The train from Zagreb to Sarajevo does not run from Zagreb. When I arrived at the train station, I was told that I first had to take a bus. Luckily, the bus stopped right outside the train station and it even had air conditioning. Excepting the nice woman in the information desk at the train station, none of the official personnel knew any English, so I just had to rely on the other passengers. There were a couple of other backpackers around, and a couple of Croatians (I guess) that spoke a little English, so, I got safely to the tiny little train station where the four carriage train was waiting for us.
So now I’m sitting in this old, creaky train that leisurely moves through the Bosnian countryside. There are small fields and trees and shrubs, small brick houses and everything is framed in by the mountains. It is really beautiful. And the relative slowness of the train means that there is plenty of time to look at everything.
I’m sharing a compartment with a very nice backpacking Dutch couple, a middle-aged Bosnian woman who speaks German (and therefore can communicate with the Dutch girl), and an older Bosnian man. We crossed the border about half an hour ago, and I have no idea if the train is on time or not. Excepting for on the two stations on either side of the border, where sullen, intimidating policemen came and asked for our passports, the train hasn’t stopped for long anywhere. This far, this train seems to run much more smoothly than the one from Budapest to Zagreb. But then again, you never know. Maybe it is just biding its time, until it has lulled us passengers into a false sense of calm. Only then will it stop, in the middle of a field, with nothing for us passengers to do but wait for it to start again. Imagine the feeling of power. If a train had feelings, that is. (They do in Catherynne M. Valente’s “Palimpsest”, that wonderful wonderful book. Read it! Now!)
Katja Malmborg 