Wandering Through the Balkans

After spending a week in Western Europe I was looking forward to going somewhere more adventurous. The information I could get about parts of the Balkans where I wanted to go was extremely limited. I realized that this is going to be a complete shit show. I was right, but ti was one of the most amazing shit shows I could imagine and my only regret is I had way too little time there.
There was hardly any English spoken. It took half a day to figure out daylight savings was creating a time change. I know I am a little slow, but also imagine dealing with that and having to catch a bus but nobody was really sure about the time change or if the clocks went forwards or backwards all without English! There were some unique hand gestures in there for sure. Another good time was in Montenegro, trying to order food from a restaurant with a large menus, but with only a few times actually available and no English. Apparently the universal fish sign for a mackerel varies from that of a bass. I'm still not sure if that was what the waiter was trying to tell me, but I have to admire his enthusiasm. I went back to Croatia from Montenegro and then on to Bosnia and Herzegovina.
At this point in my travels, I didn't think I could really be shocked, but I was shocked in Bosnia. I think about the genocide in Rwanda and they were killing each other with axes. For some reason even after being there, it seemed so horrible that it was too far away to imagine, almost like the reality of it never hit me. And axes and those sorts of weapons don't leave lasting marks on a city. More buildings than not that I saw in Southern Bosnia and Herzegovina were either bullet-riddled or had been poorly patched. There were more burnt out shells of buildings than actual buildings themselves. And walking around Mostar, there were more bullet holes in buildings in that one city than I could comprehend there being bullets in the world. It was unbelievable. It was absolutely devastating, and to see it in a place that looks so much like home was really surreal. What happened there I can't make sense of. I don't think the people who were involved can either. It seems closer to home. It was incredible to speak with people about their experiences. I never pried, but people seemed to want to talk as if to try to make sense in their own heads. But at the same time, in a town like Mostar with the famous bridge, I had to question the idea of turning a genocide into a tourist attraction.
But despite such a history, everyone I met was incredibly warm and also thanked me for coming to their country. It made the damage everywhere seem all the more unfathomable. I could also see some wildness left in people. I was with another traveler for a few hours and we met a local Bosnian who offered to buy us coffee because he wanted to practice his English. One cup turned into three and soon he decided that we had to meet his cousin. We piled into his pick-up and he handed both of us a beer. He cracked one open for himself and put it in his lap. He had a huge joint in one hand and pulled out a gun and started waving it around in the other while he drove and sipped his beer and pulled on the joint. "Welcome to Bosnia!" He said. We careened around curves and he said, "Just kidding, we hate guns here." As he put it back under his seat.
My introduction into Serbia wasn't as nice. I boarded an overnight bus from Mostar to Belgrade. Luggage costs extra, so I was fishing through my purse and in one hand I had 50 euros and the other the requisite 10 euros. The driver snatched the 50 out of my hand. On the bus I did everything I could to get my change back or to get my 50 back so I could just give him the 10, but he just laughed. The bottom floor of the bus all tried to help me and soon the driver started yelling at them. The woman who was translating said he was angry and I don't speak his language so why should he bother to give me back his change, and she said she told him that I shouldn't have to speak his language and he almost kicked both of us off the bus. He wouldn't unlock the bathroom door either so I was quite pleased when a woman threw up just outside the locked door (not because she was sick but because I hoped the asshole driver would have to clean it up).
But it was late at night waiting for my bus in a sketchy Bosnian bus station that I realized how happy I was. Travel may sound glamorous, but most of your time is spent waiting for a bus or being on a bus or being lost in a city or trying to figure out how to do a simple task. But mostly lots and lots of waiting. It was a comfortable feeling. The last few months had been really hard on me, Western Europe was a rough transition from Africa and there have been a lot of rough changes in my life lately, but at that moment I felt free. I felt strong and independent. The waiting for a bus to carry me off into the dark unknown, alone with nobody knowing where I was or who I am has become the most familiar feeling to me. After having a rough time, I finally felt more like my self again, the girl who headed off to Asia and Central America and then Africa- alone.