Day 13 Balkans Trip

 April 29 — Coastlines, Crossings, and a Long Road to Tirana

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By 0800, we were on the road, hugging the coastline toward the airport. The drive was nothing short of spectacular—cliffs dropping into the Adriatic, the morning light catching the water just right. One of those stretches where you don’t mind going a little slower.

Returning the rental car turned into its own mini-adventure. A required fuel stop bottlenecked into a two-man operation—something straight out of a Progressive commercial. Not exactly efficient, but memorable.

From there, we met our driver, Matea, and piled into a full-size van to continue south. Another border crossing—this time from Croatia into Montenegro—and then onward to a ferry crossing that added a bit of novelty to the journey.

We made a stop in Budva, where the old town felt like a “mini Dubrovnik”—stone walls, narrow alleys, and a seaside charm—but without the crush of cruise ship crowds. A welcome change of pace for a couple of hours.

Then came one of those moments you don’t quite expect: a roadside stop involving a radar gun, a 61 in a 60 zone, and what can only be described as a “local resolution”—€40 lighter, but back on the road. Chalk it up to travel stories.

The rest of the journey tested everyone’s patience. Between cows being herded down the road, construction slowdowns, winding mountain passes, and multiple border crossings, what should have been manageable turned into an 11-hour odyssey. At times it felt like driving the length of A1A Scenic & Historic Coastal Byway from Jacksonville to Miami—slow, congested, and relentless.

Frustration crept in as the hours wore on. Traffic patterns shifted, rules felt more like suggestions, and navigating into Tirana required a bit of patience and a steady nerve—somewhere between organized chaos and big-city energy.

Finally, we arrived at the Rogner Hotel Tirana. A welcome sight after a long day on the road. Clean, comfortable, and exactly what was needed.

Dinner came late but well-earned at Era Vila—a satisfying end to a marathon day of travel.

Phew. One of those days where the journey truly was the story.

European Reflections

 The pace of life here feels noticeably slower, but in a way that doesn’t feel inefficient—more intentional. There’s a rhythm to the day that seems built around presence rather than urgency. Cafés are consistently full, not just with people grabbing coffee, but with people sitting, talking, watching the street, and letting time pass without rushing it along.

It’s striking how normal it is to simply occupy space in public life. Tables stay full for hours, conversations linger, and no one seems in a hurry to turn over a seat. It creates a kind of social energy that feels different from the constant motion and multitasking pace back home.

Whether it’s “more healthy” is hard to measure, but it does highlight an alternative approach to daily life—one that prioritizes connection and pauses in the day. There’s something to be said for that balance, even if it doesn’t fit neatly into a productivity-driven mindset

Day 12 Balkans Trip

 April 28 

Goodbye to Fair Sarajevo — Onward to Dubrovnik

The day started early—quietly slipping into the gym as the first patron at 6 a.m., followed by a hearty buffet breakfast and one last look at Sarajevo. There’s something about this city that lingers with you. Maybe it’s the resilience, maybe the layered history—but either way, it’s not an easy place to leave.

We checked out of the hotel and began the roughly 4.5-hour drive toward Dubrovnik, a route that turned out to be far more than just a transfer from point A to point B.

The road itself felt like part of the experience—one of those drives you wish you could slow down even more. Leaving Sarajevo, the urban edges quickly gave way to sweeping valleys and dramatic mountain ranges. Snow still clung to the peaks in the distance, creating a striking contrast against the deep green forests below. The roads twisted and turned, hugging hillsides and tracing the contours of rivers that cut through the landscape like veins.

We passed through small lakeside towns that looked almost untouched by time—clusters of red-roofed buildings reflected in still water, with cafés just beginning to stir for the day. The winding roads made the journey feel intimate, almost like you were being guided through a hidden side of the Balkans. Along the way, the cultural identity of the region was unmistakable, with mosque minarets rising above many towns—a quiet but clear reminder of Bosnia’s strong Muslim heritage.

One of the highlights was stopping in Mostar to see the iconic Stari Most. The old stone bridge arcs gracefully over the Neretva River, a symbol of both division and reconciliation. Walking through the old town felt like stepping into another era—cobblestone streets, artisan shops, and the steady hum of travelers drawn to its beauty and history.

Back on the road, we crossed another border—Bosnia into Croatia—and the scenery subtly shifted again. The mountains stretched on, but eventually the landscape began to open up. Then, almost suddenly, the deep blue of the Adriatic appeared on the horizon. After hours of inland terrain, that first glimpse of the sea felt like a reward.

We followed the coastline into Dubrovnik, where rugged cliffs meet the water in dramatic fashion. Our stay at the President Hotel Dubrovnik was brief but memorable—perched right along the Adriatic, it offered stunning views that made it hard to believe we wouldn’t be staying longer.

