Part One
From Bosnia with Love

Before the war in the Yugoslav republics in the nineties, we traveled through Bosnia several times. We either went south to the sea, or to visit the old Bosnian towns. Vrbas river canyon, Mostar, Jajce, Sarajevo… Narrow roads, unlit tunnels, inadequate road signage, yes or no signposts…
And so in the summer of 1989 I traveled south one early morning with my old Katra (Renault GT4). I crossed the Sava near Okućani and entered Bosnia. And then only to the south and east.
Late in the afternoon, on the road somewhere before Gornji Vakuf, I ran into a roadblock. Just minutes before my arrival, there was a car accident, as I was second in line. There were no medical personnel to be seen, so I didn’t know what the consequences were. To my question, the policeman replied that until the investigativ judge arrives, there is no possibility of passing by. And we waited. The next three hours.
By the time the road was cleared, it was well into the evening. And I decided to spend the night in the nearest town – Prozor.
The city of Prozor is known from the events of the Second World War. Prozor entered the legend after Josip Broz Tito’s short order before the attack of the partisan units on the Italian army, which was occupying the city at the time. Namely, to the meeting of the headquarters of the division with the commanding officers of the brigade, a courier brought a paper from the Supreme Commander (which was located in the nearby Šćit) on which the following words were written: “Prozor must fall tonight – Tito”. The attack began on February 16, 1943 at 11:00 p.m. This later became a war legend, which is confirmed by historical records and the memories of fighters.
Almost in the center of city I found a small motel where they kindly offered me a room. Since I had already been on the road all day and tired of waiting on the road, I soon went to bed.
The next morning I wake up full of new energy. Modest breakfast in the motel restaurant. During breakfast I meet a salesman from Serbia.
When I go to the room to collect my luggage, I notice through the window that there is a gas station right behind the motel. Fine, since I don’t know where the next pump will be, I decide to fill up the gas tank here.
I walk up to the reception, pay for the night’s stay, say goodbye and drive few ten meters to the pump with my Katra. But the man from the pump is just leaving! To my loud question whether he has already closed the pump, he answers me – are you in a hurry? No, not at all, I’m on vacation.
Okay then, leave the car here and follow me to the buffet, we’ll have coffee.
Kindly, I follow him into this small bar and he is already sitting at a table. He asks what I’m going to drink. Coffee, I said, or what.
And he says to the waiter, give him the coffee, but give me mine. And in addition to the coffee, he got a shot of plum brandy.
I don’t remember his name, but I remember it being Muslim.
Everyone sips their coffee slowly and without a word. Since I was still smoking at the time, I light one cigarette.
The man slowly gets up, says to me, drink slowly and then come and get the petrol and leaves. I want to light another cigarette, but I’m running out of matches. I get a box from the waiter.
After drinking my coffee and finishing my cigarette, I slowly get up and want to pay. It’s already paid, says the waiter. What about matches? Ah, good luck to you!
I walk up to the pump, the man fills my car with fuel, I pay and I want to give him a tip. It is not necessary at all, he says. Okay, what about the coffee you paid for?
Alright man, next time you come by, it’s your turn to pay!
But there was no next time. There was a war…