Rocky Special

On the map, the nice German-speaking man at reception shows me which roads we should take to the next town, Kovin. “It runs through our industrial area and is a few kilometers longer, but you’ll hardly see any trucks there. The trucks use the main road to get to the highway to Belgrade, Romania and Bulgaria,” he explains. A short time later, we find ourselves in an inferno of exhaust fumes, broken buildings, steaming chimneys and hissing pipes. Large round holes yawn along the way that would swallow up our entire bike. Careful not to sink our bikes somewhere, we pedal through a yellowish grey haze until, after a few kilometers, we leave the desolate area behind us.

Suddenly we are actually on a side road with hardly any traffic. The initial headwind gradually dies down. The sun shines and warms our backs. We reach the equally ugly small town of Kovin without any particular incidents. We take a short rest at a trucker’s pub and drink Turkish coffee. “This is for you. It tastes very good,” says a Serb, puts two large packs of chocolate wafers on the table and walks on. We barely have time to thank him before he disappears into one of the workshops. We look at each other in amazement. Then I tear open the packet and am indeed impressed by the delicious taste. It doesn’t take long for the contents of the entire bag to melt away with relish in my stomach. Suddenly the Serb reappears. “Do they taste good?” he asks kindly as he passes by. “Fantastic,” I reply, rubbing my stomach. He laughs and doesn’t tell us what prompted him to give two German cyclists a gift just like that.

Leaving Kovin in the direction of the Romanian border, we continue pedaling our bikes and the landscape becomes more and more beautiful. For the first time in Serbia, we experience pure nature. There are hardly any cars left. The asphalt strip is bordered on the left and right by dense forests. The sun casts its warm rays at an oblique angle through the tree aisle. Without a headwind, we believe we are floating through paradise. Cycling is suddenly great fun again. We enjoy the moment of peace. Birds chirp and from time to time we hear a slight rustle in the yellow-red leaves. According to our map, we are crossing a national park and it feels like we are right in the middle of its green, throbbing heart. After the efforts of the last few weeks, we are really breathing a sigh of relief here. No black, menacing rubber tires thundering past us, no noise, no honking, no exhaust fumes and no dead animals that have breathed their last like flat shadows on the asphalt. After a few kilometers we cross a channel of the Danube. Anglers sit on the bank and cast their routes. A few dilapidated cars stand around waiting patiently for their owners. Flocks of birds populate the late afternoon sky, flying like dark flags through the glowing red ball of sunlight and settling in the trees on the shore, chirping loudly. We linger for a few moments, take a few sips of water, eat a handful of Rapunzel trail mix and swing back into the saddles, satisfied with ourselves and the world.

“Look at that! There’s a campsite up ahead!” exclaims Tanja happily. “Indeed,” I join in her euphoria, possibly having found a nice place for the night. “Is there anyone else there at this time of year?” I ask myself, pushing my bike past the closed barrier. A man fishing at the nearby lovely-looking lake comes up to us and greets us warmly. Using sign language, he tells us to ask the owner by cell phone if we can stay. It only takes minutes and the Serb shows us with a sweeping hand gesture that we can pitch our tent wherever we want. “How much does the night cost?” I want to know. “No cost,” he replies with a laugh, clearly delighted to no longer be alone. “Coffee? Chai (tea)? Bivo (beer)? Schnapps?” he asks. “Uh, I’d like a coffee,” I reply, a little embarrassed by so much hospitality.

