A cool combo in Skopje

About five minutes after I got to my hotel last night, a call to prayer sounded. Cue the flashbacks to my time in Kuwait and the less-than-fond memories there (nothing to do with Islam, but the call to prayer takes me back instantly). But this time, it was different – probably because I could hear the thumping bass of what can only be described as classic Eurotrash music (also not meant to be derogatory). And I’m here for it (figuratively). I spent the evening walking around the old bazaar, watching groups of guys in normal attire smoking shisha. Like Kuwait, but without the robes. But then there were also groups of girls walking around in jeans and the ubiquitous crop-tops. “Belly-free” as they say in German. Definitely not like in Kuwait. I kept trying to figure out how to describe the culture, like middle eastern meets European, but that didn’t really fit, and then I figured I’d be doing a disservice to the culture by ascribing its elements to others anyway. A bit like when I used to be called “Toby’s brother”, haha. Annoying to not warrant a stand-alone identity. Anyway, the culture is this crazy mix of old and new, traditional and modern, multiple religions and secularism. It’s dope. And it’s been such a long time since I’ve experienced a non-Western culture, I’m really enjoying it.

Data-driven nightmare

So back to biking. The bike set-up went fine, and after a little walk this morning, I rolled out.

It was basically uphill straight outta the blocks, and a pretty nice climb at that. Back roads leading away from the highway and over the mountains, rather than between them (yes, it was a conscious choice to go over!).

(Passed Gluvowood on the way up)

I had been worried about dogs, strays or guard, and it wasn’t unfounded. There were a lot of dogs roaming about, mostly without collars. Thankfully though, they were either completely uninterested in me, or more afraid of me than I of them. Fingers crossed it stays that way!

After descending to border control and pedaling my way through customs, much to the amusement of the many drivers alongside me, I started to roll across the Kosovo plains. I could see hear thunder and see the rain clouds moving in, so I took shelter under the canopy of a gas station. The attendant tried chatting with me, then stopped a friend who was getting gas, then stopped another who could speak a bit of English. We had a hilariously broken conversation, but they were super friendly, and it definitely made for good vibes after the rain had passed and I started to ride again.

And here’s where the psychological torture started. My power numbers just didn’t correspond to my heart rate. It was impossible to do my normal power, and what should have been easy wattage had my heart pounding in my chest. So rather than fully focusing on the surroundings, I was stuck in my head wondering if I had lost half of my fitness in the last week. Not ideal. Had I not spent 30 minutes chatting with the boys, my mood would have soured quite quickly. Which is obviously dumb, but hey, it is what it is.

The last 50km were sadly not spectacular, and at one point in time, I was on straight road for 20km through what felt like the worst of rural America. The road was peppered with mini strip-malls, industrial shops, and a restaurant here and there, but generally nothing with a soul and nothing that would encourage people to congregate and spend time.

Closer to Pristina, I got back onto the back roads, and it turned nicer again.

I was pretty toast, so was thankful when the ride ended. Had a walk around, saw some funky architecture, ate a massive dinner, and will now call it quits. Tomorrow will probably be a tough day in the saddle.