The Call to Prayer in Mostar

"Young officers moved rhythmically through the beams of white light that poured down upon the acid green of the billiard tables, and the billiard balls gave out their sound of stoical shock. There was immanent the Balkan feeling of a shiftless yet just doom. It seemed possible that someone might come into the room, perhaps a man who would hang up his fez, and explain, in terms just comprehensible enough to make it certain they were not nonsensical, that all the people at the tables must stay there until the two officers who were playing billiards at the moment had played a million games, and that by the result their eternal fates would be decided; and that this would be accepted, and people would sit there quietly waiting and reading the newspapers."

And onward to Mostar on the dawn bus. It was too cloudy to see the sun, and too early for the sun to have any real power, so the dim light made everything a sort of gunmetal gray.

The sea and the sky were the same color, and the water was still, so it had the effect of making the mountains look like they were floating in air. I was pleasantly disoriented. Unmoored. Untethered. It is beautiful here.

For the first few hours, I was the only passenger on the bus. The driver and his co-driver chatted pleasantly, and I took great comfort in not understanding. Just nice to let their shhh sounds wash over me. I drifted.

Dozed and played a "find-the-hidden-object" game. I ate a Clementine. I listened to a mix of songs my friend Kristen made for me. It's all strange French ballads, 60s murmurs, and instrumental freakouts.

Listening to it on these slow buses makes me feel like I live in the credit sequence of an old movie.

This was my first trip into the interior of Croatia, and here the mountains grew taller. Giant snowy crags. Large, imposing faces. It was getting much lighter.

It was light enough to read,  so I brushed up on the practicals of Mostar. Both guide books said something like:

"Beware, traveler! There are two bus stations in Mostar. The first is all things good. The first is fresh bread and a smile from your lord. But the second, oh traveler! Cursed be the wretch who findeth his soul in that grim place. Mark well where ye disembark, wanderer. Be sure of eye and of foot, lest ye find your doom in Kolodny."

So, I was like, "Got it. Avoid a Kolodny kalamity. No worries."

People boarded in the middle of nowhere. I didn't see a town or a bus stop, but the bus would stop, and they would board, breathing hard and muttering.

When they got off, it was also in the middle of nowhere. They seemed to live between places.

We passed a town called Stupica, and I cracked up all over the place. You buttoned your shirt wrong, you grow up in Stupica or something? Well, Julie got three Bs and a C, so I guess she's not going to college, but she can always be Mayor of Stupica.

The driver picked up the pace as we approached. They can be as sure-footed as a mountain goat in these hills.

Bus stopped in a valley. Driver got off. I got off with him. Stretched a little, took out my camera, and... there was nothing around. I watched the bus drive off without the driver. His buddy must have taken the wheel. There was no place to buy water or bread.

A row of closed shops. A towering ring of shabby apartment buildings surrounding everything.

The driver was talking to a woman behind a counter, so I went in to get directions. He walked off. Somewhere. She looked at me like I didn't have a reservation but wanted a table anyway. I was like, "Mostar?" She was like, "I dunno."

I was like, "Uh..." I brought out the guide book and pointed to a picture of the bridge. She acted like I was trying to sell her a calendar. In English, she said, "I don't know." She was obviously being a creep on purpose. I mean. I get it. It sucks to be at work when other people are on vacation.

I figured I'd ask someone else. As I was leaving I felt a jolt of terror. On the wall behind her was a sign reading: KOLODNY