I've Always Relied on the Kindness of Bosnians

I'll be honest here - yesterday was not a great day for Kelly or Judy (or Ron).

We were packing our things up in Mostar, ready for our hired driver Ermin to take us into Croatia and drop us off at the walled city of Dubrovnik.  Suzana at our pansion argued and bartered with the nurses back at the hospital in Sarajevo to let us know how Ron is - we have been unable to speak to him for a number of reasons, including he didn't have a phone, and no one at the hospital speaks very good English.   Anyway, the ward nurse informed us that Ron needed a second surgery to tidy things up, and was undergoing it as we spoke.  We were totally crestfallen.  How much pain was he going to be in?  Should we head back to Sarajevo and cancel Dubrovnik?  Should we cancel Slovenia and spend the rest of our time heading up the coast?  When would Ron really be ok to leave the hospital?

With those questions hanging over us, we decided to move along as Ron had wanted us to and head to Hrvatska (Croatia in Croatian).  Ermin came to pick us up and we said our goodbyes to sweet Suzana and magical Mostar.  We explained our complicated situation to Ermin, and right away he sprung into action.  "Oh, I have many friends in Sarajevo.  I can arrange.  Anywhere you need to drive, I can drive you.  Let me make some phone calls.  My wife will help too.  We drive to Dubrovnik and we can figure out how to get Ron to you."  We told him how wonderful and helpful he was, but he seemed to think nothing of it.  "I'm not amazing.  I'm just normal.  It is Bosnian people."

We then embarked on our scenic drive to Croatia.  The scenery reminded us a lot of the Okanagan - dry and hilly, and we remarked that it seemed like a good place to start a winery.  He pointed out to us that many of the villages along the way grow tobacco and honey and sell them roadside.

Ermin, besides being the nicest person we've ever met, is also the most interesting person we've ever met.  A 4th generation Mostarian, he shared stories of the Bridge, the war (he still doesn't understand why it happened), the differences living in Bosnia under Tito in the 1970s and under the current administration - and then he started talking about music.  He spoke about how when the war was ending, he started working towards building up a music community in Mostar, starting a small Mostar Sinfonia, working (with a Vancouverite!) with music therapy with children of the war in Mostar and his experience working with the organization War Child, and how world famous operatic tenor Luciano Pavarotti donated piles of money to the War Child effort in Mostar, and how Pavarotti came to Mostar to sing in a concert.  He also candidly shared that Pavarotti, despite having a beautiful voice was an enormous pain in the ass and pulled a lot of diva antics while there.

An hour and a half into our drive (but what felt like 10 minutes), we arrived at a small border crossing, and we whipped out our passports.  A quick look from the border guards, and we were in Croatia, a little sad to leave Bosnia behind.  Ermin pointed out that Croatians are nice, but have a little feather in their cap because when Yugoslavia was being carved up, Croatia got most of the beautiful coastline.

It was almost a relief for us to see the ocean.  We had missed it!  The rest of the drive was absolutely beautiful.  We stopped at a small cafe where Ermin called the Klinika Ortopedija and we were able to speak to Ron, fresh out of surgery number 2.  He sounded groggy, but was bored and restless and couldn't wait to make his break from the hospital.  It was a relief to finally have voice contact with him.  The nurse then informed Ermin that Ron would not be able to leave the hospital without consent from his wife - and someone to foot the bill.  Although we did buy travel insurance, it looks like it may by one of those pay-up-frontt-and-get-reimbursed-later type of situations.  This news hit us hard.

We drove into Dubrovnik and right away noticed the difference between Croatia and Bosnia.  Dubrovnik was lively, PACKED with tourists in their sun hats and fanny packs, and hot hot hot.  Ermin dropped us off at our accommodations in Dubrovnik, a lovely little guest cottage with a pool and patio.  The owner and caretaker Ivo met us with his daughter Ivana, and Ermin explained our situation.  Ivo right away said, "it's ok.  We help".  Ermin explained that he was coming back to Dubrovnik tomorrow and was able to take Judy back to Mostar with him for free, and then she could take the bus up to Sarajevo and spring Ron from medical jail, while Kelly held down the fort (PUN INTENDED) in Dubrovnik.  

Kelly and Judy made some tough but necessary decisions, and had to cancel a few things on our trip. We are no longer taking our day trip to Montenegro, cancelling our island hopping to Marco Polo's alleged birthplace of Korcula (it's ok, Ron doesn't believe he actually existed anyway) and are postponing our sailing until perhaps Rovinj.  Although we were a little disappointed, we both agreed it was more important to get all of us together. 

Kelly and Judy, although emotionally drained, decided whilst in Croatia, do as the the Croatians do, and apparently that's enjoy the sun and eat ice cream.  Ivo told us how to get to the Stari Grad (old town), and explained that it was easy.  Turns out Ivo is a liar.  We walked and walked and walked in the hot sun up and steep hill, and then down a million stairs - and finally we had arrived at the old town.  It was really beautiful and amazing, but unfortunately, we were just not in the mood to enjoy it without our third Muskateer.  Kelly took some photos anyway.

Dubrovnik is just teeming with tourists and slow tour groups, ladies in ugly visors and men in ill-fitted pants.  Some of you might recognize Dubrovnik as being in that show that everyone watches that has dragons and Sean Bean for about 5 minutes.

We walked up and down the cute lane ways and popped into jewellery shops looking for the traditional jewellery.

We took a look into the old Orthodox Church ("no pews?  Do they have to STAND for the whole service?  Maybe they bring their own pillows").  

Our stomachs reminded us that we should probably eat something, so we tucked into one of the many outdoor patios and ate a delicious, although lengthy meal.

We paid up and then walked around the old town at night time, which had seemed to turn from hot tourist mecca to Euto-pop discotheque.

We found a cab, and it turned out to be the icing on the cake for a less than stellar day:

Cabby:  This is your street.

Kelly:  This is not our street.

Cabby: Well what do you want me to do.

Kelly:  Drive us to our street.

Cabby:  This is it.

Kelly:  Whatever.

Cabby: 50 kuna.

We paid the most unhelpful person ever, got out of the cab, and were completely lost.  It was not our street, and in the dark we didn't know where we were or how to get home.  We didn't have the phone number for Ivo on us.  After about 30 minutes of unsuccessfully asking for directions, Kelly turned on the roaming on her phone to try and map where they were and where they were going, and were finally able to find our way back.  It was huge relief to turn the key to the compound door and enter for the night, thankful that that difficult day was over.