Marcus L Endicott

Original Map Circa 1990 Beograd to Sofija

Friday, June 1, 1990

I spent most of the morning making telephone calls. I drove over to the Arthritis Foundation to get Erik to check out my equipment during his lunch break. Later, I took Grandma to her skin doctor. I had a farewell dinner with my brother, Hamlin, his girlfriend, Michelle, and her roommate, Margie.

Saturday, June 2, 1990

I checked and packed my gear. As per Stephen's, my outfitter, suggestion, I packed my bicycle in a box from Amtrak. I had lunch with Grandma at the Piccadilli cafeteria. I went to Radio Shack and Ace Hardware, before leaving.

Decatur Taxicab was an hour late, but just charged $10. Luckily, the Crescent was late. Atlanta was muggy. I was nervous until I got on the train. I sat next to a nice painter from New York.

Sunday, June 3, 1990

I slept okay on the train. I had breakfast in the dinning car, for $3.50, with a black kid and his Grandma. She said he had "been shocked," which I took to mean traumatized, and wouldn't converse.

I arrived in New York city at Penn station nervous; but, they said I could leave my gear in storage there for two days free. I called Bellowing Bear; he said "no problem," and came to get me. I had a pizza, for $3, while waiting. I paid a Red Cap porter $2 to help me with my gear.

We went to Bear's trashed, cramped pad in Corona, Simon and Garfunkel turf. After meeting his roommate Marty, Bear and I went to eat Chinese. He ate half my food, and talked constantly. He took me by the Lemon Ice King; and, we checked out the boccie ball players in the park. We bought beer, walked back to his place, and talked until late. I passed out; and, he went to work, driving a limo.

Monday, June 4, 1990

I was awake when Bear came in from work. He changed back into his colorful clothes; and, we went to breakfast at a Puerto Rican cafe near the 108th Street subway station. Afterwards, I went into the city for the day.

I visited the Complete Traveler bookstore, and met the nice woman working there. I went to Barnes and Noble, and then to the French and Spanish Bookstore. I bought Romanian, Hungarian, and Serbo- Croatian dictionaries, for $57 (ouch!), which I charged on my American Express card. (I never did use these dictionaries.)

I went to Servas headquarters on John street. I had no problem joining for the first time. I paid $60, $45 annual membership fee and $15 for host lists. I used the first of my traveler's checks, and was out in fifteen minutes. I found out that there were about 2000 US Servas travelers in 1989.

I went to the Yugoslav consulate for a free visa. I bought lunch at a deli nearby, and had a nice picnic of salad and juice. I thought how lucky I was to have a bench at lunch time in a city of millions. I made some photocopies, and searched for a black wool sweater. I finally found a good one at EMS. It was not black and only 85% wool, but was on sale for $19.95.

I went back to Corona. Bear took me to JFK during rush hour. I paid a porter $2, and a handler $1. The security check was slack; they didn't bat an eye at my computer. Everyone on the plane was visibly nervous before the flight. I drank a beer.

Tuesday, June 5, 1990

I had breakfast, and watched the great flight simulation! The plane landed in Zagreb in the rain. We landed in Belgrade an hour late. My duffel bag arrived with the combination lock removed. I had no problems at customs.

Both the tourist office and the exchange office refused to give me taxi information. An aggressive taxi tout ripped me off for 500 new dinar, nearly all of the $50 he watched me exchange, for a ride from the airport to the youth hostel. The youth hostel, "Mladost," cost 133 dinar per night.

I roomed with two Hong Kong social work graduates. Later, I met a fellow there from Kenya, who had paid $100 for a taxi to and from the airport. He had been refused boarding; because, he had no visa for Canada, even though as Commonwealth citizen he didn't need one.

I went for a walk, and got a pizza for dinner, which cost 45 dinar. Back at the hostel, I met Carlos and Sandra from Brazil, and drove with them into the city for a beer in the tourist part.

Wednesday, June 6, 1990

I ate the free breakfast at the youth hostel, with two young Germans from Bremen. They asked me how folks in the States felt about re-unification. Afterwards, I went to a nearby bank to exchange $40. THIS IS NOT A CHEAP COUNTRY! I found a shop with a padlock and plug, for my AC adapter. The first sign I saw of the mystery land ahead was ketchup in a "New Squeezable Bottle" marked "Produce of Bulgaria."

