Skopje, Macedonia, Yugoslavia 4 July, 1977. Mile 11,652 of trip / 0 miles biked today

The train was supposed to reach Thesalonika at 4:50 Monday morning, which would give us an hour to get tickets and book the bikes on to Skopje, but it was late and we had a bit of a hassle getting the bikes booked. Venita had enough drachma to buy the tickets and I was able to change a $5 bill to pay for the bikes. One man handling the bikes asked for 70 drachma (about $2) but we didn't give it to him since we didn't have it and he didn't insist. We had to wait 2 1/2 hours for the next train. I got 1 1/2 kilos of fruit for breakfast on our last 22 drachs. We reached Skopje at noon, but there is a two hour time zone change - the sun now comes up at 4:00 AM and it is no longer light until 9:00 PM. I'll miss that. The bikes were being unloaded when we got off. I tried to claim them but had to go back in the warehouse and talk with the man there. Surprisingly, this language (I'm not sure whether it's Serbo-Croatian or Macedonian) is so similar to Russian that I can understand and speak a bit of it. Anyway, after a long discussion in bastardized Slavic, I accepted that we would have to come back at 6:00 the next morning. We had to wait until the bank reopened at 3:00 until we could change some money and get something to eat. We lugged our unwieldy bags to the youth hostel (quite expensive at $3.00), showered, and went to bed early.

Skopje, Macedonia, Yugoslavia 5 July, 1977. Mile 11,655 / 3 today

Being still on Greek time, I was up at 5:30 this morning and we went to the RR station to claim the bikes. Things were going full swing this early in the morning and we got some pears in the market. We weren't able to get the bikes. I was ready to steal them, but the warehouse people took us to an English speaking lady in the bank who explained that we would have to come back at 9:00 when customs opened up. We had breakfast and came back at 9:00 but were then told that the bikes had been taken to the customs warehouse in the suburbs. We took a bus out there, and when we finally located it, they told us that we had to go back to the train station to get the other copy of the lading bill. We took the bus back, waited around the office at the train station until they finally located the form, and bussed back to the warehouse. The man who had finally helped us here spoke a little English and told us that the man who was supposed to handle this had gone home at 1:00 (it was now 1:15). He took us to another man who said to come back tomorrow at 8:00, but I poured out our troubles in French and he said that we could have the director take care of it when he came out of conference. We waited around and I commiserated in German with some Yugoslav fellow-sufferers. The forms were finally filled out and we got the bikes before the place closed at 3:00, but had to pay $4, which is the first time we have had to pay any duty on the bikes, but at this point I was too worn out to argue. I washed off the glue they had splashed over the saddle to attach some number and did a hard sprint to work off my frustrations. I checked my travel information on Yugoslavia and it specifically says that a bicycle can be imported duty-free.

This isn't a bad country if you can avoid the bureaucracy. Our entry on the train was amazingly easy - not even an embarkation card to fill out, no currency declaration, and not even a glance at our luggage. Unlike Russia, there are a few advertising posters, a few girly magazines, no propaganda slogans on the buildings, and quite a few small shops seem to be privately owned. There are also a lot more private cars than in Russia. People are friendly and more likely to say hello or talk a bit than in Greece.

Pristina, Kosovo, Yugoslavia 6 July, 1977. Mile 11,713 / 58 today

This was a mediocre day. We had a headwind, moderately heavy traffic, and a slight upgrade. In the afternoon it got cloudy and cool and we sat out a light rain in a restaurant. The land was varied today - first brown hills with green bushes and an occasional factory or quarry, then a narrow forested valley which open out into a wide valley planted in wheat, corn, sunflowers and other crops. In the morning we met a Dutch cyclist headed for India and after lunch met two Yugoslavs cycling from Zagreb to Athens, using Czech 10-speeds. In Pristina we were directed to an inexpensive hotel but were not allowed to stay there; only the first-class hotel is permissible. We were told of a place out of town for camping that the local people use and went there. We were careful to stay well hidden since unofficial camping is illegal, but slept well. My pump was stolen in Pristina while I was buying bread. It doesn't fit any of the local bikes, so buying a new one may be difficult.

Pec, Kosovo, Yugoslavia 7 July, 1977. Mile 11,770 / 57 today

We had a choice of two routes - this one, or a more northerly one through Kosovaka - and chose this one since there is a youth hostel in Pec. Cycling was better today - sunny farmland, no wind, light traffic, basically level terrain, but Pec is surrounded by mountains on three sides. Yesterday and today we encountered children asking for cigarettes, something that I had thought that we had left behind in Asia. I was mildly surprised to meet people who have worked in Switzerland and Australia and noticed that there are a few beggars here. Communism is supposed to provide full employment and welfare. In Pec, nobody knew the street that the hostel was on. we were shown an inexpensive pension, but it was "no foreigners". We were directed to the campground where we could sleep out without privacy [not carrying a tent at this time] for 83 dinars (18 dinars = $1), but the hostel was next door and charges 30 each. We are thinking that we may cut our stay in Yugoslavia short after we reach Dubrovnik. This country is not as clean as Greece. There are a lot of two-horse carts on the roads, often loaded with hay. We have seen groups of peasants harvesting crops, though combines are also used. The language here seems to be different than in Skopje; Cyrillic is no longer used. One man in Pec offered to let us stay in his home, but he had had too much to drink.

Ivangrad, Montenegro, Yugoslavia 8 July, 1977. Mile 11,819 / 49 today

The road to Rozaje was longer and steeper than I had expected. It was a hard climb and took all morning. Five km from the top, a truck driver whose truck had broken down gave us a beer, which was a welcome refreshment. Rozaje is a peasant town. "Native costume" is more common here than in any country since Afghanistan. Women wear baggy pants that look like a long dress. Some men wear a white domed felt hat and I've seen some fezzes, which were not seen in Turkey because Ataturk abolished them. I bough cherries in the Rozaje market. Fruits and vegetables are brought to market by horses and donkeys that graze along the riverbank next to the market. One can also buy shoes, scythe blades, wooden rakes, and butter churns. It looked like it might rain in the afternoon, but didn't. We are sleeping out in the campground next to the hotel.