Bosnia for a Moment

Hello future budget traveler, how are you on bus travel? More accurately, how are you on overcrowded, hot bus travel? Not your thing? Then Croatia may not be your cup of tea yet.  Yugoslavia apparently didn't believe in trains, or at least to many of them.  Now that they are Croatia they are slowly building them up, but the land is rough and hilly and its going to be a few decades more before you have anything close to a workable system.  

The result is that navigating the Dalmatian Coast on the cheap leaves you with two options, the first is the large car ferries that go between the islands and costal cities on a semi regular basis. While tempting, it can take them over 12 hours to go the 100 miles between Split and Dubrovnik. Also, they are not tremendously reliable.  As Sergio put it, "Sometimes they go on Sunday sometimes they don't."  As there is only one a day, this might be considered a critical piece of information.  

That leaves the bus system.  Here the traveler will never be disappointed in timeliness or choices.  Don't  think I mean timeliness that I mean they are on time, they are just so frequent as to make this a moot point.  If what you need is to get from point A to B, you will find no greater entertainment then that what can be found on the Croatian bus system.

I had caught a cab ride over to the bus terminal with two Spanish kids from my house.  These were the same kids who had stared at me strangely when I had said hello the previous night before slowly and awkward closing the door.  I had grabbed them as we all headed out the door at the same time and though between us we spoke enough of each others language to communicate the idea of sharing a cab, the concept seamed to confound them, insisting they would rather walk.  Finally, I was able to convince them by showing them that it would work out to 3 Euro each versus a 40 minute walk around the harbor with heavy bags.  Suddenly, it clicked, the girl brightened and turned to her boyfriend and with a stream of Spanish, much josteling, a glowering look from the boyfriend and a general cramming into the smallish taxi, we were off.  

There we divided, they were going south to the airport and I north to Split, a five hour bus ride.  Not that I wanted to spend much more time with them.  They seemed to regard me as one would the zoo's gorilla who had learned to talk.  While I am tall, I am neither that ginormous nor that hairy and it began to grow a bit awkward.  

I threw my bag under the bus and borded with great trepidation.  I had been on to many field trips in elementary school to embrace any bus with gusto.  I was pleasantly surprised by what I found, except on one important note.  There was no bathroom on what is supposed to be a long haul bus.  I guessed all I could hope for is that I could hold it for the 5 hours to Split.  

At the time when the bus was supposed to leave, we were only half full and I had a seat to myself.  We stayed on for an extra twenty minutes in order for the bus to fill up more and I began to suspect the bus drivers got paid on commission.  Eventually I got a seat mate.  A tall dark haired man in a white linen suite.  He seamed such a machismo eastern european stereotype that I couldn't help but stare.    He attempted a few lines of what I can only assume was the Croatian equivalent of "How ya doing?" but off my blank look he was quickly distracted by his sandwich and texting.  I was relieved that he got off a few miles up the road, as far as I can tell by whistling at the driver and getting off by a tree. It must have been a stop, because someone else got on, but there was no signage that I could discern.  

Now Dubrovnik is a bit like Alaska, where it is not connected to the rest of its country by land.  As they were deciding the borders during the peace treat Bosnia wanted to maintain its oyster fields and Croatia would have gone back into the whole mess then lose Dubrovnik.  Therefore, Bosnia got twenty kilometers of coast and Dubrovnik got cut off. 

There for, about two hours into your ride up the serpentine blue and green Dalmatian Coast with its rambling ruins and rough beaches...

The view is ruined by a border crossing...

I would say it would very easy to sneak something into Bosnia.  Customs consisted of a kid younger then me getting onto the bus and checking passports.  He didn't even open mine.  He just checked I had it.  And then, Bosnia!  

It looks so different from Croatia!

Finally in Bosnia, we stopped at a large truck stop overlooking the town of Neum where the driver announced a twenty minute break.  I was delighted to find the bathroom and a small grocery store.  I loaded up on cookies and apples and approached the check out stand.  And there I was confronted with an issue, money.  Now I had money, I had four different monies on me, Dollars, Kunas, Pounds and Euros, I was well stalked.  What I didn't have was the Marka, the Bosnian currency.  All I could think as I got closer was coooookkkkkiiieeessss.  I desperately wanted the chocolate.  Just as I was about to give up hope when I saw the most magical sight I had seen all day, the Visa logo.  Keep in mind that Visa was not accepted in Canada until last year so I was not holding out hope in Neum.  People can go off on global conglomerates all they want, but I got cookies.

The truck stop was located on long bay with Bosnia on one side and Croatia on the other.

Bosnia to the north

Croatia to the south.  They have it labeled in case you forget and not to be jerks at all.  

And with that, it was back on the bus for the rest of the 20 minute trip across Bosnia.  This may be a good moment to mention that Bosnia's full name is Bosnia-Herzegovina after two provinces of the old Yugoslavia.  Bosnia also refers to the the largest ethnic group.  But I and the rest of the Western World are lazy and drop the back half.

Bosnia!

More Bosnia!

Crossing back into Croatia was even easier then getting into Bosnia, the customs agent only checked the bus drivers passport and sort of waved at the rest of us.  He looked younger then the first guy and I could see his toll both had both Friends and an air conditioner.  

It was shortly after that that the bus ride began to get crazy.  We began to collect people.  It started with pairs and small groups.  But then every crossroad, tree, and store was suddenly a bus stops crowded with folks trying to get to Split.  Suddenly, I had a couple sitting on each others lap next to me, misc. teenagers standing in the aile and a large group of Australians playing cards and passing a forty in the stairwell, so much for the no liquids on the bus rule.   What amazed me was that just when you thought there was no way to fit anyone else on the bus, they would find a knook to squeeze a couple more.  A few french girls ended up sitting on the luggage rack. 

The area south of Split is known for its rock climbing.  I began to think of it as where Yosemite met the sea. 

Finally we had made it the 100 miles to get to Split.  It took me 5 hours, three liters of water and two nightmares of the bus flinging itself off the cliff in a fireball of wreckage into the ocean, but I made it.


Welcome to Split!