I assembled and adjusted my bicycle. The rear tire was still flat. I drank a liter of apple juice for lunch, and read some. I read with interest in David Stanley's new book, EASTERN EUROPE ON A SHOESTRING (published by Lonely Planet), that "In spring and early summer a landward breeze called the maestral keeps the temperature down along the coast. Winter winds include the bura from the north and siroka from the south." In Marcia Lowe's Worldwatch Paper 90, THE BICYCLE: VEHICLE FOR A SMALL PLANET, I read that "The Lithuanian city of Siavliai launched the Soviet's first comprehensive cycling program in 1979. A new bike path system and extensive parking facilities have helped raise bicycle use in the city. In small Hungarian cities, roughly half of all journeys to work are by bike."

In the evening, I took a long walk. I ate an expensive meal in a restaurant. I tried to find envelopes in a stationary store; but, the "redneck" Serbian woman didn't want to be bothered. Carlos traded me a bike lock for my duffel bag.

Thursday, June 7, 1990

I rode my bicycle to the bank, and exchanged two $50 traveler's checks. Then I went to the barber I had seen the previous day. He charged me 35 dinar, about $3, to clip my beard off to my satisfaction. I rode into the city, found the central tourist office at Terazije, and walked my bike down the Kneza Mihaila pedestrian mall to the Kalemegdan park.

I had a good lunch of Serbian salad and bread, for about $2, at the Questionmark cafe, recommended by Lonely Planet. I visited the office of the Yugoslav Cycling Federation. I got some advice about the best way to go, but didn't understand all of it, and couldn't follow it up without difficulty.

I found the Student Culture Center, but was early for the Green Party meeting. I went across town to find Kosutnjak camping, and got hot, humid, and lost; but, I eventually found it. It was a bit shabby, but located in a beautiful wooded park. I got back to the Culture Center a little late; but, no one had shown up yet. I met Nina, who works as the Center's conference coordinator. I then had a long interview with Zivko C., which Nina graciously translated. I also met their long-haired "leader" the journalist Dragon J., and others. They invited me to dinner and an evening of partying on the town.

I rode back to the hostel on empty sidewalks. When I arrived, past midnight, there was a terrible scene. The desk clerk and his cronies would not allow my bicycle back in the luggage room, where it had been stored for the last two days. They insisted that I lock it out on the street. I refused and demanded they call the police. When the police came, they said I would be arrested if I didn't follow the instructions of the hostel staff. I went to bed massively wired.

Friday, June 8, 1990

I had breakfast with two Swedes and five Portuguese, before checking out of the hostel. I packed up my bike, and rode to Kosutnjak campground.

At Kosutnjak, I was told by the manager that there was no security, because of too many refugees from the south. I went to the nearby hotel Trim, also recommended by Lonely Planet. At the Trim, they wanted the equivalent of $26 for a room. Then I rode to the train station to get some information from the tourist office. On the way, I stopped by the Topciderska church to rest in the shade. I could tell just by the amount of trash on the ground, that McDonalds was even more popular here in Belgrade than in Budapest last year.

The tourist office told me how to get to the "National" campground, which was out on the highway, past the student city. I crossed the river and got lost. Finally, I found it, a Yugoslav version of KOA. There was no breakfast, no soap, no towel; it cost the same as the youth hostel... and the same as KOA too!

I showered, went into the city by bus, and called "Vule." I went to a dinner party at his apartment. I had a delightful evening as a "chess prisoner." It was well into the morning when he drove me back to the campground.

Saturday, June 9, 1990

I slept until noon, then bicycled to the student city to phone Dimitrije. Luckily, he was in and said to come on over.

We met at the end of Kneza Mihaila, in front of the library. He showed me around the Serbian Cultural Center, and described the concept of his department, the Center for Socio-ecological Research. I felt that Serbs were a tribe on the edge of civilization, between East and West. Perhaps the 520 active Byzantine monasteries in Serbia showed this occidental and oriental influence best. The "kosava" is a north wind, mostly in winter; there is also a south wind, which is psychological.

