View Larger Map
Friday, September 20th - Split to Dubrovnik - 11,694 km
I am up by 6:30 and dressed a few minutes later. I use the bathroom as quietly as possible so that I do not disturb Danica. Bojan, who shares my room, wakes of course, and Frenk and Irena are soon up too to see me off. Their sadness and fear is clear on their faces. That and the thought that they will need to find a new place to stay tonight because of my departure has me choked. I feel dreadful, like I am hurting people I love. I hug each of them and tell them not to leave any room for fear in their hearts.
I hear Danica moving about the kitchen a few metres away. She probably knows something is up but I slip away before she can confront me. I leave a little cash with Bojan to pass onto her. Then I set out through town and up the hill to find the coast highway that will lead me south to Dubrovnik. It is 7 am.
Leave no room for fear in your hearts! Easier said than done - my heart is pounding like a drum, and it's not only because of the exertion of climbing the hill. I am scared shitless. When I reach the top of the climb, 150 m above the shore, I look back at the city I am fleeing and wonder if I should be doing this. It looks amazing. The early morning sun is catching the Terminal Building by the harbour and the islands and headlands but much of the city itself is still in shadow. I can see the Lubritanica still docked at the same pier where I disembarked. The palm trees stand perfectly still. There is no breeze. It is already warm, but not unpleasant.
I have caught my breath. My heart is still pounding and there are butterflies in my stomach, but I also feel good that I am doing something to rectify my situation instead of just sitting and waiting for the inevitable attack. There are many obstacles and dangers ahead, but I feel I am moving towards safety. I push on to cover as much ground as I can before the sun is in my eyes and the heat begins to drain my strength. I am setting out on one of the biggest adventures of my life. Adventure, it occurs to me now, is a highly over-rated concept. The world I am seeing is breath-taking. I am riding along a wavy ribbon of highway that clings to the side of the Dalmatian Mountains. It twists and dips and climbs here and there, but stays at least a hundred metres above the turquoise water. Every
few kilometres I pass a small harbour, like a semi-circular bite out of shore with a town and a row of palms encircling it. I am looking down each time, like a bird flying over. It is exhilarating. There is very little traffic. The sun is climbing higher and threatening to break over the crest of the mountains above me. The mountains are mostly treeless, but in some places I see orange or lemon trees planted by locals. They have had to carry loads of seaweed and soil up the mountain sides to get them started. 
I am hyper-aware of my pace. If I go too fast I may injure or exhaust myself. If I go too slowly I will not reach Dubrovnik by nightfall. The map says it will be no less than 225 km, farther than I have ever achieved in a day. The days are now shorter, but with a 7 am start I might have enough time. It is my energy I am most concerned about.Shortly past the village of Pisak, the road bends east around a small bay. It climbs to meet a road from the interior that intersects at the back of the bay. As I turn the bend and begin the climb I hear gunfire. I leap off the bike and drag it into a patch of bushes. My heart is pounding like crazy.
The gunfire is sporadic, just one or two shots at a time, no major battle. As far as I can tell there aren't more than a couple people involved, but climbing that hill on a loaded bike sets me up like a mechanical duck in a shooting gallery. But cars pass by as I am hiding out in the bushes and they climb to the back of the bay where I see a checkpoint has been set up. I see cars coming down from the other highway and stopping at the checkpoint too. The soldiers at the checkpoint do not seem to be concerned about the gunfire, so I decide to get back on the road and continue in spite of it. I cannot waste much time and still reach my goal.
As I approach the checkpoint, I see four soldiers and that the gunfire is coming from one of them. He's firing shots at seagulls or some other target below him. What an asshole! I'm both pissed off and relieved. Two other soldiers are having a conversation and the fourth is daydreaming. I approach slowly, not sure of what I should do. One of the two in conversation, the one listening, sees me and stops listening. The other notices his attention is elsewhere and turns to look at me too. The daydreamer notices that the conversation ended mid-sentence and turns to see what had happened. He nudges the one who is shooting and then there are four of them standing in a row staring at me as though I have fallen from the moon.
I have tried my best not to be conspicuous during this conflict but I realize now that being conspicuous is not the problem. One must try not to be suspicious. I stand out like a pink elephant traveling on my loaded bike through a war zone but no one can understand what I am doing here. Neither can I, really.
The soldiers stare at me as though I'm some like of apparition. They don't say anything or break their gaze. I slowly glide up to the checkpoint and roll by them in slow motion. I am not sure what to do as I wait for their signal - they have the guns. But the signal doesn't come and I glide by them, their heads following me like sunflowers following the sun.
