The bus ride to SarajevoOct 16, 2008
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| The bus ride from Zagreb to Sarajevo took me through the hilly countryside of Croatia and Bosnia-Herzogovina. It reminded me of upstate New York in the autumn. The trees were gold and red set against evergreens. But there were differences. The bus wound its way through small villages and larger cities. But several houses stood like old skeletons. What were once cement and brick homes are now crumbling relics. They were burned out during the war. They stood along side homes that were either new construction or fixed from the war. Other homes where people were obviously living still showed the holes where shells had hit more than 10 years ago during the war. Later in the day the light began to fade the signs of war faded into the darkness. The human side of the countryside began to show through. As the bus rolled into a town I could see the tall skinny Muslim minarets lit up. There were bright yellow gas stations with too many lights making the pumps and mini-markets glow against the setting sun. Finally, it was completely dark as the bus closed in on Sarajevo. It passed a gym where a lone runner was on a treadmill, friends were gathered in restaurants and the blue haze of TVs shone through living room windows. All looked normal on the Bosnian-Herzogovinian countryside. Inside the bus I began speaking to the man sitting next to me. Avni is a civil engineer from Pristina in Kosovo. Avni had taken the bus to Slovenia to buy engineering books but was turned away at the border. When we met he was returning to Kosovo to get a visa that would enable him to enter Slovenia. So is the life after years of war and tensions and changing borders. Kosovo is a new country, only six months old. Imagine that!?! Imagine the hope and the possibilities of finally becoming independent after years of being ruled by others. He spoke of the Americans who arrived to help protect Kosovo from the Serbs in the 90s when Bill Clinton was president. I vaguely remembered the stories of US intervention into the region. I remembered there was controversy especially after Americans were killed. But according to my new friend the Americans were very much welcomed and appreciated. After 9 hours the bus finally arrived in Sarajevo. An American I had met earlier in the day told me the station was a big modern affair. It was not. The bank machine was not working so I could not get marks (the Bosnia-Herzogovina currency) which meant I could not get a taxi. Earlier in the evening I had tried to reserve a room at a hostel in Sarajevo. My phone could not call. I sent an SMS but did not get a response. I finally sent a text to a friend in London who contacted the hostel and made the arrangements. I think I was on plan G and about to freak out about where the hell I was going to stay in Sarajevo when an angel from the hostel showed up. |
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