Dimitrije pointed out how communism was really industrial feudalism. I wondered what connection there was with national socialism, if any. He also said that the whole earth was a middle class symbol.

Afterwards, I went food shopping, and bought organic honey, bread, hazelnut butter, instant vegetable soup, and juice. I returned to camp by bus, ate dinner, listened to my radio, and read: FROM BELOW: INDEPENDENT PEACE AND ENVIRONMENTAL MOVEMENTS IN EASTERN EUROPE & THE USSR (A Helsinki Watch Report, October 1987).

On page 179, I read that "Since Tito broke with Stalin and was expelled from the Cominform in 1948, Yugoslavia has represented the hope of a more humane and democratic path to communism for many in the West." It also mentioned "MLADOST, the bi-monthly organ of the Federation of Socialist Youth of Yugoslavia," and that "gerontocracy is a well-known state of affairs in all socialist countries."

Sunday, June 10, 1990

I woke up late in the morning with a sore throat, after fitful sleep. I breakfasted on my groceries. I took my computer to the Socio-ecological Center. The solar panels worked fine; though, I used AC later on. I met Dimitrije's young female cousin, who had been an exchange student in Denver. She had just returned from traveling in Mongolia and China. Dimitrije took me to dinner at the Questionmark cafe. I had "shopska" salad. We went by his apartment, to check out his library. Then we met his date, a psychological assistant, for drinks. After an evening of discussing "cosmic" versus social determinism, I returned to camp late by bus. I listened about the election problems in Bulgaria on my radio. It was a dark and stormy night in the Balkans.

Monday, June 11, 1990

I woke up at dawn, and fell back asleep until mid-morning. I took a bus into town, and went to the Socio-ecological Center to setup for the demonstration of EcoNet. I used the solar panels and the AC adapter. I met a number of the people who came to watch. I made contact with SprintNet by direct dial to the States, on the second try, using the acoustic coupler. Direct dialing from Belgrade, Yugoslavia, was accomplished with the code 991. The call cost about 33.80 dinar a minute, and the center paid for it.

Afterwards, I went to get propane cartridges for my stove, which were made in Brazil and cost less than $2 each. I also bought some juice, and returned to the Center to write until dinner. I sorted my telecommunication accessories, and trashed some minor spares. The line tester worked fine!

Dimitrije and I had an excellent fish dinner, with a woman bicyclist we met along the way, Rebecca from England. She had just come from Bulgaria, by train, and was quite freaked-out about it. She had spent five days there, bicycling from Greece, and was attacked by two men on the second day! She tried to make the Yugoslav border, but decided the traffic was too heavy. I felt bad that Dimitrije paid for me for the second night, and for Rebecca who I invited.

Dimitrije and I walked the Kneza Mihaila afterwards. We saw a tripper there on the mall, but he took no interest in my Rainbow flyer. I went back to camp by bus, and listened to the BBC in the rain.

>Topic 20 Eco Center Yugoslavia, Belgrade
>mendicott reg.eeurope 5:02 am Jun 11, 1990
>
>We are online from the Center for Socio-Eco Research &
>Documentation, a department of the Serbian Center for Studies in
>Cultural Development, i Belgrade, Yugoslavia.
>
>We are temporarily using a Toshiba 1000SE, powered by two Solarex
>MSX-10L solar panels, and a Worldport 2496 with acoustic coupler.
>
>Center for Socio-Eco Research & Documentation
>Center for Studies in Cultural Development
>(Zavod Za Proucavanje Kulturnog Razvitka
>Centar Za Socioekoloska Istrazivanja I Dokumentaciju)
>Rige od Fere 4
>11000 Belgrade
>tel: 683-081
>[assistants to the center:
>Dimitrije Vujadinovic, economist
>Aco Divac, sociologist
>Ratko Drndarevic, political scientist
>Maja Korac, sociologist
>Snjezana Milivojevic, M.A. in political sciences
>Darko Nadic, political scientist
>Vukasin Pavlovic, Ph.D. in political sciences
>Branimir Stojkovic, M.A. in sociology
>members to the council:
>Prof. Ratko Bozovic, Ph.D.
>Mila Korugic, Ph.D.
>Prof. Sergije Lukac, Ph.D.
>Prof. Iv Nedeljkovic, Ph.D.
>Radmila Trifunovic
>Punisa Pavlovic, Ph.D., UNESCO
>Nikola Pantic, Ph.D. Serbian Academy of Sciences]
>[Eco Directory]

