For most, especially in the United States, the Balkans is a region of Europe glazed over in the public consciousness. Known for internal conflicts and the bickering states of Yugoslavia before its dissolution in 1992, it spans a huge area from the Austrian border down to Greece. Inside those borders is one of the most culturally diverse areas of Europe. The 3,000 kilometers spanning Croatia, Serbia, Montenegro, Albania, North Macedonia, Kosovo, and Bosnia and Herzegovina encompass a huge range of distinct lands, peoples, and politics unlike anywhere else in the world.
One doesn’t travel to the Balkans for decadent cuisine or fancy living; rather to see a culture and people that, through hardship and internecine conflict, are finally seeing hope, growth, and maybe, a lasting peace.
While abroad, it’s important (and I encourage travelers to try) to form relationships with everyone you meet. This became even more evident while in the Balkans: the knowledge and experiences one gains from engaging strangers, even those who barely share a language, can be profound.
My journey began in Zagreb, Croatia, arriving in the new airport built specifically to welcome tourism to the capital city. Zagreb is a city that distinctly illustrates western influences on the Balkans. Its architecture and streets reminded me of other European cities like Paris and Vienna, though less overwhelming in scale.
Photo by Chad Lemke
It’s a city that welcomes those who love to walk aimlessly, like myself. On the first day, I walked about 17 miles exploring and taking photos. Street photography was easy because, whether asphalt or cobblestone, the streets were constantly filled with people, while two huge cathedrals framed the skyline from atop the town, surrounded by shopping areas and even a few open markets.
After my soles had worn down enough, my father and I met the group that would be making the 3,000-kilometer trip with us: two guides, Axel and Franz, and a couple from Brazil. Axel may have been one of the most interesting people I met along the way. Born in East Germany and a veteran of the German armed forces, he has stories from everywhere and, from what I gathered, a thousand more that I didn’t get to hear. Our other guide, Franz, was an Austrian forester who collected Ducati motorcycles; quite the balancing act to equally love nature and machine in such a way.
The Brazilian couple was Carlos, a physician, and his wife, Suely, an extremely warm and friendly woman who snapped photos every step of the way.
Finally, we were introduced to the motorcycles we’d be riding on the trip. For me, a Triumph Tiger 900 Rally Pro, white with large saddlebags for all the gear. I miss it dearly now that I’m no longer riding it. The next morning, we set off to Bosnia and Herzegovina.
The change is drastic upon crossing the southern border of Croatia. Bosnia and Herzegovina is a bit more isolated from the European Union compared to Croatia. Medieval castles dot the landscape, alongside scars from the wars of decades past. Small, collapsed, single-man bunkers line many of the roads and border crossings, the concrete still marred by errant bullets.
Photo by Chad Lemke
Using its own currency, the Mark, rather than the Euro, and much less eager to join the European Union, Bosnia and Herzegovina is a headstrong nation that values independence. Sarajevo, the capital city, is the clearest example of the state’s impactful history. Sarajevo suffered a siege for 1,425 days just 30 years ago. And it was the tinder box that saw the death of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and the resulting spark that raged into the fires of World War I.
Farther south along the Balkans, a transition from Christianity to Islam developed over the years, pinning Sarajevo in the middle. A combination of churches and mosques sing throughout the city. Five times a day, the minarets of the mosques call out for prayer while the church bells ring with regularity in the background.
Photo by Chad Lemke
The countryside of Montenegro is among the most gorgeous places I’ve ever been. River valleys split high cliffs, and narrow, darting roads follow stomach-churning falls. In the mountains, dry high plains stretch out between the peaks. Sheep gather beneath isolated trees, and scattered rural homes are the only perceptible signs of humanity. For motorcyclists, it’s heaven; roads smoothly carving through the mountains the entire way. Unfortunately, we didn’t stay long, blazing through the country at high speeds and leaning around breathtaking corners.
Something that illustrated how out of place I was in the Balkans was that I’m vegetarian. I’m not super picky about it but I generally try to avoid meat. There, it became something of a struggle. Most places might have one dish that doesn’t include meat, and it was almost always cheese pizza. When I couldn’t even find that, I stuck to shopska salad: a cucumber, tomato, and feta cheese combination served in nearly every corner of the region. I’m pretty sure I ate it almost every meal for the two weeks. Though I didn’t much mind…it’s a tasty salad.
While at a petting zoo/restaurant in rural Kosovo, we ran into–or rather passed by–hundreds of Albanian kids. During our day in Kosovo, the children were enamored by the bike Carlos was riding, a BMW R1250GS. They also seemed to mistake him for a popular soccer star. Many of the children had genuinely amazing English skills and were able to speak with us much more easily than those who hadn’t grown up with access to American television. The language divide between generations is often evident: a young worldly generation contrasted against a older rural one, that due to regional conflicts, didn’t have the stability to attend school and as such, weren’t afforded the same educational opportunities.
Photo by Chad Lemke
At some point in Serbia, we made a quick stop to wait for a member of the group who’d taken a wrong turn. Outside a stretch of run-down building stoops sat a few older men, none of whom spoke a word of English. After lining up the bikes, we sat down at a table outdoors. One man brought out a huge pot of soup and set it on a fire next to us and laid out tableware. He spoke absolutely no English nor would he accept any payment. I was a bit shocked but nonetheless grateful; all he saw were some foreigners in need of a little generosity. Within our limited ability to communicate, he brought out bread, water, and hot pork fat soup. A culture of welcoming strangers and providing for them is something you don’t often see in the United States.
Unfortunately, we had to stick to the schedule and move on before he was able to bring more. Nevertheless, the memory of this man’s hospitality stuck with me all the way home. He may not have spoken our language, but he was certainly able to communicate kindness. It was a small gesture, but it has inspired me to give what I can to strangers, especially soup.
The border crossings are some of the more delicate positions to navigate in the Balkans. Restless guards with full authority over your movements aren’t the type to tolerate disorganized foreigners. At one of these border crossings into Kosovo, I had, unfortunately, left a small necklace purchased in Sarajevo in plain sight in my bag. It’s not against the law to bring personal items through but the guards may consider them undeclared goods. As Axel told us, it’s best to stash anything shiny in a pair of dirty socks. It took a couple of Edelweiss (the motorcycle tour company) t-shirts and some smooth talking from Axel for them to waive us through. Had he not greased the wheel, we would have been directed to the next border crossing 200 kilometers away, or worse, had items confiscated with no recourse.
Most people in our vast world share much more in common than you might expect. So talk to the beggars, the shopkeepers, even the scraggliest mustached man next to you on the bench, princes and paupers alike. The cultural barriers don’t matter; we’re all on the same planet sharing the same struggles. Please, next time you’re traveling where you feel uncomfortable, talk to the stranger. They might just give you comfort or wisdom, or some nugget of their experience to guide you along the way. Or, at least some soup.
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This article originally appeared in the October 2022 issue of Omaha Magazine. To receive the magazine, click here to subscribe.
