sono giorni senza bici, quelli che si passano con gli amici, e la figlia degli amici e gli amici degli amici. dovevano essere quattro a novi sad e una scappata a belgrado, invece un cambio di programma improvviso, di ones that make you make things more interesting but that you can not rejoice, because they are caused by bad news. but first things first: Novi Sad is a beautiful city, with a small center (two way) nice, too full of coffee which is only possible go drink coffee with milk or beer, but you can not eat. prime time to make ends talk to Serbs returning from Italy, Prendes around the languages \u200b\u200band do rounds of beer and cevapi. sociable, the Serbs. Who says we 'take a beer "the offers to all. Unfortunately I understand or I am being told too late, and too visitor and lose the opportunity. but the company is nice. The same scene is repeated in Belgrade, a local fantastico pieno di elegante paccottiglia, di quella che i romeni portano a vendere sulle statali del veneto con i pullman, ma alcune cose sono pregevoli, e loro nemmeno lo sanno. vecchi dagherrotipi, macchine per scrivere antiche, vecchie insegne di stazioni. un pavimento fatto di travi senza impiantito. questo è il wonder bar di belgrado, quello che non troverete su nessuna guida.
a belgrado ci arrivo in bus, perché la notizia della morte del collega di ashen ci prende impreparati, perché fa troppo caldo per fare cento chilometri di spietata campagna piattissima e deserta. nessuno si stupisce che io porti la bicicletta sul bus. paga come un normale bagaglio, 50 centesimi.
il giorno dopo mi affido a naden (il nome è di fantasia, non I managed to learn it), I scarrozza for the ups and downs of old Belgrade, for the new cycle of Belgrade, Zemun on the hill where you can see the whole city. rite chat with the bartender between loving Italian who arrived by bicycle, and again for ciganlia ada, the lake made from a branch of the Sava, with filtered water, beaches, bars and bike path, finishing at lunch in a restaurant River. a memorable day.
then I take the bike. or at least I try, I start early Temento the heat, coming in a hurry to Obrenovac pulled by a man who does not realize that I'm behind and goes to thirty per hour, when it stops to turn back was amazed to see that c ' I was that I was behind with the bags and everything. Obrenovac to do a little break and run away, absently. too casually, only ten kilometers after I realize that I am not seeing signs with the number of my state, the first country to try the name on the paper and chill me: I am completely off track, and the shortest way is to return to Obrenovac. At that point I threw out twenty kilometers an hour, it's almost noon and I am still missing 120 km, and there are the usual 36 degrees fixed: I decide to return to Belgrade, I buy a bus ticket to Sarajevo, I start at ten evening and night journey. I am waiting approached by a Norwegian teenager, probably attracted a mature man with a beer belly and a beard ... but never mind.
border Bosnia with the policewoman is nervous, perhaps because at night time, perhaps because it must be for trade. first mishandles a English girl who had switched places and was not with the friend who had his passport, then he takes my passport and says something very worrying, judging by the tone. I know that not having stayed at the hotel I should go to the police to report my movements, I also know that I did because it would be a mess for danilo, I surprised the face of the tourist with a clear conscience and does not understand, the girl mumbles something and walks away. unfortunately I do not see anything, but the crack of dawn I show a spectacular landscape, which has sinned too sleepy to enjoy it. return, maybe in the car.
Sarajevo is a city of contradictions: women veiled their faces with makeup that walking with friends in hot pants and vest. churches built next to mosques. muezzin and rock concerts on the streets, banks and modern buildings next to the ruins partially destroyed by the war. The guide says that there are almost no more roses, in Sarajevo, but in twenty-minute walk, I see dozens of them. are the marks left on the streets of mortar shrapnel during the siege of 1992-1995
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