Tuesday, June 12, 1990

I breakfasted on juice. I tried to pay for four nights at the campground, a total of 516 dinar, but found I had to exchange some more money. I went to the nearby hotel, where the clerk refused to exchange money for me without my passport. The campground clerk had told me that it was not necessary to have a passport. I finally was able to exchange two $50 traveler's checks, making a total of $250 cashed so far, including the $50 at Servas in New York.

I took a bus into town, and walked to the U.S. embassy. It appeared to be under renovation; although, it was difficult to tell whether or not this was construction or obstruction. Either way, security was high. There was a crowd outside, but I got bumped to the end of the inside line. I had to walk through a metal detector frame, and was subjected to both a handheld metal detector and a frisking pat search. Only then was I permitted to approach the bullet-proof glass window, where the geek bureaucrats laughed nervously and said that traffic was the only real problem bicycling from here to Sofia, but they wouldn't do it. I thought to myself "that's the difference between me and them." I left with no more useful information, than being told that the highway to Sofia was the main East-West route to and from Turkey for both cargo trucks and guest workers. At least, they were more realistic than the locals.

I ate meat for lunch. Everything seems to be sausages here. I also had some yogurt. I called Eva J. of the ecological movement, finally caught her in, and agreed to meet at 14:00. I went to the post office and bought stamps. I also bought postcards, which cost the same as they do at home! I went to the famous "Podlipom" restaurant, drank tea with lemon, and wrote postcards. Later, I met Eva, Bozidar P., and Dusan R., and others over drinks, and eventually dinner, of sausages and salad. I then went with them to a nearby youth culture center for a short board meeting, under the watchful eye of a portrait of Tito, who Dragon had called their one-eared Gaugin. I found that I had met one of them, an actor named Zelimir, before with the Green Party.

I took a bus back to camp, drank juice, wrote in my journal, and listened to the BBC. I was sick with a cold, and it was raining. The thought occurred to me, as I drifted off to sleep, "Dead heroes tell no tales."

Wednesday, June 13, 1990

I woke up, still sick, in terrible weather. Breakfast was peach juice and bread with organic honey. I biked into town and hung out at the park along the Sava river writing postcards in the blustery drizzle.

I found Eva's office... in one of the departments of the Socialist Party! I was about thirty minutes late. In contrast to our meeting the previous day, she was stiff and formal as she informed me that there would be no photographic session or phone call to America, as promised. I wrote a press release about Rainbow, Ecotopia, and my trip for the ecological movement's magazine, "Green Horizons." Eva told me that all parties were gathering to demand the communists resign. She suggested I check out the International Press Center for telex service. By the time I got there, things were cooking at the square near Terazije. A column of protesters was moving toward parliament. I decided the press center would be packed, and besides the security there was tight. I was feeling very sickly, with a nose cold and disappointment over the unsuccessful meeting with Eva. I circled the square and took some photos. Just like on CNN, tell-tale beeping of high quality cellular radios divulged the identities of the many secret police there. U.S. embassy personnel, with cameras, were also in evidence, wearing jackets emblazoned like a high school football team. I saw bureaucrats leaving the parliament building with computer terminals in the back seats of their Mercedes!

I rode back to camp, stopping by a store for juice, cheese, yogurt, and hard candy. When I got back, I ate, wrote in my diary, and rested. I heard on the BBC that the demonstration was the largest anti-communist manifestation in Yugoslavia to date.

Thursday, June 14, 1990

I woke up early, and had breakfast "in bed" of juice, bread, cheese, and yogurt. I packed up slowly, taking about 90 minutes, and checked out of the campground. An older German trailer tourist took a photo for me.

