Acceptance

October 1, 2024

The sun slowly sets over the sea. I had planned to be in the beautiful medieval town of Hum, Croatia, by sunset, hoping to capture it in the perfect light.

I only catch the last rays of the sun through the trees.

Despite being exhausted, I pedal as fast as I can. By the time I reach Hum, the sun is already gone. There’s nothing to do but accept it. I still manage to take a few aerial shots and scout for a good campsite. I find a spot, set up my tent as night falls—I've gotten pretty efficient at this—and settle in. The next morning, I take some nice photos.

I continue my journey through Istria's hilly landscape.

Even the railway tracks seem to follow the rolling hills, more like a rollercoaster than train tracks.

My journey has felt much the same a rollercoaster of emotions. I’m ready for the islands. Before trying to catch the ferry in Brestova, I stop for lunch in Plomin. The waiter doesn’t speak English, but through gestures, we manage to communicate and even talk a little about my trip. By the end, he’s so happy he forms a heart with his hands and gives me a hug. If all Croatians are this warm, I’m in for a treat!

I make it to the ferry with just 10 minutes to spare. I had pictured Cres as a flat island, but reality proves different. The first thing I encounter is a 500-meter climb before I reach any sign of civilization.

The view from the top is breathtaking.

I meet Martin, another cyclist from Germany. He plans to camp at the peak and tries to convince me to join him. But with rain forecasted for the night and the next day, I decline and instead find a room in the town of Cres. Even though we’ve just met, we exchange phone numbers. Who knows, maybe we’ll cross paths again tomorrow. With the rain expected, some company would be nice.

I hadn’t planned on staying long in Cres, but the weather forecast is terrible for the next few days. To make matters worse, I find out that the ferry connections are far fewer than I expected, especially during the off-season. Some ferries only run on certain days, and others don’t allow bikes. And with my tendency for seasickness, taking a ferry in bad weather isn’t a great idea anyway. The rain is so heavy over the next two days that continuing my journey is impossible.

So here I am, essentially stranded on the island.

And yet, I haven’t even seen a proper beach - just a few glimpses on roadside billboards. This delay throws off my schedule, but I have no choice but to accept it.

During this time, I also hear from Sofia that the security situation in Jordan, Rwanda, Uganda, and Tanzania - all countries on my planned route - has worsened. Again, there’s nothing I can do but accept it.

The next day, after the rain, I meet Martin again at my apartment. We cook a hearty meal together. He tells me that while the evening on the mountain was beautiful, the morning was tough, with heavy rain and strong winds. Though Martin is also cycling, his approach is very different from mine. He has no specific destination and just goes wherever he feels like. Rainy days don’t bother him much. Cycling for months without a clear goal seems unimaginable to me. Maybe that’s just not who I am. But perhaps there’s something I can learn from him: the ability to let go, to be more relaxed about my goals. To go with the flow, plan less, and accept things as they come.

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