I'm writing this from a hotel room in Sarajevo. This is Sarajevo:
I kind of like Sarajevo.
But I digress. After all, it's been almost a week since my last blog post (Bless me, Father, for I have sinned?) So allow me to summarize our trip in a nifty subheading format. Feel free to play montage music as you read. I'd recommend the Rocky IV training song, but that's my answer for roughly 35% of questions posed to me, so take it with a grain of salt.
Beograd was a bit chilly the morning we headed out, piling into the Skirmish Van. I call it that in contrast to the Battle Bus we took around Kosovo, as our current van looks like something that the Battle Bus might eat in absence of larger prey. So we piled in like sardines and hit...
The Road. We headed out from Beograd in fairly good time, crossing Gazela Most (the longest bridge in the Balkans leading out of Beograd) and heading northwest on the highway with relatively little traffic. Unlike the fairly epic descent into Kosovo, the majority of our trek looked like something out of Lancaster, PA, until the many villages we passed through gave way to...
Croatia? I was a bit confused myself, but apparently the road to Bosnia takes us right on through Croatia. Hey, that's cool. What was slightly less cool was having to disembark at the checkpoint to stand in a line for the express purpose of getting scowled at by a portly Croatian woman, but as a reward we got nifty entrance stamps, so I guess it was worth it.
Despite the spitting rain, I thought Croatia was beautiful. In my opinion, I can best liken it to a wetter version of northern Maryland. The strikingly green fields, occasionally interrupted bygentle hills (you know what? They're knolls, because that word needs to be brought back) gentle knolls, housed rustic Catholic churches and one-horse towns (sometimes literally), an almost perfect tessellation that persisted until interrupted by sprawling marshes. We took about a half-hour tour through Croatia, until we crossed the river into...
Brčko District, Bosnia & Herzegovina. In a sentence: the Brčko District of Bosnia exists to interrupt the continuity of Republika Srpska, dividing the region into two at its thinnest point and thus keeping down any unseemly ideas of secession. The "city" of Brčko itself is about the size of Towson if you include Towson East (or about King of Prussia and Bridgeport combined, for those keeping score at home), and features both a wonderfully dedicated NGO community and delicious pljeskavica (think hamburger, but so very Balkan). I wouldn't live there, but as a pit-stop into Bosnia I have no complaints at all. We met some fine people, touched down on Bosnian soil, and departed for...
Banja Luka. We arrived after a few hours' worth of winding hill roads after the sun set, and so our first impression of Banja Luka was...dark. We checked into our gigantic hotel room, hung around for a while, grabbed food, and then turned in. The next morning, we rose to find that spring had followed us there. Taking advantage of such a gorgeous day, we took a walk around the city, visited the University of Banja Luka to meet some poli-sci students (read--my people), and rounded it off by climbing to the top of a nearby mountain to where we could see the entire city sprawled out before us. Also, the trail to the top was littered with exercise equipment, which made me think that I might actually be an adopted Bosnian. After another night in the hotel, we departed for...
Sanski Most, and a metric fuckton of rain were waiting for us the next morning, but we piled into the Skirmish Van and soldiered on through it. The terrain was still pretty Amish when we pulled into town (read--farm equipment, corn fields, and one-story housing abound), and between that, the rain, and the police cordon for the hours-old jewelry store robbery, I got a pretty grim first impression of the place.
Well, that lasted all of five minutes before we met with a pair of imams running an NGO that almost single-handedly amended decades of ethnic hostilities in the town. As the weather cleared up (hooray for metaphors), we took a walk around the town, seeing the various sights that indicate a gradually mending community. That + free dinner + comfortable bed = a fine evening. The next morning saw us leave for...
The Road to Sarajevo. I'd like to preface this by saying that I chose the entirely wrong side of the bus, and thus did not get any sweet pictures of the thousand-foot deep canyons and valleys that our van drove along, but suffice it to say that when we reached snow-covered ground on a 50 degree day, the views were appropriately breathtaking. I did get a shot of this:
After an appreciably short trip, we arrived in Sarajevo itself.
Because I am nothing if not a lazy man, I leave you now with my observations, and you can cobble together a picture of the city yourself.
I kind of like Sarajevo.
But I digress. After all, it's been almost a week since my last blog post (Bless me, Father, for I have sinned?) So allow me to summarize our trip in a nifty subheading format. Feel free to play montage music as you read. I'd recommend the Rocky IV training song, but that's my answer for roughly 35% of questions posed to me, so take it with a grain of salt.
Beograd was a bit chilly the morning we headed out, piling into the Skirmish Van. I call it that in contrast to the Battle Bus we took around Kosovo, as our current van looks like something that the Battle Bus might eat in absence of larger prey. So we piled in like sardines and hit...