I cycled through town, back to the youth hostel on the other side, and on to the Avala hill monument park. The toilet there was locked. I found the road to Mladenovac good, except for some broken pavement along the edge, and well designed, with not too much up and down. Traffic was no worse than at home, except perhaps for the big busses that passed me at regular intervals. I seemed to have caused two near misses, by people starring out of cars at me. French drivers were the absolute worst, throughout my trip. I think my orange triangle and helmet help.

I dreaded starting out, in the overcast Balkan gloom; but, God gave me a glorious sunny day for cycling through the countryside. There was no real wilderness visible from this old highway; habitation was nearly constant the whole way.

I stopped by a travel agency in Mladenovac to ask about a tourist office. Instead, they turned out to have been a good bet, and gave me the scoop on hotels: "There is no room at the inn." They recommended Topola, which was a long, hard 85km ride from Belgrade.

On the way into town, I had, what turned out to be, the strangest experience of my trip, when I stopped to rest under a tree. A car pulled up beside me, and one of the three teenagers inside casually checked and cocked a well used chrome .45, making sure I could see! They then giggled and sped off. I passed them again, coming back the other way. It would literally have been child's play for them to rob or kill me. I wondered, "Such is life."

I got a decent hotel, for $15, at the foot of the Church of Saint George. After a long shower and big salad for dinner at the hotel restaurant, I went to look at the church, which must be one of the nearly forgotten wonders of the world. It cost me 20 dinar! It has been a museum since 1946, and the seven year renovation was almost complete. Outside, there was a colorful mosaic above the entrance depicting Saint George battling the dragon. Inside, it was one of the most grandiosely gaudy places I have ever seen, definitely too much. It was built between 1910-1930 by King Peter I, behind his summer residence, as a resting place for his "Kaeaotozctevic" dynasty. To get my money's worth, I also went to the art gallery and revolutionary museum, which were included. The art in the summer house gallery was terrible. The museum of the revolution, down the other side of the hill, contained mildly interesting, though indecipherable partisan material.

Back in my room, I listened to the BBC, wrote in my journal, and wrote postcards. I spent some time securing the porch door, by reversing the handle (see photo).

Friday, June 15, 1990

I reluctantly woke up early. I had a "complimentary" breakfast of a cheese omelet at the hotel restaurant. I took a long time to pack methodically. Check-out was pleasant, at 143 dinar, the equivalent of 20 DM. A crowd of kids and workers assembled to watch me pack up my bike. I gave them all EarthSeals, whole earth stickers.

I sailed down the hill, but discovered a snap-crackle-pop whenever I put weight on the pedals. This lasted all morning. I ran through all possible scenarios in my mind, and became convinced that it was a busted bearing. I was almost ready to through in the towel; but, by the afternoon the sound mysteriously disappeared. I stopped for lunch of tea and chocolate at Cerovac. The lads there convinced me to take the road along the river.

The town of Kragujevac sucked. The so-called youth hostel sucked. The people were assholes. I hope the communist bastards get the shock of their lives when reality hits! The road signs were totally ass-backwards; I wondered if this wasn't disinformation? I pushed on, up hill, to G. Sabanta, through beautiful countryside just minutes from the hellish city.

It started pouring rain, but stopped before sunset. I set my tent up in a good place in the woods. The cold and rainy woods become quite tolerable with my polypropylene skin, inside my nylon tent, on top of my foam mattress. I thought, "Eco warrior indeed?" Sure, I'm not using gasoline. Sure, I get my electricity from the sun. But, I may have given myself a hernia! I slept well, though a little hungry and thirsty, but had enough. I listened to the BBC, and wrote in my journal. I now know how Englishmen keep their sanity under extreme adversity, with a plethora of inane rituals. I fell asleep paranoid.

Saturday, June 16, 1990

I woke up early after a pleasant, if damp sleep. I took a long time to pack up. I sailed down hill for many klicks, before stopping at a small shop for juice and biscuits. The people there were pleasant and interested. A young girl asked about me in English.

