Deciding America's future from Amsterdam and to Paris And there's a slow, slow train comin' up around the bend.

We boarded the train to the patter of rain drops. The car count: three. The passenger count, not much greater. As we left the Croatian cityscape, the patter quickly faded but the view from the window quickly blurred with a paler mana. I, along with my Viking of a friend, Sigi, from Iceland were leaving Croatia behind and looking forward into the bleaker countryside of it’s southern neighbor. One of my first insights of Bosnia was the frequency of small villages and the fact that I couldn’t tell one from the other. It was as if some giant child had taken a village mold and filled it with Play-do and then spent the day pumping them out. The same twenty of so recycled brick houses with the small domed church in the center.

Around hour three or four of our nine hour train ride, the snow flakes increased to the size of cotton balls. Not the way I thought I would see Bosnia…but a unique experience that will stick in my mind. It was around this same time the we had an unexpected stop. It wasn’t until one of our compartment-mates gave us some insight that we learned that apparently the driver had stopped for a beer run. A comforting thought, a three car train, in the snowy countryside with a driver under the influence…haha! Luckily, other than some disturbingly screechy breaks, the rest of the trip was uneventful.

We arrived in Sarajevo somewhere around the time the my stomach was crying out for sustenance beyond the ketchup flavored cheese puffs and pretzel sticks that I had brought onto the train. Unfortunately, it would have to wait while we trudged through the dark and slushy streets of downtown Sarajevo. We quickly caught a tram (okay…so we actually waited for forty-five minutes) and counted out the five stops that would take us near our hostel. Near our hostel, that’s the key. As we exited the tram, it may have been my imagination, but it appeared that that snow was now coming down in like a curtain. We asked some giggling girls at the tram stop for directions only to receive more giggles and some shrugs. I think the count was around ten when we finally found someone who pointed us to the street where our snow-less haven awaited. Shivering we climbed up the three floors through a cramped stone staircase that brought us to our hostel door. We had made it, and our pants were only soaked up to the knees.

If you have been paying close attention to this blog you will quickly notice that I haven’t written anything of my time in Zagreb. I have things to say about that amazing city but I felt the urge to write about my Bosnian train ride first!