Day 4 – Saturday, August 9, 2025
It was yet another wonderful morning. The rays of the sun made it clear that autumn was nearing – there was morning dew around me, a magical feeling. I was almost envious of myself for being where I was. Not even in a 5-star accommodation would I experience such a beautiful awakening.
Truly magical awakening
Once I got ready, I rode to the tiny border crossing and asked if there was a bakery nearby. The Bosnian border guard told me to wait, disappeared into the container that was his office, and came back with half a loaf of bread. How nice, much appreciated! Vhala lepo!
I started in Serbia (again), at first relatively flat. To my surprise, I found a dairy factory in the settlement of Sastavci, called Mlekara Biomlek, where I bought some kefir and cheese for a few cents. Then there were not less than two grocery shops, where I bought some supplies – my fear of not having enough to eat evaporated. I had a coffee, not the best of my life, but definitely one of the cheapest. The old lady blessed me as I left, me leaving three times the price on the table (and I was glad to get rid of my small change).
Now the ascent that the border guards had told me about started, with a couple of switchbacks on a very remote road. There was a gorge waiting for me, one where the road was still in the shade, it was so deep. Honestly, I did not expect Serbia to be so beautiful.
The road led through this gorge
Mountains, mountains everywhere
Eventually, I reached yet another border – the one to Montenegro. The road on the Serbian side was quite good, but even better on the other side. I rode through a pretty pine forest, then a pleasant downhill drop. I suddenly spotted a small group of bikers – hey, they were two ladies! We stopped to chat; one of them was an English teacher. They were from the vicinity and told me about some nice places to visit in their country. I told them this was my third (or even fourth?) bike ride in the country – and that I really liked it; they were pleased to hear this.
My first encounter in Montenegro
It was quite a long drop to the bottom of the hill, and I got into the town of Pljevlja. Just arriving in town, I shopped for some items that were not available earlier in the village and tried to find a SIM card for Montenegro. The SIM card I had purchased the previous day had a provision to be used in other Balkan states, but the details were in Cyrillic. I asked a few locals for help – even though they spoke English, they did not manage to turn the roaming on. After quite a while, I gave up, went to a kiosk, and purchased a card for that country. The authentication this time was a breeze (hmmm, meaning the lady was not as pretty as the girl at the petrol station the day before).
I rode through the outskirts of town, somehow failing to realize that I had actually been in the very same town a couple of years prior, in 2022. Well, back then, I had arrived from a different direction, spent time in the center of town (which I did not visit this time), and exited it on another road – but still, I could have/should have recognized it.
Leaving town was a patch of a rather boring road; I could have been somewhere in Pest County in Hungary (not my favourite place). Then the road started climbing, and even though it was quite busy, I enjoyed the views. Speaking about myself, I am not the fastest kid on the block, so it is not often that I overtake other bikers. There was a solitary biker ahead of me; I caught up with him. It was a German gentleman, age above 70, mind you – he told me about many of his biking trips but was complaining that it was getting harder with his age. Yeah, tell me about it...
The road kept climbing, but each ascent has an end. Eventually, I reached a very pretty sort of highlands with a number of smaller huts serving as accommodations, but that was no time to stop.
Suddenly, I heard very, very loud music coming from a large tent. I stopped and it was a village celebration that takes place every year. A lady was singing at the top of her voice, accompanied by other singers and fiddlers. It was quite a view; I think Emir Kusturica would have enjoyed it as well. They had ćevapi; I ordered one and was surprised by the price (€9) and even more about the price of a small Fanta (€5). Hmmm, am I in Switzerland or Montenegro? Or did they make me pay a tourist tax? Probably.
Village festival in Montenegro
Now I was headed to the region of Durmitor National Park, someone had earlier told me it would be wonderful. This park was formed by glaciers and is traversed by rivers and underground streams. It has the deepest gorge in Europe, the canyon of River Tara, and dense pine forests and clear lakes. It has been a UNESCO World Heritage site since 1980, when it was still part of Yugoslavia. According to Wikipedia, there are over 48 peaks exceeding 2,000 meters. I did not count them, nor did I plan to cross all (or any of) them (though, the following day, I would ascend to 1,999 meters).
As I was rolling down from the highlands at fast speed, I spotted a restaurant to my right. I had eaten not long ago, so no need to stop. From the corner of my eye, I saw a large terrace and had a glimpse of the view. It looked down on a very deep gorge – later I would see that it was the canyon of River Tara. By the time I realized this, I was already a couple of dozen meters away from the restaurant. Going back downhill would have required backtracking and climbing, so I decided against it. From the road, the view was hidden by tall pine trees.
