Balkans Grit: Me and My Mates

Nine days, 1,600 km, me and seven buddies—Indian road warriors—hit the Balkans. Zagreb to Sarajevo, Višegrad, Mostar, Kotor, Dubrovnik, Zadar, Plitvice, back to Zagreb. We’ve ridden India together, but this ride? It flipped our whole damn perspective.

Bonding Between the Boys
We’re thick as thieves—years of dodging rickshaws—but the Balkans made it realer. Sarajevo, cevapi and rakija shots, we’re cracking up. Kotor’s bay, fish stew, we’re spilling our guts—life’s highs and lows. Dubrovnik’s rest day—swimming, beer flowing—felt like family. Plitvice, waterfalls roaring, we’re tight, forged in grit.

Unique Vibes
This place is insane. Sarajevo’s war scars and minarets—history punched us. Višegrad’s bridge, Mostar’s arch—old-world rawness. Kotor’s fjords, Dubrovnik’s walls, Zadar’s sea organ—crazy beauty. Plitvice’s falls—turquoise magic. Burek, peka, octopus—no tourist crap, just Balkan soul food.

Stepping Out
These roads were brutal. Višegrad’s climbs—steep, no mercy. Kotor’s drops, Zadar’s 280 km haul—stretched us thin. Plitvice’s tight bends hit different. We’re used to India’s chaos—flat, loud—this was wild, quiet, fierce. We pushed, sweated, came out harder, alive as hell.

Moments That Stick
Some shit’s forever. Mostar’s bridge—pure vibe. Kotor’s bay, old town, laughing loud. Dubrovnik’s bars—salt, sun, us free. Plitvice’s mist, falls crashing—felt eternal. Zagreb’s last štrukli—victory, raw and totally ours.

Worldview Flip
We thought life was India’s grind—work, home, done. Balkans showed us war-torn beauty, quiet power, roads that demand you live. It’s not just riding now—it’s seeing the world’s scars and soul. We’re changed—life’s raw, big, and ours to grab.