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| It makes you feel so welcome when you see a sign like this! |
Borders and Melissa just don’t go together!!!! I always have such a good laugh when I cross from one country to the next because it is never without an entertaining story. In the 56 days I’ve been on the road, I’ve crossed 10 different borders in Europe and some have been very memorable, including today’s border crossing into Serbia!
A few days ago in my blog post, I explained my master plan
to get across the Serbian border from Kosovo. Since Serbia doesn’t recognize the Kosovo border as a legal
entry point into Serbia, they will not accept anyone who has a Kosovo entry
stamp in their passport. My plan
was to convince Kosovo authorities to not stamp my passport and show my Spanish
residence card at the Serbian border.
I had asked around for some advice and this seemed to be the best way to
attempt to enter the country.
Oddly enough, when planning my route through Serbia to go to Bulgaria,
even Google Maps rerouted me through Kosovo, then Macedonia.
Of course, the stubborn and determined person that I am, an
attempt to get through the Serbian border was much more enticing than back
tracking along my previous route through Kosovo and Macedonia. This morning, after my visit to The
International Learning Group in Pristina, I set off east to Gjilan, then to the
Serbian border. I found it odd that there were no signs in Gjilan to direct me
to the Serbian border, which is only about 17km away. The locals directed me to the road to Presevo, Serbia, and
it was eerily empty. The only cars
that passed me had Serbian plates.
The road was a touch climb with an 11% grade for many sections. I couldn’t complain because it was
about 6 degrees Celsius outside and the climbing kept me nice and warm.
When I finally made it to the top and the border I was
surprised at the signs I encountered.
There were two identical signs 1000m and 500m from the Serbian border
that read “You Are About to Enter Serbia- Turn Around.” I couldn’t believe it! Never had I seen such a sight and it
was the creepiest feeling I had felt my entire trip. When I got about 200 meters from the border there were
people on the side of the road just sort of starring at me as I rode past. It looked like they had just crossed
the border and were waiting to be picked up and taken into town in Kosovo, or
maybe they were waiting to cross the Serbian border, I couldn’t figure it
out. The closest town on either
side of the border was 15 km.
Despite what the signs said, I proceeded (do you expect any
less from me?). I had my Spanish/EU ID all ready to show the border. First came the Kosovo crossing and the
two men at the booth were completely shocked when they saw me roll up. They asked for my ID and were surprised
a “Spaniard” spoke such good English.
One of the guards got out of the booth to further inspect my bike. He started sharing his interest and
stories about biking and I realized I was being interrogated, but out of his
own curiosity. He was friendly,
but I was getting a bit anxious as I could see the Serbian border just ahead
and wanted to get on my way. He
finally wished me luck, I gave him a little business card for The Loong Way
Home and I pedaled on to the Serbian booth.
The Serbian officer asked for ID and asked where I was
from. I told him Barcelona as I
gave him my residence card. He
studied it for a long time and eventually asked me if I had another form of ID,
like a passport. I handed him my
passport and he flipped through the pages. He kindly wished me happy birthday, which made me think my
plan was going to work. I
continued to sit anxiously on my bike as he called over another border patrol
and together they went back and forth in a confused sort of tone trying to
figure out my Spanish ID. By now
there were about 4 cars behind me and they still didn’t know what to do. Another officer came out of the booth
from across the road and wanted to be informed about the situation. He asked me where I had been, where I
was going, and what I was doing on my bike. I explained to him where I had been, and told him I was a
teacher who visited schools and I had a school waiting for me in Presovo. Of course that wasn’t true, but I
thought it would help my chances of getting across. Actually, the Serbian officers where quite nice as
soon as they heard what I was doing and they were very interested in all the
details of my trip, but they weren’t letting me pass.
Soon there was a good line of traffic behind me as the 4
border patrol officers examined my ID and they asked me to pull up and wait so
other cars could pass. They went
back to the booth on the other side of the road with my ID and at this time the
Kosovo border police who was fascinated by my trip had come over upon the
requests of the Serbs because they needed a translator. He was definitely on my side and let me
know in English while the other Serbian officers were busy examining my
documents. He told me he was going
to do everything he could to help, but that in fact, he was even violating the
law at the moment because he and I were officially on Serbian soil and it was
illegal. He explained to me what I
already knew about not being able to enter Serbia from Kosovo, and I told him
that I had known this but was determined to get across.
