the Klašnice place we turned left onto a local road, while the rest of the traffic goes to a kind of highway towards the Banja Luka town. There is another 13 km to the Banja Luka town, but we extended it a little bit more to visit Trappist Monastery.
In the Trn place, we crossed the turbid Vrbas by a narrow bridge. I was interesting to me that nine years ago when I was travelling the same journey as this time, the bridge had an asphalt pavement, while boards were present this time.
We had to ride another 3-4 km up and down by the narrow local, though still paved road, until we saw the monastery church.
We entered into the courtyard in front of the church, parked our bikes and slowly watched the environment. Nowhere anyone, only true contemplative peace. Spontaneously, probably because of this calm and peace, while we were sitting and resting, we prayed one-tenth of the rosary (this journey also has a pilgrimage feature to the sanctuary in the Medjugorje place which we plan to visit). This will become one of the hallmarks of this journey - whenever we stop near some church, one-tenth of the rosary will follow
After resting and talking with the Lord through prayer, we toured around the church and the monastery. Even my wife rang the doorbell of the monastery and asked for cheese (the famous Trappist). She gave up trading because the cheese was sold in pieces, and what would the two of us with a two kilogram of the cheese?
We went back to the entrance gate next to which there were toilets (surprisingly clean) with an outside faucet. A purely practical earthly edifice, but for the tired and sweaty pilgrims it worth as gold.
Enclosed by a high hedge from the outside world and twenty meters away from the church, in a green meadow is a replica of a 17th-century wooden church that was here before the monastery was built.
With all due respect to the impressive edifice of the present church and the monastery adjacent to it, I felt a special reverence for this small wooden structure. So, at an age when it was not known about what is electricity, asphalt, heavy traffic, and all the other characteristics of today are, people found (or had) the will, strength, patience and perseverance to do something like this for talking with Him in this building to find solace in the conversation, which is why they were encouraged to move on. No great buildings are needed to talk to God.
I saw something change when I was left without a shadow. Confused by the ignorance of what was the cause of that, I directed my view from the ground toward the sky
I didn't see it!
It was obscured by the clouds, still bright somehow, but farther west, they became darker and darker.
It was time to go.
Just behind the monastery, we had a slight downhill descent to the outskirts of the Banja Luka town. We came across a wide avenue that even had a bike path, so we crossed the bridge over the Vrbas river and across the railway. As the first real sign of the changing weather, the wind began to blow. Looking up into the sky, I wasn't sure if it would all end in the wind or there would be rainfall activities. In any case, it was still not so worrying, so I suggested to my wife that we take a tour of the centre of the capital of the "Bosanska Krajina" region, which the Banja Luka town is.
I was not regretting that she rejected the offer, on the contrary, and instead suggested that we leave the city crowd as soon as possible. I said I wasn't regretting about that because as I get older, I'm less and less attracted by any (bigger) town with its frantic crowd and bustle. In that forest of concrete and steel, masses of people around me, all kinds of traffic from all directions, crawling, trumpets, shouting, pushing. In this environment, I am struck by such a wave of loneliness, that I am afraid that I will sink into this frantic bustle.
Contrary to the town, I prefer to be somewhere "where God said good night," where there are no people near or far, but there is everything else. In that environment of greenery, the sounds of birds and the breeze, the scent of flowers that give their fragrance as a generous gift to anyone who has time to stop. In this environment, I have an opposite feeling than in the city, the feeling that I am somewhere where I belong, where I am that what I am, somewhere where I am drowning with a common whole, that is, somewhere I am alone (if I am riding without companion), but I am not even near to be lonely.
Because of that, with a tinge of enthusiasm, I kept looking for the main road that we get out of town as soon as possible. That ominous wind was still blowing, but somehow it waned, along with the clouds that were still in doubt as to whether to wash the town or delay that washing for later.
Maybe because this journey has even a pilgrimage note, maybe because that we wouldn't fly out through this town and not said anything about it, or maybe it was something third, I don't know, but when I saw a huge unfinished church on the right, not far, on a small hill, I said, less suggested, and more imperatively, almost commanded, to went toward the church. It seems that my companion felt similar curiosity about the church, so she listened to me without speaking.
It was the parish church of St. Anthony Padua's placed on a hill called Petrićevec.
For the parish church of the saint
Anthony Padua's,
for the glory of God, this stone
solemnly blessed
by Pope John Paul II
Here on Petričevac (hill)
June 22, 2003
We came to this church by the bell towers, so we toured the whole church to reach the entrance.
Confidently trusting in the Lord that he would wait a little while with the rain, we lingered on the lavish bench, soothing our breath, and then praying one-tenth of the rosary, aware one more time that this would be the custom of this journey whenever we would come across one of the sacred objects.
