Climbing Through Mist Toward New Borders

Daily miles: 36.03 | Total miles: 13,040.08

I got up early, made a coffee from the capsule machine, packed my things, carried everything downstairs, and carefully rolled the buggy over the steps. Once everything was organized, I was ready to go just a few minutes after 6:30 a.m.

The first uphill stretch already felt like an omen for what was to come. After climbing that initial hill, I merged onto the main road. It was early Sunday morning, so traffic was light. The coastal road rolled gently up and down, and I felt good—cool air, mist hanging over the landscape. At times it felt like drizzle, but I think I was simply running through wet air.

Since it was Sunday and I didn’t have much food with me, I stopped in a small village called Sveti Kuzam. I noticed a bakery sign and thought I might try my luck. Everything looked closed, but the bakery was slightly hidden and connected to a house. I knocked and asked if they might sell me some leftovers from the day before.

They kindly came down. The husband (I unfortunately forgot his name) showed me traditional biscotti and salt pretzels, and I added some cookies made with honey. When I tried to pay, he refused. Such kindness. I wished we still had more family bakeries like theirs.

I ran on, smiling, and soon had a friendly encounter with a little Schätzi—a dog that brightened my morning for a moment.

After running all the way down to sea level and then climbing back into the hills again, the pattern of the day became clear: up and down, again and again. In one village, a man named Ante saw me and even turned his car around to ask about my run. Small gestures like that always lift my spirits.

The sun never really broke through the gray sky, though by afternoon the mist disappeared. The only moisture left was my own sweat. Every hilltop looked like the top—until the next climb revealed itself.

Somewhere along the way I met a young man originally from Nepal (today my memory for names was not great—the elevation probably took a bit out of me). Later, at a roundabout, I stopped at a small market where Josip and Andrej were enjoying a beer outside. I picked up a few things for dinner and stayed for a short conversation before moving on with still 13 miles to go.

It was a hard day—long hours in cool weather, steady elevation, and gray surroundings. But every now and then the road rewarded me with a downhill stretch after a strenuous climb.

About two miles before my destination, I met Simone from Italy, a world cyclist. Encounters like these always feel like small mirrors of this shared spirit of movement.

The final mile climbed steeply again, but when I finally saw the house where I had booked my room, I felt both happy and completely done for the day. There was no kitchen, so I improvised dinner with chickpeas and couscous.

Wow—this was my last full day in Croatia. I am very close to Slovenia now; the border is just around the corner. Tomorrow should be a fun day—two border crossings if all goes well: into Slovenia and then into Italy.

Italy—a neighboring country of Switzerland. Home is getting closer.

But what’s the route, Andrea?

Well, let’s see—and enjoy the last 100 days.

Be well, Andrea