The Way to Sarajevo

The trip began inauspiciously enough, when I discovered that the convenience store in Zagreb station sold me two Ozujsko Christmas beers but then said they had no opener. From there, to the far end of the platform, was a train with three forlorn looking carriages-two painted with a stripe of yellow and blue of the Muslim-Croat federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina (BiH) and a green car from Republika Srpska (RS) Railways.

All three train carriages were marked with a painted "1" denoting first class status, but with paper "2"s on the entry door window. I thought this meant that the cars were "classless" and settled into a compartment in the RS car with an unassuming-looking gentleman reading a Zagreb tabloid.The journey is said to take 9 hours, mostly because the rails get cruddier the further out from Zagreb one goes.

Also, Zagreb woke up to see quite a bit of ice this morning and as my normal five minute walk to the station became a tenuous 15 minute slip and slide affair, I surmised that the rails may too succumb to the seasonal iciness.

...Icy was the reaction of the Croatian conductor when seeing my second-class railpass. "Extra Class! Extra Class!" shouted he. Not wanting to mess with a Croatian in authority, I asked where the next Second Class seats were, and he motioned me a few doors down the corridor. I found a place with two men in the six-seat compartment, less cramped than its neighbors. It became evident why moments later wnen one of the men fired up a local cigaretter. But for now, in the battle of Air and Space, space is winning out.

...Lekarnik was the first place I saw signage in Latin and Cyrillic letters--as it was far from a border, it appeared to be a vestige of the Yugoslav past. Going further to Sisak, it became clear that the pace of change in the capitals is years beyond that of the provincial towns, as this one was the home of numerous smoke-belching old factories and a big ole' coal fired powerplant. Of course, on a day like today, one may be forgiven about a bit of Global Warming skepticism.

...Suddenly, the train slows to a crawl. The buildings take on an increasingly unfinished appearance, revealing the red, brick-like cinderblocks that form the basic regional construction material, though which gets plastered over in more prosperous zones. Are we approaching a border? Boy, the map in my lost Lonely Planet would come in handy!

...Downloading a map from my Blackberry (love the Vodafone roaming), I found us nearly in the corner of Croatian, which is shaped like a backward 7. One finger extends along the Adriatic Coast, the other, a 'continental' section separating Hungary from Bosnia.The border finally comes at a place called Volinja, with a half-hour long ritual involving the change of locomotives between Croatian and Bosnian railways. The Sarajevo-Zagreb line is part of Bosnia's rather limited rail service. Buses predominate and Belgrade will be reached by bus later this week.

...Crossing a wide river, Bosnia emerges. Border formalities are quick at Dobriljin, with the blue and gold symbol of this compromise state in evidence everywhere. A couple of hours of anonymous countryside follow-nearly identical to Croatia except for the rougher look of the houses, the very occasional minaret and non-existent presence of church steeples, this apparently being Republika Srpska from the Cyrillic print on official signs (though 'Latinica' predominates on advertisements).

...Pulling into Republika Srpska's capital of Banja Luka, an inkling is given of my train carriage's previous life--a clapped out East German Deutsche Reichsbahn carriage with the same color scheme of green and white. This explains the markings in the car in German, Czech, Italian and Russian, with local instructions on stickers below.The train skirts Banja Luka, said to be a "hole" by previous travellers on Trip Advisor. It is now 1:40, a little over halfway to Sarajevo.

...One thing that occurs to me about gauging the affluence of a place is to look at the cars. Ljubljana was teeming with new cars and new car ads. Zagreb too had lots of cars, but many, perhaps most, were used western European models from the late '90s with a few Koreans and the rare but still remarkable Yugo. Across the Bosnian border, the cars seem to have a late '80s look-Ford Fiestas and Volkswagen Fox models most conspicuous, with very few East Bloc numbers to be found.

...Anonymous pastureland gives way to snowy pine forest. A small town passes with a conspicuous Serb flag-the first outdoor flag of any type since clearing the Croat border, next to a war memorial adorned with a red star."...for all us born beneath an angry star, lest we forget how fragile we are.". The sudden appearance of Sting's classic, Fragile, on my freshly restarted MP3 player was fitting during the seemingly long stop at the station of Ukrina. The kids here were fresh and full of life, wearing bright parkas while playing basketball at a court in front of the station. But the middle-aged folks looked worn. One was dressed in the long brown cloak of an eastern monk, carrying plastic bags of belongs from a tree branch. Other folks walked about with dirty olive drab coats and sunken faces.

..Nothing remarkable till Doboj, which is remarkable in that it was named for the Pillsbury Doughboy, who is said to remain a local icon despite not having been seen here since the start of the Balkan Conflict. Another tired railway junction, a showplace for yet more green and white ex East German rail cars. Location signs are more telling--witness the full train headed for Tuzla. Remember Tuzla?

...Night descends when we hit Zepce, the first place in Bosnia I've seen which doesn't look completely of red cinderblocks. Big church in town, but it's probably Croat-Catholic, having seen numerous Latin crosses and Christmas light displays, items unseen in the RS. No pictures here-the Kodak-brand batteries purchased in Slovenia failed to get my Kodak brand camera to Sarajevo.It's too dark for pictures with 75 minutes left until scheduled arrival, but the scenery which had seemed a bit repetitive has become haunting in the Bosnian dusk. The snow on the hills just still visible, dimly-lit homes in the distance, and the occasional minaret...
Bosnia and Herzegovina
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