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.