Day 0 – Tuesday, August 5, 2025

That Tuesday morning, I did not yet know I would be traveling the very same day. With my intended destination in mind, the question was how I would leave Vienna. I didn’t have unlimited time — I had made a firm commitment to be back in Vienna by September 4 at the latest, for an important meeting that evening. As such, I could not ride all the way from Austria — and besides, I had already explored much of the country by bike earlier. I looked at multiple options: by train, by Flixbus heading south… it wasn’t easy finding suitable transport that would also take a bike.

Then I recalled a bus service leaving from Margareten­gürtel, the side of the bus listing multiple destinations within Bosnia. I had seen these buses parked behind a Burger King before, but had no recollection of what the company was called. After some searching — using both Google and AI — I managed to find the operator’s name and gave them a call. The lady who answered spoke only broken German (I suppose not many Austrians take this bus; it’s mostly for people from ex-Yugoslavia). After some effort, I understood that the bus left daily at 3 pm, cost €46, and yes — they would take the bike, free of charge. Great! I asked if there was space for the following day, Wednesday. In case you’re looking for a convenient service between Vienna and Bosnia, I can definitely recommend Bundavica Bus.

I slowly began preparing for the trip. Then I glanced at my watch — it was 11 am. Heck, I might even be able to leave the very same day, right? I called again and asked if there was still a seat and bike space available for that very afternoon. The answer was yes. Rushing, I finished packing my gear, tidied up my apartment, and around 1 pm I left home. I still wanted to say goodbye to my parents, and my mum promised to make sandwiches if I brought some pastries. I loaded my five bags onto the bike — two large panniers at the back, two smaller ones in the front, and one on the handlebars — and rushed to a Billa. I got to my parents’ place around 1:30, Mum prepared the sandwiches, and at 2:15 I hurried towards the bus station at Margareten­gürtel. I was told to be there half an hour before departure, so by 2:30. As I was running a bit late, I hopped on the metro, frustrating the metro driver when I forced the doors open as they were closing, earning a stern warning over the PA system. A few minutes after 2:30, I arrived at the place of departure. It was a hot day, and a few people were loitering around a blue bus, boarding it. They were of Bosnian origin but living in Vienna — some were curious about me wanting to ride through their homeland. One older lady (with a moustache…sorry for mentioning!) even promised to show me the whole country. I smiled and thanked her, telling her I had already been there a couple of times before.

I chose this T-shirt to go with the blue of the bus

There were some surprises. A small pickup pulled up next to the bus, and a couple of people jumped out to load a large refrigerator into the cargo hold. Interesting — I don’t recall ever traveling with such a kitchen appliance on board. Another surprise: there was a bike rack at the back of the bus where I could secure not only my bike but all my bags — very convenient. And to top it off, the bus was less than half full, it was air-conditioned, and we departed pretty much on time, with only a few minutes’ delay.

I had a double seat to myself for the entire journey. It was a 9-hour trip, with stops in Graz, Maribor, and probably some other towns I don’t recall. More passengers boarded at each stop, but somehow no one “dared” to sit next to me — it was the only empty seat. Fine with me. The scenery between Maribor and Zagreb was really beautiful, with the bus rolling through many tunnels. I noted that it could make for a scenic — though hilly — bike route one day.

Others were enjoying the view of the rolling hills

I had asked to be dropped off in a place called Srebenik, thinking it waas the Bosnian spelling of Srebrenica, the town infamous for the 1995 genocide. During the ride, I discovered they are two entirely different places, about 150 km apart. Remembering how much I had enjoyed earlier rides through Bosnia, I changed my mind and asked instead to be dropped at the Croatian-Bosnian border.

Around midnight — nine hours after boarding — we arrived at the edge of the Schengen zone, at the River Sava. I asked if it would be possible to get off on the Croatian side, as I had spotted a campground on that side, right by the river (none were marked on the Bosnian side). The driver said no: he could only let me off at the first Bosnian station. And so began a bit of an ordeal.

Everyone had to get off at the Croatian border, queue up one by one at the passport booth, get checked, wait for all the others, re-board the bus, drive a few dozen meters, and repeat the whole process at the Bosnian side of the border. I was a bit frustrated — by then I could have already pitched my tent at the campground. Oh well. Once all was done, we drove another mile and arrived at the border town of Orašje. Finally, I was allowed to get my stuff back. Around half past midnight, I was in the middle of a small Bosnian town.

Two people watched in amusement as I unpacked and prepared my bike in the middle of the night. They spoke a little broken German. Orašje has around 25,000 inhabitants — and even though it was really late, it was surprisingly lively. Close to me were two hotels, one above a gas station, the other just behind it. The first wanted €70, the other €40. Oh my! What had happened to the affordable Bosnia where, on my first Balkan bike trip in 2012, €25 got you a fancy luxury hotel room? I declined and set out to find a spot for my tent by the river instead.

Alas, my very first mile of riding — ironically, in the darkness — was a bit futile. Someone had told me the best way to reach the river was by riding back toward the border crossing, but the road was fenced off with barbed wire on both sides, and I was too tired to return to Croatia (and go two more times through passport checks). So I turned back toward town, eventually finding a smaller road leading down to the river.

There I came across three young women, probably in their early twenties, just returning from clubbing. I asked if they spoke English. Two ignored me, but the third replied and pointed me in the right direction in perfect English. By now it was close to 1 am — and I was in for a surprise. In this relatively small town, pubs and clubs were in full swing, packed with young people. Fancy cars were revving their engines, and as soon as the music of one club faded, the beat of the next could already be heard. Again, This was Orašje, never heard of it, on the Croatian border and that on a Tuesday night — quite impressive.

Looking at Google Maps, I spotted a patch of green where the river made wide bends, and I headed that way. I rode along a bike path (yes, a bike path!) in town until I reached a junction leading onto an embankment road that soon turned unpaved. Unpaved, yes, but not unlit — quite a surprise (in Hungary, such a road would be in complete darkness). I soon saw why: after a few hundred meters I came across a large villa, four stories high, standing on a massive lawn. Not that I’m an expert on property, but this place looked like it cost serious money — at night it even resembled a pagoda.

The villa looked even more impressive at night...

I rode on, half-expecting to be stopped by security guards, but none appeared. There were smaller — though still impressive — houses along the road, and from one I heard (yes again) loud music. Several cars were parked outside a well-mown, brightly lit lawn. I asked a man smoking there if I could pitch my tent on the grass. He didn’t understand me and fetched the landlord, who was puzzled why I’d want to sleep outside when I could just sleep in the house for free. Hmmm, nice.

Not wanting to be a burden, I offered to pay, and if I remember correctly, we agreed on €25. For that, I got a nice upstairs room with a shower. He explained that they were pre-celebrating an upcoming wedding and the party would be over within 30 minutes. Knowing Bosnians, I doubted that — but since it was a weekday, the music and dancing did stop around 2 am.

Meanwhile, I was offered a couple of beers, which I gladly accepted. I chatted with some of the guests, who spoke good German, as they lived in Germany. A noteworthy point: one guest mentioned wanting to return to Bosnia, saying Germany was no longer the country it had been a decade ago, while Bosnia itself had made real progress. I can attest to the latter — having visited BiH a few times, I’ve seen many signs of development.

The landlord turned out to be a film director, and this villa was his weekend “dacha” (weekend house). We chatted a bit, and when the guests left, I thanked him, took a hot shower, and finally went to bed, around 2:30 am.

So ended my first (or “zeroth”) night.