Trieste , its port and its ruggedly beautiful coastline have been used as the backdrop for many a movie from the 1950s and 60s . We meandered our way through an hour of bumping up and down the cities narrow cobbled streets ; most of which were lined with tall , ornate , and decidedly ancient buildings . Crumbling pale elegance describes them perfectly . The waterside cafes tempted us , but Slovenia was just a short hop away . We ’ d deliberately left our GPS at home on this trip and couldn ’ t help but laugh at the madness of signs that Italy can have . It took us a good hour to free ourselves from the clutches of Trieste ’ s decidedly unattractive industrial outskirts . Feeling nicely buzzed from having escaped the sensation of navigation idiocy , we rolled across the border into Slovenia . This was the only country on the ride that I knew very little about and it soon showed us that we really should have spent more time on the carpet with our maps and books . Beautiful roads twisted though an absolutely gorgeous , lush green landscape that kept nudging us to stop and explore the tiny amazingly well-kept villages , but Bosnia and the city of Sarajevo were calling .
Many travellers extol the virtues of the road that follows the Croatian coastline and we quickly saw why it has gained its fame .
We rode southwards through 28C in a very dry , sea-salt-scented air ; taking advantage of the many opportunities to duck down into the tiny bays that dot this section of the Dalmatian coastline . Long stretches of the road twisted through forests whose cool pools of shade were heavily scented by the rich tang of pine . The coast is spectacular not only for the scents and the views , but also for the freedom that the many camp sites offer . Chatting to one of the girls on a camp site reception desk , I asked her how easy it would be to rock up without reservations during summer months . Her answer was to laugh !
As the sun began to leave each day , we ’ d wander down to the water to watch it set across the inevitably calm sea . Each night the sunsets were different , but equally magnificent . I can still hear the insects and feel the warm breeze . I can hear the quiet chatter from the fishermen and the sounds of their beer bottles hissing as they opened them . The sun always seemed to hang on above the horizon for a few moments longer than it should have , and then suddenly the evening would be lit by a spangle of brilliantly white stars . Part of the beauty was that even when the sun finally disappeared , it still stayed warm enough for us to sit in t-shirts .
As we crossed eastwards into Bosnia , we had the feeling that we were moving from the first world into the developing world . The region sits on a crossroads between cultures ; the exotic lands of Persia , Turkey , and Arabia on one side and the faster moving lands of Europe on the other . It didn ’ t take long before it became obvious that we ’ d ridden back in time , and I rather liked the sensation .
The contour following roads were raggedy edged , and pothole collections clustered as traps for the unwary across the main asphalt . Most of the landscape was a dry looking world , so the lush greens of distant peaks were an encouraging balance . As were the ramshackle fruit and vegetable stands that dotted the roadsides at crossroads . These were set up using whatever materials were to hand and we just had to stop to take a look at the produce . We rode on with a bag of garden grown , lush , deep red beef tomatoes , purple plums whose skins held the unmarked misty bloom of freshness , crisp lettuce , and cucumbers whose twisted shapes were exactly as nature had intended them to grow . All were
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