I could keep going. They have made no move to stop me, but I realize I haven't seen any car continue south past the checkpoint towards Dubrovnik. I am not sure if it is still open and safe to do so, so I turn around and ride back directly at the soldiers. They straighten up and hold their collective breath waiting for me to speak. "Is it safe to use the highway?" I ask, pointing to the direction I want to go. They continue to stare at me. I realize they might not speak a word of English. "Is it OK?" I try again.
Three of them are still staring in disbelief, but one has an incredulous smile on his face. I suppose he has figured out I am trying to cycle out of the war and is marveling at my bravado. After a few more awkward seconds one of them says, in perfect English, "Yes, the highway is safe as far as we know," as he continues to stare at me. I thank him, the blood of embarrassment rushing to my face. I turn around and continue on down the road. I wish I was a fly, fluent in Croatian, so I could hear what they had to say once I was gone.
I continue south past the small city of Makarska. I am pleased. It is 10 am and I have covered 60 km in spite of the time I spend hiding in the bushes. A short distance beyond an old RV passes me. It pulls over a couple hundred metres ahead of me and slowly begins to back up. It belongs to the eccentric German hermit named Gunther who came by the Terminal Building on the second day in Split to ask what was happening. He tells me he didn't want to pick me up but is afraid I might think badly of him if he doesn't. Weird.
"So, are you picking me up or not?" I ask him. He's picking me up. The RV sounds like it could break down at any moment but it moves much faster than I can so I am thankful for every kilometre it carries me. He's definitely a strange duck, but that feels appropriate in these surreal circumstances. I feel like Alice at the Mad Hatter's tea party. He tells me about his former career as a college professor and his failed marriage as he drives along. We have some things in common, being caught here in the war and both having figured out that Dubrovnik will be the safest place to be.
We reach Ploce, where the battle occurred for the army base that recently fell to the Croatians. We cannot see the base concealed in this rocky terrain, but we pass a couple burned out military vehicles. I am grateful that there are no dead bodies in them.
Just past Ploce, Bosnia extends to the coast for five kilometres. Soldiers at a Yugoslav checkpoint pull us over as we cross the border. On my bike, I would likely slide right through, but panel vans and RVs are suspicious vehicles that could be hiding rifles in concealed compartments. We must leave the RV and wait for them to
search it thoroughly. After ten minutes we are allowed to proceed. Hey, I say to the German, this is easier than crossing the US/Canadian border. We cross back into Croatia five minutes later. There is no checkpoint at this border crossing. We continue on unhindered. Gunther pulls over just before the walled city of Dubrovnik so he can make us dinner on his barbeque. I am beaming with delight. I had never anticipated the possibility of such safe and easy passage and to be fed a free meal on top of that. Strangely, it feels like a perfect day.
Perfect, that is, until I find the tourism office and a bed in a local family's home. When I am settled and changed, I join the family in the living room. The television is on and it's showing bombers bombing a city and ships firing at it. The city is burning, with columns of smoke rising from several places. The city under attack is Split. The attack began a few hours only after I left and it has continued most of the day.
There is lump in my throat as large as an apple. My eyes are brimming with tears. I can't even speak, but I want to scream. My thoughts are on Bojan, Frenk, Irena and Danica. Everything good about today has been erased and the war is more real than ever. Staying would have done nothing to improve the situation, but I feel I have abandoned them in the time of need. I don't even know if they have survived. I walk down to the telephone office and call Danica's number. She answers, thankfully. I ask about the Slovenians. She just says 'they go', which is as much English as she can muster. I am shock and my heart feels like it has been ripped out. I walk out of the office without paying for the call, but I don't realize this until I am back at my hosts' home after the telephone office has closed. This makes me feel worse.
I retire to my bed and try to write about what has happened, as writing often helps me through troubled times, but it is not enough tonight. After a few minutes I start to cry uncontrollably for several minutes. I stop and start several times. I stay in my room until morning, not wanting to let my hosts become concerned over my red, swollen eyes.
PHOTO 1: Split at sunrise
PHOTO 2: small harbour below me on the Adriatic
PHOTO 3: Dalmatian Mountains in the morning sun
PHOTO 4: me, as I am being dropped off outside of Dubrovnik
PHOTO 5: walls of Dubrovnik in late afternoon sun
PHOTO 6: a farmer's cart in the old city
No comments:
Post a Comment