Into the Bura

Daily miles: 26.02 | Total miles: 12,651.86

There was an extreme thunderstorm all night. Heavy rain hammered the roof, and even with my eyes closed I could see lightning flashing through the window above me. When my alarm rang, the rain was still pouring.

“Well, Andrea,” I thought, “that’s the deal. Some days are harder than others.”

I got ready, made a hot coffee, and found a small lucky window of relative dryness to start. A cold wind was already in the air, but I didn’t yet understand what it would turn into.

The roads were flooded from the storm and the relentless rain of the past days. Avoiding puddles was impossible. Within a few miles, my shoes were soaked and my feet surrendered to the cold.

It was about eight miles to the border. Windy, cold — but manageable. Until I left Montenegro.

In the no man’s land between borders, the road climbed steeply. That’s where it began. The wind intensified into something wild and forceful. It didn’t just blow — it pushed, roared, attacked. Later I learned I had met the Bura — or Bora — a wind that is more than weather here in Croatia. It’s almost legendary. A cultural force people respect and prepare for.

This was not ordinary wind. This was the Bura.

The border crossing itself was smooth and friendly. Once in Croatia, the road descended all the way down what I had just climbed. Then the rain returned — drizzle, downpour, everything in between.

I tried taking pictures but quickly realized: today was not about documenting beauty. It was about staying warm.

I lost feeling in my fingers. My toes turned ice cold. Every step hurt. My feet felt like blocks of stone — hard and unresponsive. There was no shelter in sight, and the gusts were frightening. I don’t like wind like that. It unsettles me.

Then — a small bus stop. A narrow shelter. I parked the buggy underneath. The rain still came down diagonally, but it was better than nothing. I took out my phone carefully and booked a place to stay. In situations like this, it helps to know exactly how far remains: 14 miles.

I could see the force of the wind in bent trees. I could hear it — a relentless, grueling sound. But I also know this: I can adapt. I can endure. I can focus. These are the moments that force me fully into the present. Even while thinking about warmth and safety later, I must deal with what is happening right now.

Survival mode.

At a house with a small overhang, I stopped to layer up: sweater, warm cap, another rain jacket, different gloves. My fingers barely worked. Zippers felt impossible. Getting into the right glove seemed like a task beyond my coordination. I didn’t change my wet socks and shoes, so when I continued, my feet still screamed with each step. But my upper body felt slightly warmer.

I breathed deeply and steadily. One step. Then another.

A small supermarket appeared. I know they don’t like the buggy inside, but I quickly went in. And there it was — a coffee machine. Watching that hot coffee pour into the cardboard cup already felt like relief. Holding it, feeling warmth return to my hands — that moment mattered.

The cashier told me to put the buggy outside. I looked at the raging wind and said I would only stay a few minutes to warm up. But she insisted. Some people simply need things to remain in order, even on days when the wind feels stronger than rules. After being told repeatedly to leave, I stepped back out.

The very moment I did, a massive gust pushed me sideways. I reached for my hood — and my baseball cap flew off into the storm. Gone.

I walked on through the fierce wind, lowering my head whenever trucks passed. A few miles later, another supermarket — same chain. This time I could barely open the door against the wind. The cashier inside, Biljana, came to help me. From the first second, she was kind.

I had another cappuccino. We talked. I warmed up — physically and emotionally. Biljana is one of those bright spirits who change the temperature of a day.

Eventually, I had to go back out. The rain slowly stopped. The wind remained cold but softened. About three miles before my destination, the storm quieted almost completely. It was hard to believe how painful everything had felt just hours earlier. By then, my socks, shoes, and even my rain jacket had nearly dried again.

When I arrived at the place I had booked, it looked quite different from the description online. People are funny. But I don’t care.

It has a heater. A kettle. A bed.

Some miles are beautiful. Some miles are earned. Today was earned.

Take care, and thanks for checking in, Andrea