Breaking the Routine
A five-day motorcycle journey through the Balkans — from Greece to Albania, North Macedonia, Montenegro, and Bosnia
Lately, I’ve been feeling that need to take off again.
Not for a vacation — just to break the routine.
To disconnect from comfort, from the predictable rhythm of everyday life,
and get back on the road — to the place where I feel truly free.
For a few days now, the thought of taking the bike and heading out for five days through the Balkans hasn’t left my mind.
It worries me a little — how easily I settle into one place,
and even more — how comfortable I get with routine.
It takes me three hours to pack the bike.
I set the alarm for 5 a.m., but somehow fall back asleep.
At 9 a.m. I finally start the engine and hit the road —
from Athens to Albania, and then to North Macedonia.
I’m planning to visit Philip and Ivona,
friends I met last May when I rode through Macedonia.
After about eight hours of riding, I should reach the city of Ohrid, in North Macedonia.
At 2:30 p.m. I cross the border into Albania.
An hour later, I reach the border between Albania and North Macedonia.
A long line of cars. Slowly I move forward toward the checkpoint.
To my surprise, they don’t sell the Green Card insurance required for Macedonia at this border crossing.
The officer tells me there’s another crossing on the other side of the lake,
where I can buy insurance.
I turn around, head back to the town of Pogradec.
Rain starts to fall, it’s getting late, and darkness is coming.
Nine hours of riding behind me. I decide to stop for the night.
A few kilometers past town I find a small hotel on the lakefront.
Thirty euros and I’ve got a room.
I realize I haven’t taken a single photo today.
I’m not really “in the journey” yet.
It always takes me a couple of days to ease into that feeling of freedom.
My mind is still busy with things I left behind.
I know this stage well — it happens at the start of every trip.
By day two or three, it all fades,
and I find that calm again.
Long hours on the road wear me down, and I fall asleep fast.
The view from the hotel window
Seven in the morning. The alarm rings.
Breakfast and a sudden urge to take photos remind me — I’m starting to feel like myself again.
After an 18-minute ride, I reach the border crossing.
Within fifteen minutes, I buy the required insurance for fifty euros.
Now I just need to fill up the tank and ride on to Ohrid to meet Philip and Ivona.
“Come to the café in the old town,” Philip says when I call him after refueling.
A short ride along the lake brings me to the old town.
Philip spots me and walks over to guide me to a parking spot.
We’re both excited to see each other.
I’m really happy to be back in the city and to meet Philip again.
Ivona arrives a few minutes later.
We sit for coffee and catch up.
Meets Philip
“You don’t need a hotel,” Philip says. “We prepared a room for you at our summer house in the nearby village.”
Rain starts to fall as I follow him on the bike toward the village.
The village lies by the lake.
It feels like we’ve reached a cabin deep in the forest —
tall trees around the house, the smell of wet earth, and soft green grass all around.
It feels calm, isolated, peaceful.
We plan to meet again for dinner.
Until then, I’ll rest, write a blog post, transfer the photos from the camera, and enjoy the quiet.
I step out onto the balcony, look at the lake and the green around the house.
Peace surrounds me.
I tell myself, “This is the process.
At first, there are restless thoughts, and after two days they fade — replaced by calm, by that endless feeling of freedom.”
The rain gets stronger. It’s six in the evening.
Philip calls and we agree it’s better to stay in for the night.
We’ll meet again in the morning at the café in the old town.
I fall asleep surrounded by silence and green nature.
Seven a.m. again. I open my eyes.It takes me a few seconds to remember where I am.
A long, hot shower, and I ride to the café in the old town.
The café has just opened — cool, fresh morning air by the lake,
and that first cup of coffee sets the tone for the day.
By 10:30, Philip and Ivona arrive.
“We’re inviting you for dinner at our place,” they say.
I’m happy for the invitation.
We sit together until late afternoon at the café.
Ivona leaves an hour earlier, and we join her around five.
The house is warm and cozy, filled with the smell of home-cooked food.
The table is set — colorful, tempting dishes waiting for us.
We sit down. Philip pours a fine Cabernet he got as a gift from a friend who owns a winery.
In Hebrew, Philip raises his glass and says, “Le’chaim.”
A tray of oven-baked potatoes mixed with sweet potatoes, chicken curry, vegetable salad, roasted eggplants and zucchini, beef carpaccio, mushroom stew, roasted red peppers, and warm homemade bread baked by Ivona — an absolute feast.
“Another glass of wine,” Philip says with a smile. “We’re really happy to have you here.”
We move to the living room.
Philip’s mother and uncle join us, and we sit and talk until midnight.
Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.
