It didn’t start off well. As we boarded our 7:30pm Eurolines bus from Munich to Sarajevo, the drivers immediately yelled at us in some language (Bosnian? Czech?) to give them money to check our bags. While we didn’t quite understand them, the word “Euro” is pretty understandable, especially when said while four fingers are held up. I’ve never heard of paying to bring a backpack on a bus, and there was no mention of it on the company’s website, but these guys didn’t seem up for negotiation, and I really didn’t want to miss the bus. So we begrudgingly paid.
Upon boarding the bus, we observed that there weren’t 2 seats together. No way I was taking a 17hr bus ride, and not sitting next to my husband. Eventually, I just asked someone to switch his seat, which he reluctantly did. Great. Now we could settle in and relax. Except that’s when the music started. A man sitting a few seats away very thoughtfully blasted his loud Arabic sounding music for the whole bus to listen to. Thankfully that only lasted about 20 minutes. Once that ended, the coughing commenced. Then the sneezing. (Crap, this is going to be a repeat of the hostel in Barcelona.) Meanwhile, a Bosnian film began to play. I tried to get into it (funny drunken old man, girl who looked like Penny from Big Bang Theory), but there were too many storylines to follow. And I don’t speak Bosnian. At one point, the man who played the loud music FaceTimed a friend. I’m not sure about anyone else, but sitting on a bus with 50 other people seems like a great time to catch up with friends.
Oh, did I mention that this was a SMOKING bus? Who knew those even existed? I guess European OSHA doesn’t care about 2nd hand smoke.
Border crossings, made worse by the Syrian refugee issue, were an exercise in patience. Standing outside in the cold while a disgruntled customs agent looked at every stamp in our passports before angrily allowing us through, was not our preferred activity at 12am. Or 2am. Or 5:30am. After crossing into Bosnia, border control pulled the bus over and proceeded to order everyone off the bus. We collected our luggage, and stood at the side of the road, with our bags open, while they inspected luggage, then searched every inch of the bus. It was in this manner, that we watched the sun rise.
I was concerned about the several sketchy looking packages wrapped in tape that remained on the bus, unclaimed. But no one else seemed to mind. We later learned this is the “Bosnian FedEx”. Since it’s so expensive to post packages, people slip the drivers a bit of cash to put their packages on a bus, and a friend will pick it up at the destination. After an hour on the side of the road, border control was thoroughly satisfied that nothing was amiss, and we were allowed back on the bus.
While my chair was being prodded by the woman behind me who was angry that I slightly reclined my seat, Paul turned to me and asked, “couldn’t we have just gone to the Bahamas?”
So why did we subject ourselves to such torment? To save about $100 each.
Look, I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining. When we booked a 17hr bus ride, we weren’t expecting luxury. I’m just telling it like it is. We eventually got used to the noise and smoke. Despite us being the only two non Bosnians on the bus, everyone was quite nice to us. In fact, the man who earlier blasted his music and FaceTimed his friend, ended up offering to buy us breakfast when we didn’t have the local currency. We are grateful that the bathroom worked the whole time (although there was never any toilet paper), there were no screaming babies (and there actually WAS a baby on the bus), and that we got to sit together. The fact that we arrived safely at our destination, is really all that matters.
Beer of choice: no beer was consumed on this trip, though it would have made the experience more enjoyable.