Act the Part...

Photo 1 - a few vices for the journey - the sport bars actually have rum in them!
Photo 2 - what Walter should really blame his tummy troubles on....

Sept. 6, Day 41

156 hours of peddling since Paris
2711 km

Novi Sad, Serbia

We’ve only been in Serbia for six hours or so, but we already understand a big part of Serbian culture. It is called Slivovitz and it tastes something like tequila mixed with turpentine and makes you think you’re saying something really smart, but really you’re saying something dumb, like, “Why is this Slivovitz going down my throat again…?”

Our first encounter was when we went out for a late lunch. We’d had a cold ride that ended in a rather long, unnecessary hill climb when there was some confusion over GPS coordinates. Our day became a good deal longer than it was supposed to be and we were all irritable with hunger. Managing to find our hotel, change, shower and find a restaurant, we settled into the booth and opened the menu.

Great, friggin' characters and symbols.

Luckily, the owner spoke a little English and when we said things like salad and chicken and pig, she nodded yes and went to the kitchen. Soon we had a big basket of three different kinds of homemade breads to satiate us while we waited. Our meals arrived, which in some cases were terrific mounds of meats of all kinds: pig, pork, sausage and indecipherable flesh.

The owner came back several times and enjoyed us more at each passing. She soon brought us a business card and we gave her ours and told her our story. She clapped her hands and asked us if we wanted a drink.

Lucky for us, David once had a Serbian girlfriend. That was about 38 years ago, but apparently, she left enough of an impression for him to remember Slivovitz, which in Serbian translates to How to melt your esophagus.

After two rounds, we made a reasonable call to leave. Little did we know that an innocent card game of Slaves and Masters would unleash the Slivovitz again. Back at our hotel, trying to sober up, as it was only 5:30 PM, we decided to play cards downstairs in the foyer. The hotel owner motioned for us to use the dining room, which was empty and dark. She turned on the lights and cleared the cutlery away only too happily, then clapped her hands and said in halting English, “Yes, okay! So, in Serbia? Slivovitz!!” to which we groaned yet somehow found ourselves accepting, of course.

The last I saw of the COFE team, they were ordering a round of beer after someone claimed it would be ‘refreshing’.

Stayed tuned for “Hangover in Serbia…”

Day 43 - Hangover in Serbia...

Well, the Slivovitz Hangover stalked its victims early and, in some cases, it didn’t wait until morning to hunt them down. There was some reconsidering going on in the bathroom that evening and the next morning. The sufferers were not even comforted by coffee. We’d stumbled across the first hotel in our travels that didn’t have coffee as a breakfast option.

This caused considerable irritation in the addicts, especially Walter, who, after riding that morning's kms without the placebo effect, took it out on his bike light when it fell off spontaneously. He stopped, picked it up and threw it as hard as he could onto the road. It didn’t smash into tiny little particles, which was not satisfying at all, so he tried that again and yelled this time. It still just flipped around on the tarmac so Walter abandoned it, but when it was recovered, it still worked, thereby frustrating Walter even more.

Five minutes later, my light also broke and fell off on a particularly bumpy cobble stone road. We like the lights because it helps people see us on these dark and stormy days we seem to be encountering. Hopefully we will find a bike shop in Belgrade, where we are today, and recover some necessary items.