While we set up camp, he brews fresh Turkish coffee. Then he invites us to join him at his table. We sink into our chairs, relieved to have reached a nice spot once again. “My nickname is Rocky,” our host introduces himself and places a 2 ½ liter bottle of beer next to the steaming coffee cups. Without asking us, he opens them and gives us each a large cupful. Then an interesting conversation begins, with a mixture of sign language, some Russian, a little German and a lot of Serbian that we don’t understand. The two dogs Jumbo and Fitzgo settle down next to us wagging their tails and hoping to get something from us. “Oh Jumbo, you never give up,” says Rocky with a twinkle in his eye and tells us that he spends six months every year in this beautiful place. “I have already caught a fish weighing 24 kilograms from this lake. That was a success. Ho, ho, ho,” he laughs loudly, gesticulating wildly with his big hands and long arms. “The press came straight away and there was a headline in the paper. Ho, ho, ho. But I also have a record on the Danube Canal. The fish I pulled out of there weighed 23 kilograms. I like it here. I don’t work. Rocky is not stupid. Ho, ho, ho. I worked for a long time. As a driver between Serbia, Romania and Bulgaria. Every now and then I go back. Just yesterday a colleague called me and asked when I was coming. I told him he couldn’t expect me back until December. Ho, ho, ho, I’m not stupid. This place is so nice. I have everything I need. I’m going to build myself a hut here. I’ll put in electricity and draw water from the tap over there. I’ve already spoken to the owner. No, I’m not working. I like it here…” he chats without taking a breath, which makes the conversation a little tiring. “Would you like another beer?” he asks, obviously having talked himself warm. “No thanks. I have to get my short recordings into the computer before sunset. Then I’ll be back,” I reply. “Never mind the computer. Forget the computer. Come on, let’s have another beer and a schnapps. Rocky’s inviting you. Rocky has everything in the fridge,” he says, gets up and comes back with two bottles of wine, a bottle of beer and a bottle of schnapps. “Thank you very much, but I really have to get my things ready first,” I apologize, get up and make my way to the tent. Rocky willingly accepts again and sets off on his six fishing routes.

It doesn’t take long and he asks Tanja when I’m finally finished. “Come on!” I shout, quickly covering the bikes. Then we sit at his table again. “Are there actually a lot of mosquitoes here?” I want to know and watch as the shitty things circle my legs to siphon off some of my precious blood. “Oh no. There are no mosquitoes here,” he replies patronizingly. “And what’s this critter doing here on my thumb?” I ask jokingly. “I don’t mind them. I’m wearing shorts and a short shirt. They don’t like me.” “But me,” I say, killing several of them in one go. Tanja offers Rocky some of our travel lunch. While he unpacks his beer and schnapps again. “You won’t get away from me now,” he says with a grin and pours me a small cupful. “Huaa!”, I shout as the stuff burns down my throat. “Ho, ho, ho,” Rocky laughs, pouring the glass down his throat and pouring me another full glass. After three attacks on my throat and poor stomach, I manage to refuse. Then he pours us beer even though we don’t want any more after a long day on the bikes and the emerging coolness of the night. “So you have to drink schnapps to get really far on your bikes,” he says at an advanced hour. “One bottle of schnapps per 1000 kilometers and very little water,” he explains in a low voice and seems to really mean what he says. “I’ll tell you a liter of schnapps and no water. That’s the recipe. I guarantee it. One hundred percent. You won’t sweat and you can cycle forever.” “How many kilometers do you do with a bottle of schnapps?” I ask seriously. “1000 kilometers. With a one hundred percent guarantee, ho, ho, ho. Rocky can cycle forever. 300 kilometers a day is no problem at all. No problem, you know. One hundred percent. I guarantee…” he chatters, getting louder and louder. Tanja and I take a look at each other. Before Rocky tells any more beer stories and gets even louder, we say goodbye for the evening. “You can’t leave already. Let your wife go to bed, but we’ll have another drink,” he says. “Unfortunately, I have to go too. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. You know we want to go to Romania”. I reply and get out of my chair.

“You two come back to me in the morning. I’ll make breakfast. Rocky’s specialty. Everyone in this square knows it. I’ll find some champions that grow here and make you an omlet,” he invites us. “Tanja is a vegetarian,” I explain. “No problem, Tanja gets Omlet Rocky Special for vegetarians, ho, ho, ho.” “What’s that?” asks Tanja. “It’s not meat, it’s just the pig’s innards,” he replies, raising his right eye promisingly. “No thanks, I don’t eat offal either,” she apologizes. “No problem. Tanja gets Rocky Special without offal, ho, ho, ho,” he laughs and finally lets us go.

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