After settling in, we hopped on local Bus 6 toward Old Town. By the time we arrived, it was too late to walk the full city walls, but wandering through the historic center more than made up for it. Dubrovnik Old Town is a place that feels almost unreal—smooth, polished stone streets worn down by centuries of footsteps, narrow alleyways that twist and climb unexpectedly, and old churches that stand quietly among the bustle.

There’s a beauty here, but also a sobering history. It’s surprising—and deeply unfortunate—to learn that Dubrovnik itself was shelled during the conflicts of the 1990s. Knowing that adds another layer of appreciation for what still stands today.

Dinner was along the Adriatic, just outside the fortress walls—fresh seafood, the sound of the water, and the glow of the old city behind us. An unexpected detail: a noticeable presence of U.S. State Department personnel in town, reportedly including Marco Rubio for an economic summit. We didn’t catch a glimpse, but it added a bit of intrigue to the evening.

As the night wrapped up, one thought kept surfacing—we needed more time here. Dubrovnik isn’t a place you rush. But with Albania on the horizon tomorrow, this stop would be short.

Still, what a drive. What a day.

Pickpocket prevention Bosnia, Herzegovina

 For pickpocket prevention, I kept things intentionally minimal and hard to lose.

I carried only a single credit card, tucked into a slim key card holder, and stored it in a hidden pocket inside my shorts. In addition, I used an around-the-neck pouch for extra security, which I kept inside my backpack when not needed. The idea was simple: reduce exposure and avoid ever needing to access a full wallet in public spaces.

I also made a habit of keeping my phone in my hand or in my front pocket most of the time. If it wasn’t in my hand, it was secured in my back left pocket—the spot where a wallet would normally go—so I stayed aware of that area without actually carrying anything important there.

To add a layer of distraction, I created a decoy “wallet” using a plastic bag filled with folded papers. From the outside, it had the bulk and shape of a wallet, but it contained nothing of value. It sat in an easily accessible pocket, acting as a deliberate diversion.

Overall, the approach was about reducing risk rather than reacting to it: carrying less, hiding essentials, and making anything visible or reachable intentionally worthless.

Day 11 Balkans Trip. Day in Sarajevo

 April 27. A day in Sarajevo 

The day started simply enough: a wake-up at Central Hotel Sarajevo, where the mattresses are… let’s call them firm with conviction. I shook that off with a solid workout in the hotel’s excellent gym, followed by a genuinely impressive breakfast buffet—one of those spreads that makes you linger just a little longer than planned.

We met up with Mak, our guide for the day, whose story immediately grounded everything that followed. He had escaped the siege of Sarajevo as a child and found refuge in Switzerland before eventually returning home. That perspective shaped the entire tour—this wasn’t just history, it was lived experience.

Mak, at 4 1/2 years old, papers as refugee

We began in the heart of Baščaršija, where the energy feels like a crossroads of empires. The narrow streets carry a distinct blend of Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian influence, especially after the occupation of 1878. It’s part market, part social hub—shops spilling into walkways, the scent of grilled meats and coffee in the air, and a rhythm that feels both old and very alive.

Mak walked us through the pivotal moment that reshaped the world. Near Latin Bridge, we stood on the very street where Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated. He had been trying to reach Hotel Europe—its recognizable brown façade still standing today—when Gavrilo Princip, a member of the Black Hand, fired the shot. One act that triggered a chain reaction leading to World War I and ultimately the loss of tens of millions of lives. Standing there, it’s surreal how ordinary the setting feels compared to the magnitude of what happened.

We passed through Pigeon Square—locals and visitors mingling among the ever-present birds—before hopping on a tram out to a virtual reality museum. The VR experience added another layer, reconstructing moments from Sarajevo’s past in a way that made them feel immediate and immersive, not distant and abstract. Along the way, Mak explained the nostalgia many still feel for the former Yugoslavia—often referred to as Tito’s republic—a complicated legacy wrapped in both unity and hardship, Yugo nostalgic.

Back in the old town, we stopped for lunch at Ćevabdžinica Hodžić, where we ordered a classic local dish: Ćevapi. The small, hand-rolled sausages came tucked into warm somun bread, served with chopped onions and a side of creamy kajmak. Simple, hearty, and absolutely satisfying—it’s the kind of meal that tells you a lot about a place in just a few bites.

After lunch, we soaked in the atmosphere a bit longer before shifting gears again—this time physically.

