Danube and Decebalus

Yes, what can I say, today I crossed another border😀, this time to Serbia. But let's start from the beginning.

Started this morning. At first, a nice winding mountain road, the curves became less and eventually disappeared. I looked for an alternative route.

It looked promising and was also 20 km shorter to my destination. So, I turned on the right indicator and took the alternative route.

At first, it was a nice little road, well-maintained. But just like many times before, the road became narrower, the asphalt became poorer, and then it was gone. The road turned into a dirt track, luckily it was dry. Deep, no, very deep ruts, with only a narrow drivable middle lane. Even that disappeared into very deep dried up holes from time to time. In the meantime, the familiar game started again, where did the track go now? Tire tracks were barely visible in the moderately tall grass. But I made it through. Just like how the road turned into a track, it slowly turned back to a road. I continued on narrow roads through dense forests towards the next main road. And then I reached the 57. The road that runs along the Danube on the Romanian side to the Iron Gate.

It was a beautiful winding road, but the abundance of trucks and tourists annoyed me. At every viewpoint, and there were very many, they would slow down to walking speed, take photos, and then continue at 45 km/h.

After 35 km, I eventually gave up and turned back. The only Danube crossing and border crossing for miles was those 35 km behind me. It was also a dam and hydroelectric power plant.

The border crossing was as effortless as always, it seemed like the border guards had pity on a sweaty motorcyclist. The clearance went very quickly, and cutting in line was as easy as always. After all, there were no Germans in the queue 😅.

Then came the Serbian side of the Danube. A well-maintained road, almost no traffic, and only 1-2 towns. But plenty of parking lots, some even with seating and sun protection.

In the next bigger town, I had booked a room in a guesthouse. After a long search, I finally found it. It was a call-in guesthouse in a rented house. That means you call the landlord, they come, handle the paperwork, and then disappear. Since no one answered the phone and there was no secure parking for the motorcycle, I canceled and moved to a guesthouse just across the street, where the motorcycle is also safe. I will spend tomorrow here as well, it's not until Monday that I continue. A day off from riding will be good, I think.

During a walk afterward, I met a motorcyclist from Norway. She was also looking for accommodation. I suggested my guesthouse to her, but unfortunately, all rooms were booked. However, the host gave her the address of a hotel not far away. We briefly exchanged our contact information and met up for a beer later. It was a very enjoyable evening with an invitation to visit Norway.

We will see.