Is it a road trip if you go by bus? Well, it wasn’t really an assingment, except for the mission to relax, run away and best of all – eat. OK, so I did take a few pictures, but they’re crap like always.
The trip took us down the Croatian coast to the tiny little strip of Bosnian coast and a town called Neum. I guess they were informed of my visit. When I took a stroll down to the beach, everything was quiet, nobody around, everything deserted. I’m guessing they implimented a curfew for the time of my visit. Surely, you can’t spoil a calm nation with a “grinch” like me.
Now, that’s what I call patriotism.
My blessed moment arrived in Mostar the next day. Never mind the picturesque old city centre and the famous bridge, and the crazy guys jumping from the bridge into Neretva – the water temperature was 11 degrees Celcius. I’ve been dreaming about čevapčiči (a popular Bosnian dish) ever since I visited Sarajevo about five years ago. And now I got them! Yes! Photography was just a side-dish. High noon, sunny weather, white walls, dark shadows. Overkill. Since I could charge my perfectly working flash with a nuke and it wouldn’t fire a decent fill, I made use of available light and shadows.
An apartment building, I guess.
Anyway, picking mandarines in the Neretva delta was next. I wasn’t doing much, I was too busy taking pictures. This time I was forced to use flash, and with a little persuasion (threats) it actually worked. We went on to a boat ride through the Neretva channels. Mandarines all around an two locals passing off as singers on our boat. A lot of traffic and manadarine transport goes on here so I documented this, just to have a tiny little feature.
When we got back to our hotel, the sun was setting, but I had another mission. And my aunt (a lot of us went on this trip) decided to join me, so I guess insanity is hereditary. We went swimming, while some others stood on the shore in fleece jackets. It was cold and windy, just the way I like it when I have a death wish. Jumped in, soaked for a few minutes, started shaking uncontrolably and got out hoping of pneumonia.
Since I don’t get much sleep at home, I went there to get three nights of normal sleep and it really worked. I was able to drop and snore as early as eleven p.m. That evening I went to sleep expecting to find myself on my death bed the next morning. Either from the cold sea or the grease-soaked wiener schnitzel they served for dinner. Unfortunately, I didn’t even have a running nose.
Last day was just a lot of driving home. And another trip up the river Cetina. In those three days I specialized in taking pictures through the window of a bus, skilfully avoiding trees and lamps and streetsigns. Now, that’s art. I got a great shot of a navy ship – and a lamp post. I also have a beautiful shot of a Mediterranean seaside town – and a street sign. I’m suspecting that cold water took a toll on my brain, since I didn’t blow the lid and throw the camera out the window. Check this out – this is utter madness – I should get myself commited: I laughed.
We arrived home like some mandarine farmers. Loads of bags. That’ll all be gone in a blink of an eye when my dad jumps them. And now I’m back to insomnia-driven reality of my so-called life. Waiting to run away again. Which will be soon, I suppose. Business or pleasure – mostly both. Because it’s impossible to do what I want to do and be based in Slovenia. No wonder the picture editor at EPA took a moment to ask his collegues about Slovenia, then came back, sat down and said: “Have you considered moving?”. And no wonder the picture editor at Sipa Press said: “I don’t want to sound rood, but you need a war.”
Amazingly, after years of my complaining and gnawing on my parents’ nerves, they finally agree with me that this country is completely f***** up. They even use my vocabulary, which is a miracle in itself. And they agree that I should make contact with picture editors at some big agencies and go out, before I become what I predicted long ago – a homeless with an EOS. Although I could find a different job – theoretically. But if nothing works in this “connections, friends, family and drinking buddies” country, my dream job is always available – highly qualified dust caretaker.