Just when I thought there weren’t any more Serbian officers
on the premises another Serbian patrol guard appeared who looked like the main
“boss” of them all. He fit the
role of any sort of Hollywood military leader: tall, intimidating, spoke
harshly, no English, never cracked a smile, and did not have a tender spot on
him! He was however, accompanied
by a European Union officer which was a relief for me. I was certain the EU officer would step
up and over rule any decision the Serbs made and let me cross the border. After all, isn’t the EU suppose to
promote peace and help resolve conflict?
Unfortunately this EU officer didn’t say much, and he failed
to convince the Serbian boss that my Spanish Residence card was indeed an
official form of ID. Again the
boss went back inside his booth to try to determine if the Spanish ID was
valid. I do have a valid Spanish
residence card as I just renewed it before my trip, but I’m not Spanish and I
didn’t have a Serbian entrance stamp in my passport, that was the problem. As I sat anxiously the crowd of
officers all started asking me questions: How many kilometers I ride? Why I ride alone? Where is my family? Why on bike? I
really should have invited them to my next school visit, but then again,
crossing the border for them, might be difficult. They were completely enthralled by a solo female cyclist and
to tell you the truth, if it were up to them, they would have let me cross the
border. They seemed to support
what I was doing, in fact, one of them volunteered another to come along with
me. However, it was the main
“boss” who had the final word and when he reappeared, the Kosovo officer
translated for him, telling me that I had to go back to where I came from and
cross the border from Macedonia to enter Serbia. I showed him my map, the temperature on my GPS (now 5
degrees Celsius) and showed him the 15 km of land that I wanted to pass through
in Serbia and tried one last time.
My translator communicated this to him, but he didn’t take pity on me. I
gave him a little Loong Way Home card with all my pride, I looked at him in the
eyes and told him it was a shame that his country thought that a solo female
cyclist who was visiting schools and cycling around the world was a threat to
his country.
I could tell that all the other officers felt bad for me,
but I quickly turned my bike around after being at the border for a good half
hour, trying to keep my cool in front of them as I pedaled back to Kosovo. Of course my immediate response was
rage. I wasn’t mad that I had 50
km to cycle from where I detoured, but I was enraged by the stupidity of
politics and the fact that innocent people are always affected by the decisions
a of few powerful people. In a way
I felt violated! I was the victim of a foolish and bitter decision made by some
politician. I could empathize with
war victims and innocent civilians during a conflict because all they wanted to
do was live their normal life.
Just as all these mixed feelings about nationalists, politics, and war
started racing through my mind, a car pulled up next to me. The window rolled down and a man said
something about taking me to Gjilan.
I stopped, looked at my bike and his big SUV, and didn’t hesitate to
accept his offer. You know what?….This
isn’t cheating, this is revenge! I
was going to have him drop me off where I detoured to go to the Serbian border
and then pedal back as far as I can to the Macedonian border before night came.
Ironically, his license plates were from Serbia. From what I understood, he had seen me
at the border and wanted to help out. Nagip was an Albanian-Serb who hardly
spoke English, but during the short car ride he was able to explain to me a bit
about the region and the Serbian conflict from the war. He wouldn’t let me set
out on my bike again until he had treated me to a coffee. So we had a coffee and set off again
pedaling as fast I could to make the most of my day light hours. How ironic was it that a Serbian and an
American were enjoying each other’s company while our leaders couldn’t figure
out how to do the same?
 |
| Nagip, an incredibly kind Serbian, unlike his country's border patrol. |
So where am I exactly?
I made it to the Kosovo-Macedonian border after my attempt to cross the
Serbian border. Yes, I did step foot
in Serbia, no I didn’t get a stamp, so country number 11: Serbia, is obsolete,
it will have to be Bulgaria! Am I mad that my attempt to cross the Serbian
border failed? No way! I had a
really interesting experience that definitely changed my perspective on the way
I view 21st century political conflicts. I do hope that the Serbian boss is thinking twice about his
decision to not let me through, and I hope that the nice Kosovo border patrol
officer who translated for me and also liked to ride his bike emails me!
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