A hasty chronicle.
Balkan Raid.
After weeks of impatient waiting, we start the Balkan Raid, which does not start in Venice, but in Madrid, Valencia or Barcelona, depending on the origin of each person. The initial almost two thousand kilometers are short, we arrive at the meeting point – Venice – with expectations intact, ready to discover the transformations of that terrible world, which assaulted us at the time of the news years ago, when everything was violence and desolation. The former Yugoslavia.
A short walk through the wettest city on the planet (except for Atlantis, if it exists), allows us to “touch” the Venetian palazzos live, stroll its streets and squares, feel like a foreigner in the vaporettos and gondolas. A rewarding experience, we made a commitment to return.
Entering Slovenia is like stepping on Swiss, Austrian or Scandinavian territory. The cleanliness, the varied colors of its wooden buildings and the luxuriant green of its landscapes, resemble those of any of these countries. Everything seems brand new, its roads, the car fleet (new and from medium-high range brands), even its citizens seem young and handmade, especially the ladies. For God’s sake, how beautiful!
On our evening walk through Ljubljana, we observe the equivalent of our drinking areas, where moderately cheerful youth – they are economical in their emotions – sitting on terraces, on the curbs, or on the ground, they speak in low voices, with ambient music that not only does not bother but is pleasant to listen to, that invites you to dance and, at the same time, it allows you to converse peacefully… nothing to do with the noise of our cities, with the scandal of our young people.
A common denominator in this Balkan Raid is the beauty of the landscape. Another is the heat of forge, especially along the Adriatic shore. The mini countries through which we move surprise us with wooded areas where the range of greens seems endless. Lakes and rivers appear at every bend in the road, narrow and poorly maintained. Impressive mountains and passes or canyons reminiscent of the Colorado, with its Rio Grande. Gentle slopes covered with greenery that reach the edge of the Adriatic, the “Sea Sauna”, invite you to slide over them as if on a slide of fresh and fragrant greenery.
In every city, in every town, almost in every village, the cross of a church or the pointed spire of a minaret, newly built or freshly painted, peeks out from over the rooftops. Religion is so present that it overwhelms its presence. The good appearance of the temples contrasts with the ruins in which many families live waiting to repair, little by little, the destruction of the bloodiest war, possibly, of the last half century. The “selective” destruction is evident, intact buildings coexist with the ruins of the neighbor. The walls show the scars of grenades and gunshots as an involuntary and permanent exhibition of memory.
Apparently people live and coexist normally, although it is difficult to imagine that the barbarities perpetrated by one or the other are forgotten, more than a thousand years of confrontations are the sediment of these small countries that have given rise to a disturbing adjective: Balkanization.
But we are tourists and we have to look at the beauty of nature, the friendliness of the Bosnian citizens, the famous Mostar with its reconstructed bridge and the nightlife around the river. We walk both shores and the atmosphere is very similar: tranquility, music at tolerable levels and many young people having fun in peace. The restaurants hanging over the river are not the best, although they have excellent views. To eat well you have to stay more indoors or ask Jordi, directly. We dined like kings in the narrow street, through which the only breeze in the city and surely in the country circulates. How hot!
The hotels, as Tobeñas says, are “correct”. Okay, that’s how we always want them, correct, from the Arabian Nights, although without Scheherazades, how many stories. How restrained this Jordi is in his descriptions, even when he warns us – jokingly or seriously – about the mined areas through which we will cross, one tends not to believe him. But the signs are there, in the meadows, nailed to the trees that give us shade at lunchtime, on the sides of the narrow paths along which the nose of the Toyota makes its way with difficulty. It is true that none of them exploded. Were we lucky, or had the “organization” cleaned them up?
It was a spectacular trip, asphalt, a lot of almost virgin mountain, and trials through which we descended in the first-gear, braking and with our teeth clenched, trusting that the indications of the companion who directed us, foot to the ground, were correct, like Jordi’s hotels, at least.
We met the adunaros (Carinas-customs), they have little to envy to the Tunisians or Moroccans in terms of the slowness of their inexplicable management. Its ways are authoritarian and threatening, especially in Montenegro, Croatia and Albania (in the latter the gas stations do not accept the Visa). We wait up to two hours in some cases to put on a stamp, or to charge an arbitrary tax and without a receipt. Habits of the past, surely.
The Serbian-Bosnia area gave us all the informative posters – even the names of the towns – in perfect Cyrillic. I have nothing against his passion for everything Russian, but even the countries of the Maghreb have the delicacy to put the names of towns and addresses on the main roads in Christian. That they could take example, I think, if they want visitors.
Dubrovnik, the city-state, deserves a leisurely visit. Its walls are truly impregnable, its buildings take us back to a glorious era of the city, many centuries ago. Heat, very hot. We eat divinely in the high street, in the shade, with its little breeze. After walking around the old city we ended up, of course, at the restaurant recommended by Jordi. The waiter, exquisite in his treatment and magnificent host, negotiated for us the rental of a small boat to go around the bay and see the city from the sea: it was a success. Thousands of photos attest to this.
An extraordinary trip through an area with a certain morbidity for those of us who did not know it live, also the reunion with friends and acquaintances from other outings, and a prolonged coexistence that, generally, shows the best of each one. Those stops to eat in the middle of the green meadows, in the shade of fir trees? or seqoias? (which I did not pass botany until the third attempt), were a joy and are part of the best memories. In some mountain areas we observe a curious mixture: dense pine forests with tall cypresses interspersed, which reminds us of Lebanon, the country of cedars.
After the meal (the sandwiches, the ice cold beer, or the cava of a more organized one), without forgetting the dessert, that cherry brandy that some of you are already knowing, we are invaded by that feeling of pleasant well-being, the conversation, the unhurried snoop… It’s lazy to pick up.
We got to know more about Eduard, the silent artist, who modestly showed us some of his work and spoke to us in moderation about his passion for the visual arts. We use the knowledge, and the almost inexhaustible store of Marta, the doctor. We witnessed some saving intervention by the mechanic from Territori. We observe the tireless coming and going of Albert with his blue Toyotón – called “Disorganization”, he will know why – opening steps and negotiating with the stubborn owners of the roads who denied us access; and his “black” sense of humour, as when he announced to us in a doughy voice in the port: “Three cars don’t have a place on the boat, you can feel it”. We forgave him instantly, and did not tell him – so as not to disturb him – how close he came to being thrown into the sea with an anchor tied to his feet.
I had not made such long trips with Territori and I have to admit that the “organization” – and the people who make it up – were always up to the task, as it could not be otherwise. The historical documentation is a success (except for the delivery, it should be done a couple of weeks before). Of course, I still don’t have an official shirt.
The black mountains of Montenegro are impressive, like that immense, unreachable canyon. The ruins shot! of Sarajevo. The entire station that hosted the Olympic Games, blown up, destroyed… But the climb, and the descent, were worth it.
The Postojnska Jama caves and the Plitvice National Park leave us stunned – by their dimensions and the incredible beauty that both the caves and the park hold, with its thousand waterfalls and lakes of waters of incredible transparency. A constant throughout the trip is the beauty of the landscape, the transparency of its atmosphere and the dense vegetation that covers the mountains up to the very edge of the sea, or its innumerable lakes, large as seas. That we are the first Spaniards to cross Albania Off Road Xtreme, Albert informs us. Okay, so to the curriculum
What do all Balkans drive like crazy? It is possible but, no one honks the horn, no one forces an accident, they give way to the jerk who overtakes where and how he should not. Are… Correct.
September-2009. Scila & Clara
