I am sat in an Internet cafe, looking like a pirate without an eye patch. It would appear I've developed some kind of infection, or scratched my ocular ball, and wearing a contact lens in my left eye causes said eye to go bloodshot and make my nose run. Needless to say, this isn't a look I want to cultivate; nor is wearing my ridiculous fucking glasses as they're thicker than the combined attendees at hairdressing seminar. So I have just the one contact lens in, whilst occasionally closing the other in order that I can see. Sexy.
We're now in Sarajevo, the rather charming capital city of Bosnia and Herzegovina that we've yet to check out properly. We're here for a couple more days as we cut the Croatian capital of Zagreb short due to lack of interest. I wish I could say nicer things about it, and I wish we'd done more cerebral things than just drink and eat but in the event, we didn't. I'd managed to book a hostel that was over an hour's walk from the town centre, a walk first undertaken with our heavy rucksacks whilst Martin swore at me. When we did go back into town on Saturday night dressed in smart shirts and suit jackets, we both wished we were in t-shirts as teenage girls giggled at us and hooded Croatian chavs frowned. Even among adults, we were the only ones dressed up to go out and, after a few hours wandering around trying to find Croat life, we gave up and undertook that fucking walk back to the hostel, as the trams had stopped running.
Sunday was spent chilling, and watching a dodgy copy of Idiocracy we'd found in the Hostel's common room. We were actually enjoying our evening's sobriety until, a good hour or so into the film, the fucker packed up so we'd gone to bed to be up early for the trip to Bosnia.
Nine hours on a train ain't fun, particularly as the ebb and flow of humanity grabbed seats next to us; all gruff, stinking men who'd managed to jump ahead of the lithe, modelesque ladies, who'd peered in to our now crowded booth as we got crushed by belching, chainsmoking fuckhats.
And now we're in Sarajevo. It's one of those placenames like Beirut and, now, Baghdad, that seems to resonate with images of war and destruction, but it's really quite nice - particularly as the Bosnian war's over. There's a strong Muslim prescence here, lots of white-ish looking women in scarves, and of course the Roman Catholicism of the last couple of countries we've been in now has to jostle with eastern Orthodoxy. Don't ask me why, but I keep thinking I'm in Turkey.
Anyway, I'm going to get out of this Internet cafe to look for some motherfucking Optrex for my shagged sight. I can't spend the next few days with vision in one eye only. And neither can I sit among 12-year-old Sarajevan boys as they shoot one another online whilst singing Bosnian folksongs.