Drinking Polish beer on a 30 year old Serbian train going through Bosnia and next Montenegro. HIlariously ‘adopted’ by a Serbian grandmother who is sharing my Harry Potter-esque Hogwarts car with her three grandchildren. No one speaks a lick of English. I don’t speak a lick of Serbian. Every now and then, I hear a familiar word, though. Looks like my Bulgarian days have, to some extent, helped me understand a few catch phrases.
The mountains are breathtaking. The train is long and slow. There are hundreds upon hundreds of dark tunnels, steep cliff hanging turns and sweeping vistas. I am glad I am seeing this, but certainly would never do this 12 hour jaunt again.