When I finally reached the bottom of the descent, there was a narrow bridge above a deep gorge. It was incredible. The gorge at that point is 170 meters deep – considering a 10-story building is roughly 35 meters, it was almost 50 floors high. To make it more dramatic, a strong gusts of wind were blowing. Although I planned to cross the bridge by bike, I wanted to enjoy the view, so I parked my bike at the bridgehead and walked to the middle of the bridge.
It was quite an experience. There were some older ladies also walking, holding each other’s trembling hands. The river below twinkled in the rays of the setting sun, and birds were flying somewhere far below. The shadow of the bridge was cast on a huge rock wall. I was told there were zip-lines above the river, but no one was crossing at the time. Amazing view for sure! I then crossed the bridge by bike; by that time, the wind had died down. Remember the zip-line? Now, with the gusts gone, the zip-line was active, one person crossing after another, in about 40-second intervals (cost: around €30). I thought about it, but the mood on that side of the bridgehead was so touristy, that all I wanted was to get out.
The shadow of the bridge
Looking down 170 meters
It was 6 pm and the next place with accommodation was about 24 kilometers away – uphill. I made a mental calculation: if I could make 8 km/h on average, I would arrive by 9 pm. By that time, it would be pretty dark, so it didn’t really matter – I could arrive even later, I do have a light, so I just went for it.
It was a strenuous climb for sure. There were a large number of switchbacks, and I tuned to a radio broadcasting rhythmic music to motivate me. I actually made quite good distance (considering my age and all the stuff I was carrying); it was pretty much 8 km/h that I covered uphill - so, for those that are not good at mathematic, I covered 8 kilometers after one hour. Noteworthy is to mention that there was a continuous stream of car traffic - (mostly)Serbian, Italian, Polish and German cars were passing me, even as it was getting dark.
From somewhere in the middle of the uphill struggle, you can see the river already in the shadow of the mountain and the large switchbacks
After another half hour, at around 12 kilometers, fate decided to spare me – the road flattened out, and I was yet again on highlands. Scattered around were small huts with large window fronts, obviously for rent, many new ones under construction. As I later learned, this area is also a popular skiing resort. Many were occupied – now in summer this place is great for hiking and other outdoor activities.
Highland close to the Durmitor National Park
Anyhow, I made it to the town of Žabljak, the “capital” of the national park, by about 8 pm, just as it was getting dark. I disliked what I saw: a place with overtourism, lots of people walking around, restaurants full, playgrounds covered with screaming kids. Funny detail – there was an ATM operated by OTP, a Hungarian bank. On the main square, a lady was singing, about three people in attendance – not so successful, evidently. Heck, there was even a traffic jam - yes, a traffic jam at 8 pm, in the middle of the mountains.
I checked the hotels, but being a Saturday night in summer, there was either no vacancy or the prices were sky-high. Google indicated a campground near the center – that proved to be a false alarm. I checked again and found further campgrounds – one about 5 kilometers by car and just a mile away on foot. The shorter route seemed logical, so I set off. I left downtown on a climb through the streets – when the pavement gave way to a path through a dark forest. To make matters worse, it was so steep that, similar to the town in Serbia, I had to haul my bike, cursing myself silently, or not so silently. I needed close to half an hour for this short stretch of road. I got back to civilization – there were houses and the road was paved again. I soon reached the campground – a deep, steep courtyard, though I was encouraged by the sign welcoming motorbikers - and even cyclists.
Having found the caretaker, who spoke good English, I was shown a comfortable site, next to Elisa and Riccardo, a couple camping there from Italy - next to me were some Czechs folks, in the bathroom I met Germans and British people – pretty international. The caretaker told me to pitch my tent, then he would offer me a welcome drink – it was a plum rakija (also referred to as slivovica), delicious. I chatted with some other locals, this time in German. One guy showed me a thick book about the national park and told me he was the author. Judging by his sizable belly, I did not quite believe him, but when I saw pictures of him at the peaks in the book (2,500 m is the highest), my doubts evaporated. I took a nice, hot shower, chatted with the Elisa and Riccardo in French, then went to sleep, marveling at the sight of the beautiful full moon.
Full moon that night
As a cyclist, I paid just €6 for the night – a more than reasonable amount.
It was 97 kilometers and ascended – supposedly – 2,455 meters, the highest altitude gain on my trip.