For the first time in a long time I became so enthralled by the experiences that I completely forgot about the 20 lbs of camera gear on my back. You want to see it, looks like you’ll have to go yourself ; )

Of Bosnia I can say little, as we spent so brief a time, really. A return trip is in order. This time, little old ladies in headscarves pushing wheelbarrows down the road, dogs chasing our car (or possibly their reflection in our car) from a stoplight for two blocks in Brcko, snow in March, beautiful back roads (Caley behind the wheel kept me from overdoing the twisties), an international border in the middle of town, tv variety shows where everyone speaks v-e-r-y- c-l-e-a-r-l-y, old men wear biker leather, and scantily dressed women dance when no music is playing… cool old men completely unphased by girl jumping out of rental car to ask for map help, crossing a border we thought was a border only to realize it wasn’t, signs that could only indicate people running away from explosions, land mines in the river (fortunately unstepped on by us. even if the signs weren’t in english they were pretty self explanatory), a border guard saying “Brcko, for tourism??”…. I can only imagine what I’ll run into given more than 24 hours

Of Serbia there is of course more.

There’s no real way to tell if the people of Serbia were so friendly because we had been expecting problems, or if they really were just some of the most amazing people on the planet. It is entirely possible that our overall reception improved via our license plate. Hungarian as it might have been, it proudly displayed as its first three letters the name of the #1 beer in Serbia : LAV.

Writing proper will be attempted next week, but for the moment I feel the need to enjoy what’s left of my vacation. Though fundage dictates a cessation of travel, budapest remains a mere train ride away, and yet is not home. Yet. ; )

For now, a few moments to last ::

All You Need is LAV, do da do da doo…
Stand up! No, just stand up!
Don’t sleep, just drink!
Ken Leeee, Tulibu dibou douchou…..
Rakija! (oof)
3 for Serbia!
The Hroners
almost hitting a buck while doing 130km/h on a road more pothole than pavement
the Italian gypsy
beers in the never-ending planted fortress
Serbia v America tennis, Serbia v America beer bags
small town disco where everyone stood talking in a circle right in the middle of the dance floor
‘Bruce Lee’’s house on wikimaps
finding our host by going to the first cafe we saw and having a random guy get in the car and take us there
finding our town by asking and praying, since our host said it was too complicated to explain
singing in fluent Serbian, with the help of a little Lav
Mr. Mafia, aka Kristijan’s Hungarian Grandfather
free hugs campaign in downtown Novi Sad, with children
t-shirts commemorating every gathering
visiting a castle where the master of the house had filled the swimming pool with milk, and kept ostriches
every one of Kristijan’s friends showing up to visit the castle, even though they’ve probably seen it a million times before
getting lost on the way out of Hungary, even when both of us knew we were going the wrong way
getting lost in Novi Sad
whispering on the street for the first hour before we realized how cool the people were and just exactly how silly we were being
and of course Backo Gradiste, because the middle of nowhere can be a beautiful place…

Ziveli to our impeccable host Kristijan, and his constant companions (and between house phone, cell, sms and messenger I really do mean constant) Szila, Bruce Lee (aka Dida, aka Vladamir), and the rest of the infamous Hroners of Backo Gradiste

sketch :: Serbia and Bosnia