Some Random Numbers...

8 - days gone and days to go on this magnificent tour of the Balkans. The third and final day in Montenegro marks the halfway point of our 6 country blitz. With Sarajevo, Mostar, Dubrovnik and Kotor behind us, the next week sees us leave the mainstream popularity of the Adriatic coast and enter the unknown entities that Albania, Macedonia and Kosova present.

0 - hangovers on this trip so far. Has maturity sneaked up on us? Previous vodka-fuelled adventures in the Russian winter and drunken jungle treks in Central America seem a thing of the distant past as we revel in our discovery of mountain hikes, beach laziness and early nights. Unchartered territory.

1504 - steep steps climbed to reach the mountaintop fortress overlooking the Bay of Kotor and marvel at the breathtaking scenery provided by Europe's southernmost fiord.


3,4 - litres of perspiration leaked by yours truly over the local vegetation during the ascent of the aforementioned mountain, producing an Oscar-worthy performance of an exploding fire hydrant.

1.778, 45 and 23 - kilometres of heavenly Adriatic coastline allocated to Croatia, Slovenia and Bosnia & Herzegovina respectively in the re-distribution of land following the break-up of Yugoslavia. As my lungs fill with the diesel fumes from a 3rd generation German transport bus hand-me-down at Mostar bus station, memories from my previous holiday exploring the Croatian coast flood my mind and bring a large and knowing smile to my face. Soon enough, the bus inches its painful way around the hairpin bends of the high coastal road, precipitous cliffs dotted with gravity-defying conical pine trees fall down dramatically into crescent bays of crystalline waters. Further splashes of colour catch the eye here and there with a group of magnificent pink oleanders in bloom and pretty whitewashed houses sheltered by warm terracotta rooftiles. In all my travels, I have seen no coastline that can compare to this.

1,454,000 - a conservative estimate of the combined total number of inhabitants currently in their home countries of France, Italy and Russia. The rest are distributed evenly amongst the cities of Sarajevo, Mostar, Dubrovnik and Kotor. If ever there was a time to go and conquer France again, this is it.

17 - number of Australians dining three tables away from us in Dubrovnik, bravely attempting to redress the balance of the previous statistic. No fewer than twelve names overheard during their figurative and literal dissection of their seafood platters ended in the Antipodean nickname suffixes of choice. Thus our own dinner conversation was all but drowned out as Scotty, Julesy, Taylesy, Smithy, Matty, Jimbo, Simmo, Robbo and the rest of the gang performed lengthy crustacean autopsies with the occasional outburst of 'Shit guys, this is real good! I mean it ain't like the shit you get back home, but it's still pretty good shit!'.

93% - my current State Of Relaxation. Five days at the beach and some gentle sightseeing has given me a serenity and peace of mind I have seldom experienced in London. Every single nerve in my body has its own deckchair on a private beach and it is happy hour on Mojitos. The only blot on the spectacular landscapes we have visited was an unsightly, ungodly and quite frankly unwelcome Wednesday afternoon appearance from two horridly sunburnt, long-haired, middle-aged Greek men proving by their unfortunate beach attire that Speedos should be a form of cereal narcotics rather than indecently revelatory swimwear. Brrrr, not a pleasant image.

2 - total number of words learnt and used on this trip, conveniently common to all countries visited. A little slack by my usual linguistic standards perhaps, but for the moment, 'Hvala' and 'Pivo' more than fill my daily needs.

Two Bridges

BREAKING NEWS: 37 Bosnian youths were admitted to the Psychological Trauma ward at Sarajevo General Infirmary in the early hours of this morning. Initial reports are as yet unconfirmed, but this just in from Ana Ivanovičeva, a 21 year old student from Višegrad:

"Horrible. It was horrible, worse than the worst of all war atrocities this country suffered. It was an English man, he was on the dance floor at the Old House discotheque. He was dressed in army shorts and yellow flip-flops. Flip-flops! His moves were terrifying, unlike anything I had ever seen."

A second youth, a 23 year old sociology student from Banja Luka who preferred to remain unnamed, managed just "His gyrating hips, they just...", before passing out, her eyes glazed with fear. Doctors on the scene fear for her sanity.

The fragmentation of the former Soviet Union and Yugoslav Republic may have generated an unexpected upturn in business for cartographers from all corners of the world, but to me it simply means that a new audience of unsuspecting nightclubbing enthusiasts can be subjected to dance moves that would make an arthritic three-legged pregnant water buffalo appear to move as gracefully as Rudolf Nureyev and Margot Fonteyn performing their legendary Baroque Pas de Trois. As I wreak my path of destruction through the Western Balkans with my Irish travel buddy, I can expect no fewer than 12 new entry and exit stamps from this trip, all in a passport so dog-eared that it may soon require a flea collar and its own miniature kennel.

A last minute pre-trip examination of the Foreign Office's current hotspots left me feeling somewhat cheated as I failed to find a single one of my upcoming destinations rated at more than a moderate level of geopolitical instability. No civil unrest, no rigged elections or seismic activity to report and it would seem as though the keys to the safety of this voyage will be held in the most dangerous hands of all - my own.

So far, so good. On this, Day 3 of 16, we are nearing the end of our discovery of Bosnia, a country known principally for two architectural structures that have been historically significant in shaping the map of Europe over the past 100 years. Two bridges. The first of unimaginable consequence, Sarajevo's Latin Bridge: the site of the assassination that precipitated the start of a century of nationalistic fervour and war. The second, the Old Bridge at Mostar, a symbol of culture, learning and prosperity for 500 years, then of suffering, death and horror during the Bosnian War, and finally of the reparation and attempted cohabitation of two feuding brothers of different faith.

And what a discovery Bosnia has been. Bosnia, the poor neighbour of powerful Serbia, beautiful Croatia and emerging Montenegro, has truly surprised us. Bosnia, the wonderful aroma of grilled čevapčiči in the evening air, everywhere; the surprisingly pleasant sounds of copper being hammered by skilled merchants into coffee cups, reverberating around Sarajevo's enthralling Baščaršija Bazaar; the entrepreneurial psychopaths leaping from the 21m height of the Old Bridge into the Neretva river in Mostar to fleece tourists of their holiday money; the glorious Mediterrannean climate and cheap beer.

I am on the road again, and it feels great.