Sarajevo

The train pulled away from Mostar and after a series of tunnels, viaducts and switchbacks we found ourselves in Sarajevo station waiting for Haris, the hostel owner to end all hostel owners! Clinton, Helen and I got into the minibus with 2 new recruits Nikki and Alex and drove through the surprisingly vibrant city, up a VERY steep hill and into the world's best hostel. No sooner had we arrived we were offered 3 remaining places on the city tour and with Clinton and Alex deferring, the girls and I hopped back on the bus with a few other guests and one of the biggest wankers I have ever met. We first went to the tunnel museum where Haris explained how a hand dug tunnel under the airport provided the city with it's only source of food, water and ammunition as the city was entirely surrounded by Serb forces. The tunnel was 800 metres long and locals ferried goods through night and day to keep the city alive throughout the constant bombardment from Serbian shells. After the museum we headed off to 'Sniper Alley' alongside the infamous Holiday Inn hotel where journalists and diplomats stayed throughout the siege. Snipers on the hillside would pick off unsuspecting individuals who left the hotel unguarded.

Better things were ahead of us as we arrived at the main arena of the 1984 Winter Olympic games. Whilst it was destroyed by the Serbs, the IOC saw it as their duty to rebuild the complex and it now stands proud but useless as the city is repeatedly turned down for re-hosting the games due to the political climate. Next we went to see a traditional 15th century Muslim home that has been well preserved and offers a glimpse of how things were back in the day. Finally we ended up in the centre of the old town for a traditional Hercigovinian feast of meat kebabs in a pita with raw onion on the side, delicious!

The next day I met an Aussie guy called Hans (Swiss father) and he joined Nikki, Helen and I in a walk across town to the railway station in the hope of finding our way out of the worlds biggest cul-de-sac. Hans was the first person I had met who wanted to go to Kosovo but he wanted to see Sarajevo first and I was keen to push on to Belgrade. Nikki and I bought our tickets to Belgrade and Helen bought one to Zagreb and after a quick argument with a cab driver (I believe Pitchka means Wanker in Bosnian) we wandered back into town to do some souvenir shopping. After a few minutes we bumped into 3 Aussie chicks who Hans had met at the station that morning but were staying in another hostel. As the only one with any local knowledge I played tour guide for a while before returning to the cake shop where Helen and I had Baklava followed by a sugar overdose the day before. By this time we had lost Helen and Nikki and so Hans, the girls and I headed out for a beer only to be paralysed laughing at Hans' friends tale of woe from a few days earlier. Basically, the guy in question was extremely pissed at a nightclub and realised he was going to throw up. Running into the gents he threw open a cubicle door and spewed his guts up all over the guy who was already sat on the toilet in mid-session! To make matters worse, the vomitmeister, now free of his over-indulgence, rapidly gained clarity of the situation and reckoned that if that had have happened to him he would have punched the lights out of whoever had thrown up over him in the first place, ergo, he proceeded to lay one on the guy as a pre-emptive strike!!! I mean imagine that, it's one thing sitting on the throne only to look up and receive a face full of vomit but to then get smacked in the face for the privilege, it beggars belief!

So with smiles all around, Hans and I said goodbye to the girls and headed up the backbreaking hill to the Hostel where Nikki and I packed, jumped in a cab and headed off to the station for one of the worst railway journeys I have ever taken. The only way to get to Belgrade is to take a train at 09:20 to a desolate station at Doboj around midnight, wait for 10 minutes and get another one carriage train to Belgrade via (of all places) Croatia! Given that the seats do not convert into beds and you cannot lock the compartment, a light sleep is all that is possible without running the risk of waking up bagless. Help is at hand as due to the ridiculous route taken there are 4 border control points and 2 ticket inspections so you are kept fairly busy until you arrive in sunny Belgrade with no sleep, very heavy bags and nowhere to stay.