I came to a highway at Svetozarevo. There were nice bike paths with many bikes; as it was flat along the river. I found the road to Varvarin. It was a lovely ride. I stopped for lunch of juice and chocolate. Down the road, I met Victor. He was a nice fellow, about my age, on a bike. He spoke German about as well as I do, but with a distinct Austrian accent. He gave me long and good advice about the roads. He insisted that wherever the Autoput was, there was an access road somewhere beside it. We had a nice chat. He told me about his friends, and introduced me to his mother.

I pushed on toward Pojate, until I came to a stop at an unmarked "T" in the road at Cicevac. Then, up came a fellow and introduced himself, insisting in French that I come have a drink with him and his friends across the street at the chic little Cafe Tumas. So I did, and got a free coke. Two beautiful gypsy women trailing two kids came in and schmoozed a while. I was in love. One pulled out cards and a needle for fortune telling. I wanted to take a photo, but my new friend indicated that they wouldn't like it. After he suggested I buy a round of drinks (they appeared to be drinking whiskey), which is not the custom here, I declined, excused myself, and went on my way.

I went three klicks to the Motel Rubin on the Autoput. There was camping around the side. It was a total disaster, everything was shot. There was shit and toilet paper everywhere. I found a good place in the center of the field. I relaxed, and had a good dinner at the truck stop restaurant. I had two "shopska" salads, which are Serbian salads plus cheese, and two plates of french fries, while watching Brazil beat Costa Rica in World Cup soccer on television with everyone else. Afterwards, I chatted with two young British car travelers coming from Bulgaria about conditions there. I listened to the BBC, and wrote in my journal.

Sunday, June 17, 1990 ** Father's Day **

I woke up early, and breakfasted on juice and a "Source of Life" vitamin. I shit in the "woods", using my little plastic spade for the second time to dig a responsible "cat hole." I checked-out of the atrocious Motel Rubin campground, where nothing worked, especially the employees. I was pleasantly surprised to pay only one dollar, instead of ten; but, I hit the road, before they could change their mind.

I stayed on the access road all the way to Nis, 80 klicks. I lunched on organic "Jaffe" cookies, and juice. I gave EarthSeals to the kids there. Later, I passed a cool sawmill, and took a photo. I also passed a patch of hemp, full of women! I stopped to speak with them, and take a photo.

A modern guy on an enduro bike, stopped and showed me the way to the campground, which was desolate, dead as dry bones. I set up camp, and began washing clothes in a sink. When low and behold what should pull up, but Frank Lowenstein, "the bicycling Dutchman," from anchorage Alaska, on his solo tour around the world, westbound. He said he hadn't spoken English with a "yank" since Islamabad, Pakistan. What a happy union; we had the best of chats, for hours. I took many photos. After hot showers, we had dinner together. He was a delightfully opinionated, aggressive Dutch reform Protestant, suffering the American woman divorce blues. He claimed to smoke a pack of cigarettes a day. I was particularly impressed by the nameplate attached to his bike, including his blood group. We continued talking late into the night. I fell right to sleep when a rainstorm started.

Monday, June 18, 1990

I woke up shortly after dawn, well before brother Frank. I had breakfast of juice and a vitamin. I started packing up slowly. Frank woke up eventually. We chatted some as we packed. He was ready by the time I was. After one last photo, we checked-out together, shook hands, and parted ways.

Hesitant about traffic on the main road following the river, I found short cuts over the mountains with almost zero traffic. When I came to the few unmarked forks and cross-roads, I either waited until someone came along I could ask, or just psyched it out and prayed Allah! At one point the pavement gave out completely. I had a thrilling ride down the other side of the mountains, seeing what a mountain bike is really made of.

I had Yugoslav fig bars for brunch, and yogurt and chocolate for lunch. There was no campground at Pirot, contrary to what I was told in Nis. I paid $34 for an ersatz western hotel room; but, it did have a hot shower and clean sheets. I walked the town for at least an hour looking for food. I saw a cool ruined castle in the city park. I also saw an impromptu Bulgarian "flea market" down what had become and "occupied" street. I finally had an ersatz pizza, while being blasted with ersatz pop music. The whole experience was a terrible disappointment. I used my computer, charged the battery, did some "homework" on Bulgaria, and listened to the BBC. I was dead tired.

Contents | Next