We stayed for a moment more in the confused observation of this magnificent concrete giant. It was all huge, and it was all in the concrete. At first, I felt a discrete aversion, but a moment later I rebuked myself. I should wait for construction to be completed and then make my final judgment. When it will be I did not know, nor did I know if I will be here at that moment. The only thing I knew was that it was time to go because the wind lost patience and intensified its blowing.
In continuation of the ride, I remembered that we should be supplied with drinks and instant soup for tonight's supper. After seeing the big supermarket, we parked in its huge parking. I generously left the pleasure of shopping to my wife. As she went into the huge shopping centre, I sat on the curb watching the surroundings. That wind couldn't decide between the rain and nothing, so he reduced again it's blowing.
Supplied with supplies for tonight, we finally set off in search of our overnight stay. About eight kilometres south of the Banja Luka town (at least Google says so), in the direction of Jajce (where we are supposed to arrive the next night), there is (or should be) the "Olymp" auto camp.
The wind, I guess, finally resolved its dilemma, and it started to blow a lot. Above us were very, very dark clouds from which the lightning sounded. We rode as fast as we can on the main road tired of today's driving and the expectation of seeing this camp already. These kilometres were extended a lot, so I had already begun to suspect that we, God forbid, had missed that camp.
Still, we did not!
We stopped under the "Camp Olimp" board looking left and right, but we didn't see any camp. But we saw the man, later it turned out the host, the receptionist, the owner and what else do I know what, and asked him about the camp.
"There it is across the street!"
That what he called the campsite was a small meadow with a caravan. Nowhere toilets, nowhere the reception, and nowhere the people.
"You're the only guests, so I'll give you something special!"
As I tried to figure out confusedly whether it was good or bad that we were the "only guests", that "something special" caused even more confusion.
And this "something special" was in the form of a porch in front of the caravan, where our host, receptionist, owner, etc., generously allowed us to settle down and pitch our tent. That way we will be best protected from possible rain.
Although the said thunderbolts were announcing the flood, yet the rain did not fall. It was as if it had given up when she saw that we had arrived at our destination today
Whether because of the happily completed uncertainty of finding the camp, or otherwise is just like that, I don't know, and it doesn't matter to me. The important thing is that I was overwhelmed with a sense of comfort, gentleness, pleasure and even happiness, because we have reached our goal today, and still we were dry. And the fact that we are the only guests was especially cute to me. The accommodation on this porch seemed like an unexpected bonus to me, so I parked my bike slowly, relaxed, unpacked the luggage, pitched a tent (in fact, just the inner part of the tent). And all of that with a cheerful, relaxed conversation with my companion, and at the same time with my wife. This may seem too euphoric or pathetic to you, my reader, but even a five-star hotel would not overshadow my blissful sense of satisfaction. I and she with bikes, so I don't need anything more, even the extra pleasure for me was that we were alone in this camp.
The euphoria was catching me for all the above described, so a sense of blissful pleasure that I felt could not be disturbing even the lack of warm water and shower. For that shower, I quickly found an adequate replacement - swimming in the Vrbas river, which murmured a dozen steps below our caravan. Well, not swimming, more like bathing. As we were alone in the camp, I did not have to look at the others, so I came to the Vrbas river, with crystal clear water (unlike the muddy water which was when we crossed it with that narrow bridge in the Trn place). I stripped myself completely naked, got into the water up to his knees, washed, soaped and rinsed. During all this time, my wife looked at me as looking at a person whose mental state was not very good, especially when she used her hand as a thermal probe and she estimated the water temperature as "cold, very cold" degrees. The water was cold, but I didn't want to admit to her. After washing, I quickly wiped myself with a towel, which she kept ready for me, and, if it will be necessary, to embrace me. All this for neutralizing of the effects of ice water on my body.
My companion, with full confidence in the benefits of consumer society, used wet wipes instead of icy water from the Vrbas river for personal hygiene this evening.
After bathing the supper preparation was followed. We cooked mushroom soup. The soup was fantastic! It completely warmed me up, from head to toe, even more, so bathing in the icy Vrbas remained just like a nice adventure with no serious consequences.
After dinner, dishwashing and evening toilets, we entered finely into warm, soft and comfortable sleeping bags, locked the front door, or closed the tent, and with the help of a fluttering conversation about this and thatwe ended this day . During that conversation, its theme and a conclusion were less important than relaxation and comfort. We sunk into the dream of the first night of this journey.
You can view the continuation of this travelogue here.
Post je objavljen 17.12.2019. u 15:37 sati.