The Road. We headed out from Beograd in fairly good time, crossing Gazela Most (the longest bridge in the Balkans leading out of Beograd) and heading northwest on the highway with relatively little traffic. Unlike the fairly epic descent into Kosovo, the majority of our trek looked like something out of Lancaster, PA, until the many villages we passed through gave way to...
Croatia? I was a bit confused myself, but apparently the road to Bosnia takes us right on through Croatia. Hey, that's cool. What was slightly less cool was having to disembark at the checkpoint to stand in a line for the express purpose of getting scowled at by a portly Croatian woman, but as a reward we got nifty entrance stamps, so I guess it was worth it.
Despite the spitting rain, I thought Croatia was beautiful. In my opinion, I can best liken it to a wetter version of northern Maryland. The strikingly green fields, occasionally interrupted by
Brčko District, Bosnia & Herzegovina. In a sentence: the Brčko District of Bosnia exists to interrupt the continuity of Republika Srpska, dividing the region into two at its thinnest point and thus keeping down any unseemly ideas of secession. The "city" of Brčko itself is about the size of Towson if you include Towson East (or about King of Prussia and Bridgeport combined, for those keeping score at home), and features both a wonderfully dedicated NGO community and delicious pljeskavica (think hamburger, but so very Balkan). I wouldn't live there, but as a pit-stop into Bosnia I have no complaints at all. We met some fine people, touched down on Bosnian soil, and departed for...
Banja Luka. We arrived after a few hours' worth of winding hill roads after the sun set, and so our first impression of Banja Luka was...dark. We checked into our gigantic hotel room, hung around for a while, grabbed food, and then turned in. The next morning, we rose to find that spring had followed us there. Taking advantage of such a gorgeous day, we took a walk around the city, visited the University of Banja Luka to meet some poli-sci students (read--my people), and rounded it off by climbing to the top of a nearby mountain to where we could see the entire city sprawled out before us. Also, the trail to the top was littered with exercise equipment, which made me think that I might actually be an adopted Bosnian. After another night in the hotel, we departed for...
Sanski Most, and a metric fuckton of rain were waiting for us the next morning, but we piled into the Skirmish Van and soldiered on through it. The terrain was still pretty Amish when we pulled into town (read--farm equipment, corn fields, and one-story housing abound), and between that, the rain, and the police cordon for the hours-old jewelry store robbery, I got a pretty grim first impression of the place.
Well, that lasted all of five minutes before we met with a pair of imams running an NGO that almost single-handedly amended decades of ethnic hostilities in the town. As the weather cleared up (hooray for metaphors), we took a walk around the town, seeing the various sights that indicate a gradually mending community. That + free dinner + comfortable bed = a fine evening. The next morning saw us leave for...
The Road to Sarajevo. I'd like to preface this by saying that I chose the entirely wrong side of the bus, and thus did not get any sweet pictures of the thousand-foot deep canyons and valleys that our van drove along, but suffice it to say that when we reached snow-covered ground on a 50 degree day, the views were appropriately breathtaking. I did get a shot of this:
 |
| Pictured: Probably a secret entrance to something, because this is clearly a video game. |
Because I am nothing if not a lazy man, I leave you now with my observations, and you can cobble together a picture of the city yourself.
- I had lunch in a small barbecue joint today and Satellite by Lena came on the radio (any fellow Eurovision nerds might recognize this as the 2011 winner and the most agonizingly catchy song in existence). I henceforth approve of Sarajevo's music taste.
- Since arriving, I've seen 27 sport-bikes (many of which are European-exclusive) and a Mustang GTO. This is in fierce contrast to the Yugos, mopeds, and Audi S series (no, seriously, those exist) endemic to Beograd. I also saw a sport-touring BMW bike on the highway between Sanski Most and here, which more or less made my day.
- We went to a Muslim cafe last night to watch the Bosnia-Greece game. Bosnia won 3-1, we made some new Bosnian friends, and I got laughed at for trying to order the local brew before we cottoned to the nature of the establishment. Hey, at least I didn't ask for bacon.
- Only in this country can your tour guide in the National History Museum introduce an exhibit by saying "This might explode soon". Only in this country will your tour guide then proceed to pick up said exhibit and shake it. And by god, only in this country will this exhibit be an EU humanitarian aid can of baked beans. I love Bosnia.
- Speaking of which, the answer to anything is just about always "money and corruption". Why is the museum in disrepair? Money and corruption. Why is this building closed? Money and corruption. Why did the waiter just bring me bolonaise when I ordered carbonarra? Money. Ah, also, corruption.
- "Club Predator" is just an awful idea. Can't win 'em all, Sarajevo.
Stay tuned for the thrilling second half of this report, in which I may actually be awake enough to talk about something serious. Hah, just kidding. Anticipate kitty-cats and exploding bean cans.
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