Don't Blink in Slovenia, Border Patrol, and an Impromptu Party

Day: 23 (Graz, Austria to Radovec, Croatia- making it through Slovenia in one day)

Average Speed: 18.5 (11.5 MPH)

Distance Cycled Today: 130.5 km (81.5 Miles) 

Distance Cycled Total: 2242 km (1393 Miles)

Mood: Miffed

It was just a few days ago when I realized I didn't know the first damned thing about Slovenia. 

I'm pretty sure I knew it was a country.


But less than 20 miles away from the border, I grew a bit wary. 

"Hey... Slovenia isn't like- a war zone or anything?" I asked. I think I was joking. I'm not quite sure. 

Sometimes, I can impress myself with my own ignorance. 

And someday, someone is going to write my obituary, and he/she is going to be tempted to write about how experienced I was with worldly travel. 

May that person remember that I entered a country on a bicycle without confidently knowing A) What language is spoken there B) What the currency is C) The name of a single populated city D) Whether or not it's a conflict zone E) If gelato is available.





(Answers: A- Slovene B- The Euro C- Maribor D- No E- Yes)

And even though my time in Slovenia has come to an end... I still needed to use Wikipedia in order to answer A.

When you're there, whatever you do, don't blink. We got through the entire country in one day. 

Three countries. One day. On a bike. That feels cool.

Gelato in Maribor!

Here's what doesn't feel so cool:

We were pumped for distance today- 60 miles into our ride, both Jamie and I were feeling strong in the blazing heat, and we set our sights on Zagreb, Croatia's capital, as the day's destination. We even booked a cheap motel. That would put us at 110 miles for the ride, and we were amped. I had Ben Folds blasting in my earbuds, and I tailed Jamie's rear tire by about an inch or so as he navigated with his Garmin.



We made it to the Croatian border easily... but there was a passport check. 

Jamie made it through no problem. 

Me... not so much. 

Brian Gens... why is your
bowtie in my bike bag?

There's always the lingering paranoia that I have something in my luggage that is illegal. Perhaps its my chain grease, or my energy gels, or the bowtie that a friend gave me the day before I left which I inexplicably felt the need to pack on a European bicycle tour. 

But no. 





The border patrol guy didn't even open my passport. He saw "United States of America" and

Americans cannot cross here.

shook his head, explaining that this one border was Europeans only. We just stared at each other for a while, taking in the situation. Three feet in front of me, Jamie was set to finish the ride. But three feet behind him was a guy with a navy blue identification book. 

The agent was very kind and helpful, and explained that I could cross the border only 16 kilometers from where we were and it would be an easy ride... he was just doing his job... but I have the image of him burned into my mind's eye... and I don't like him at all. Here's why:

1) It wasn't 16 km to the next border... it was 20. Don't guesstimate with a cyclist when it comes to distance. Or at least over-guesstimate.

2) That 20 km was entirely out of the way, and added an additional 35 km to the destination (total detour approximately 55 km). 

Me after an ass-kicking climb that the border agent
sent me over.

3) There was a mountain in the way, less than 10 km from the direction he pointed us in... when he had promised an easy ride. When you're in a car, it's easy to overlook terrain, but if you haven't travelled on a bike, careful on how you assess the landscape. "I'd pay 50 Euro to see that guy climb this mountain," I called out to Jamie at the half-way point. I changed it to 100 once we were at the top. 

4) He was impervious to puppy dog eyes. 

5) It's a rule of epically stupid proportions. Why is it permissible for me to enter one door 20 km away, but verboten for me to use the one that we were at? 




As a middle school teacher, I live in a world of stupid rules. I mean, my students need a passport (it's literally called a passport in their planner) to take a leak. They're not allowed to exit the lunch room for recess until there are 15 minutes left before the next bell. They're penalized for being seconds late to class after a three-minute allowance in between math and Social Studies. Yet I find this rule stupider. 

And if students blame me when I have to give a test- even though it's out of my control- then I get a turn and now I'm blaming this blameless guy. The mature part of me knows better. But 12-year olds can rub off when you're around them constantly.

Welcome to Croatia... well... Welcome-ish at least.

Jamie handled it like a champ:

Me: That's bullshit. 

Jamie: No big deal.

Me: Now we had to climb a mountain we didn't expect.

Jamie: But look at the view. 

Me: Zagreb is so much further away. 

Jamie: But we're gonna set a record for distance pedaled in a day. 

And we could've. We were pumped full of energy... but the idea of showing up at 2 AM in a major city with no place to stay (latest check-in where we had booked was 11 PM) took the wind out of our sails. 

He's much friendlier than he looks.
He just hates posing for photos.

6) The friendliest cat in the world crossed the border back and forth (from me to Jamie) while I pleaded for entry. Never once did the border patrol guy ask for its pawsport (get it? Hahaha! Ha! he. ugh.). 

To be fair, he offered me water. He scrawled directions to the proper crossing on my notepad. He shook my hand. His facial expression conveyed sympathy. There is not a single thing within this guy's power that he could've done to ease the situation.

But I still don't like him.

Americans can cross here.

He kindly explained his rationale with a soft spoken tone: "I went to your country once, and I had to wait in a different line too."

Yeah. At the friggin' airport. Where it makes sense

After crossing at the "proper" border (where the agent asked me my destination and I said "Croatia" and he just stared at me) we were deflated, and finding a place to camp nearby posed another problem. According to Google: No camping until Zagreb, and no hotels until Zagreb. We considered stealth camping, but Google makes it sound like that's a crime punishable by death.

After my execution, my tombstone
will read "He tried to sneak
a sleep in the woods"

We found a place to sleep for the night, though: a hotel that closed for the Assumption of Mary holiday. 

It's been three hours since I've typed the last sentence... be prepared for typos. An impromptu party just happened. 

The "closed" hotel opened for us. We're the only guests. And it was cause for celebration. Jamie stuck around for a bit, but the real party started after he went to sleep. 

I innocently offered to buy a drink for the local couple who were taking advantage of the closed holiday... as a result, I was plied with beer. I couldn't keep up. 

Charades abound. No English whatsoever. And probably the most the most fun I've had with a group of people on this trip to date (not counting Berlin). 

I still don't know how we wound up here... the climb to the hotel itself is absurd. 

No language needed to have a good time

But this experience saved the day. 

With the exception of European hospitality from friends, it's the most welcoming place I've stayed over here.

And I just learned that there is always a reason to say Cheers! Prost! or Zivjeli! This happened again and again... until I had to call it quits. 

CHEERS FOR THE BEER,
CHRISTINE FERRO!

We went from being denied entrance at the border, to not being able to find basic accommodations for the night, to ending up at the most fantastic place a person could hope for... and the price can't be beat. 


And although I can't seem to shake the ticked-off-ness of being denied entrance to a country where I am allowed to be, I wouldn't have wound up at this place if it weren't for that debacle. 

So... Zivjeli! 

A new day awaits tomorrow. 

P.S.

I thought about the phrase on this shirt for a long time 

before determining that it makes zero sense.

Yet somehow, it still sums up the day.