I’ll ride back through Albania — 1,200 kilometers ahead of me until Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia.
The route will take me through Albania, Montenegro, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, and finally Slovenia.
I set to meet Philip at seven in the morning to return the house keys,
then ride back to the village to sleep.
Seven a.m., I’m at Philip’s place.
Ivona opens the door and serves me a cup of delicious mountain tea.
Stefan, her 11-year-old son from a previous marriage, wakes up.
Philip says he’s driving Stefan to school, and I offer to ride along.
We head to the school in the old town, say goodbye to Stefan,
and continue through the narrow alleys — somehow ending up again at the same café.
One last coffee. Nine o’clock, and I’m back on the road toward the Albanian border.
A quick border crossing, and I’m riding through villages and small towns,
surrounded by incredible scenery, heading toward the Albania–Montenegro border.
A Harley-Davidson rider pulls up next to me while we wait at passport control.
“Tomorrow I’m continuing to Finland,” he says,
and suggests we skip the truck line ahead of us. So we do.
A border officer asks me to turn off the GoPro camera,
and within ten minutes I’m riding through the mountain roads of Montenegro.
I pass Podgorica, the capital,
and stop at the next gas station to refuel.
It’s 4:30 p.m., and I start thinking about where to sleep tonight.
Before sunset, I ride into a small town looking for a hotel.
The first one is closed. I continue to the next town — also nothing.
The sun goes down, and I still don’t have a place to rest.
Plan B starts forming — the tent.
I’ve got camping gear with me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot what looks like a hotel.
U-turn — yes, it is a hotel and a restaurant.
Thirty euros a night, including breakfast.
I take a room on the second floor, change clothes, and head down to the restaurant.
A traditional goulash with rice — hearty and perfect.
I pay five euros and head back to my room.
I realize I’ve been on the bike for eight straight hours today.
It’s a good kind of tired.
Before falling asleep, I transfer the photos and GoPro videos to the laptop.
I don’t even remember when I fell asleep.
It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am.
It’s 7:15 a.m. — a long, hot shower, breakfast, and I’m back on the bike,
riding toward the Montenegro–Bosnia border.
The border crossing is quick,
and soon I’m on the roads of Bosnia and Herzegovina.
I stop for coffee at a small restaurant overlooking Lake Bileća.
Along highway E65, not far from the town of Stolac,
flows a small, beautiful river called the Bregava —
clear turquoise-green water, ancient bridges, little waterfalls,
and old water mills left from another time.
The town itself seems built around the river —
stone houses, fig trees, and grapevines leaning almost into the water.
Everything is quiet, simple, and beautiful.
I stop to take some photos and continue riding along the stream,
through small villages and towns.
I buy some fruit and vegetables on the way,
then ride toward the Bosnia–Croatia border.
It takes about ten minutes to cross.
Then I’m on a fast toll highway — about 400 kilometers straight north
until the exit toward Slovenia.
At 2 p.m., I stop at a gas station.
The sandwiches on the counter remind me I still have vegetables and yogurt in my bag.
I find a quiet spot near the station and make myself a salad,
drizzled with olive oil, with Greek yogurt on the side.
Simple, tasty, and healthy — the kind of meal that makes you smile.
The map shows another 400 kilometers ahead.
I get back on the bike and continue riding.
A South American playlist plays in my helmet —
a long, monotonic ride,
the perfect time to listen to music and think about everything in life.
The sky turns gray, clouds build up, and rain begins — getting heavier by the minute.
It doesn’t bother me at all; it actually adds something beautiful to the ride.
I reach the point where I need to leave the highway.
I turn right onto smaller country roads —
villages between green hills, narrow winding roads.
After 400 kilometers of flat, boring scenery,
I’m finally surrounded by green, rural mountains again.
Darkness falls.
The rain and the eight hours of riding start to weigh on me.
I slow down and think — maybe I should stop for a hotel and continue in the morning.
But then I remember, “I promised Luka we’d have dinner tonight,”
so I keep going.
The road is twisty, wet, and dark.
I stay close behind the cars ahead —
they show me where the curves are,
and I slow down with them,
making sure not to miss a turn and end up in the fields.
It’s already 8:30 p.m., and I’m exhausted.
At the next gas station, I stop for a banana break,
then keep riding toward Ljubljana.
At 9:30 p.m., I reach a big, fancy hotel.
Expensive, but I don’t care — I’m too tired to think.
I’ll “suffer” this kind of hotel tonight.
I call Luka, and we agree to meet for lunch tomorrow.
Tomorrow I’ll meet him,
then continue toward Verona in Italy —
passing through Milan, climbing into the Alps,
and from there — to Switzerland.
To be continued…
