Foreign Fourth of July

Flying in over Bosnia's beautiful green mountains was great and the city looked better than ever...was that really a giagantic new waterpark I flew over?? I had almost toally forgotten that it was the Fourth of July when I touched down in Sarajevo. US Emb SJJ had already held its fancy party over the weekend so there was no reason to remember. Within hours of landing, however, I ended up at Camp Butmir, the military base outside of Sarajevo for a Fourth party with some of the CD, well-connected ex-pats, a handful of marines, and a bunch of really enthusiastic EU soldiers.

As if, in my sleep-deprived haze, all the guns, trailer-park-esque barracks, and random American fast-food outlets weren't strange enough, the celebration itself was rife with unintended humor and irony. It kicked off with a large, muscle-bound Austrian soldier who belted out "Zee Staar Spangled Banna" with such force that it looked more like he was power-lifting the song than singing it...until his voice cracked and he DEMURRED from the mic, too shamed to sing any more. Then a NATO General told an nice patriotic story that didn't seem to fit the spirit of the Fourth too well. The in-sync-steppin' marine color guard stirred vaguely patriotic sentiments when troops from so many nations stepped forward from the crowd to solemnly salute it. After that things only got stranger.

Once everyone had gotten their American barbeque plate, a Bosnian coverband took stage in front of a giant American flag and played...well, if memory serves me correctly, the first three songs were Pink Floyd's "The Wall," "Play that Funky Music Whiteboy," and "It's Raining Men." The Euro soldiers were loving it, all going crazy on the ad hoc dancefloor, but somehow the American soldiers, no doubt primed for some Springsteen, didn't know how to interact with such a playlist. I met some cool investigative journalists and a OHR head who is into the life and death game that is bicycle touring in the Balkans, so we are planning some killer rides in the area. Eventually the Boss's number came up and all the dancefloor was a mix of Carabinieri, Marine, EUFOR, Hungarian, Turkish, Deutsch, and 'merican troops. Some of those dudes could break it down.

At 10:30 pm the fireworks went off, however even though it was a big display of cosmetic firepower, at 3 km away we could barely see them. When I asked why they were so far away I was told that last year's fireworks ingnited a field and burned out several Bosnian homes in Illidza on the night of the Fourth...I kept my metaphors to myself.

Happy Fourth from Bosnia and Hercegovina!

exit real world...in transit...

I said I was going to kill myself if I didn't get out on the road soon, so, in keeping with that I finally pulled the proverbial trigger last week and bought tickets back to Europe after a year in the great decay. Seven days of frenzied preperation later I was hauling my boxed-up bike around Mitchell International, the first of six airports I would enter on my way back to Sarajevo.

During a busy 24-hour stop in New York City I saw enough friends, consumed enough good food and drink, and saw enough amazing of that paramount American city that it felt as if I was there for days. Of course when it came time to say good-bye to Jennie, I felt like there wasn't enough time in the world. Thanks much for the terrific hospitality Travis and Gabe.

After hastily slogging my boxed-up bike all over JFK I finally made it on my flight to Budapest and onword to Sarajevo.