The hike up to the Yellow Fortress is short but steep, and the payoff is immediate. From the top, Sarajevo stretches out in every direction, ringed by mountains. But the view carries weight. From that vantage point, it’s painfully clear how the city endured the Siege of Sarajevo for nearly four years. Looking out over a nearby Muslim cemetery, rows upon rows marking roughly 1,500 fallen soldiers, the scale of loss becomes impossible to ignore. Buildings still standing bear silent witness—some once burned, some still scarred. It’s a sobering place, one that shifts your perspective whether you expect it or not.

On the way back down, we stumbled across a small café aptly named Specialty Coffee. By chance, we met the owner as he was parking his car, and in classic Sarajevo fashion, he insisted we come in. After great coffee, he surprised us with free baklava—an unprompted act of generosity that felt completely in line with everything we’d experienced throughout the day.

Earlier, back at the hotel, Alma at the front desk had shared her own story of life during the siege—harrowing, personal, and unforgettable. She also told us she had participated in the opening ceremony of the 1984 Winter Olympics, a reminder of a very different Sarajevo not so long before the war. What stood out most was her message: teaching the next generation not to hate.

Bullet riddled buildings

That theme carried through every interaction. The people of Sarajevo are remarkably warm and open, and the fact that this comes from a place with such a recent and turbulent past makes it all the more meaningful. Nearly everyone we met had a story, and every story added another layer to understanding this city—not just what it has been through, but how it continues to move forward

Day 10 Baklans, Split to Sarajevo

 April 26 – Travel Day: Split to Sarajevo

Departed Split Hotel Balatura after breakfast:

Driving North out of Split, we crossed the border into Bosnia and Herzegovina and the guard, after asking where we were headed, smiled and said: “Sarajevo… good luck.” Hard to tell if he meant it as a warning or encouragement, but we took it as part of the adventure.

The drive from Split to Sarajevo turned out to be one of the most unexpectedly beautiful stretches of the trip. It felt a lot like Colorado—rolling mountains, pine forests, and that same wide-open feel. We passed near Pločno Peak, which rises to about 2,228 meters (7,310 feet), its upper slopes still capped with snow, and cruised alongside Blidinje Lake in Blidinje Nature Park. The area had a real alpine charm—A-frames, quiet mountain villages, and scenery that felt more like Summit County than the Balkans.

Coming into Sarajevo, the view from the highway was fantastic—red-tiled roofs spread across the valley with mountains rising all around. It’s a city that immediately feels unique, with layers of history visible everywhere you look. Nestled among the neighborhoods are green parks and open spaces that give the city a relaxed, livable feel. Bullet-ridden façades of apartment buildings were immediately visible and clearly reminded us that we were in a city that had been under siege just over 30 years ago.

We had a brief moment of uncertainty when Hotel Central Sarajevo couldn’t find our reservation, but it all worked out—just one of those little travel hiccups that keeps things interesting.  Kurt’s planning, and organizational binder was there to save the day. We were also advised to keep an eye out for pickpockets, a pretty standard heads-up in most major cities but seeming a little more critical here.

In the afternoon, we visited the Museum of Crimes Against Humanity and Genocide, which offers an important look into the Bosnian War. It’s a powerful and eye-opening experience—definitely not light, but meaningful. It also made me realize how much more there is to learn about this region and its recent history, especially given that it all unfolded within our lifetime.

I am a little ashamed to admit that I did not know too much about this horrific war, especially since I was serving on active duty Navy during the conflicts and brutality.  Here is a YouTube video to recap the highlights of said war:

Back at the hotel, a pleasant surprise: a really solid gym. Always a win on the road—helps reset after a long day and keeps the routine going.

Dinner was a highlight. We ate at Lola in the old town, and it was excellent. Even better, our waitress was from Louisville—her parents had come to the U.S. as Bosnian refugees. Small world moment, and a great conversation that added a personal touch to the evening.

All in, Sarajevo made a strong first impression—scenic, welcoming, and full of character. A day that started with a simple “good luck” ended up being one of the more memorable travel days so far.

Day 9 Balkans Tour—11 hour Blue Cave boat ride

April 25. Boat tour from Split 

 An “11-hour tour”… and yes, the Gilligan’s Island theme song that was in the back of all of our minds absolutely seemed appropriate as we pushed off from Split aboard what can only be described as a 24-foot Zodiac adventure capsule. Thirteen of us climbed aboard, straddling saddle-style seats with handholds that hinted this ride could turn “amusement park ride” at any moment. In fairness, the Adriatic behaved—mostly calm seas spared us from a full rodeo—but the setup alone suggested this wouldn’t be your average sightseeing cruise. There wasn’t a life preserver in sight, and just minutes out of the harbor we were flagged down by a police boat for a registration check. That did little to inspire confidence in our fearless crew, Bože and Boris. Still, we’d seen worse—Panama comes to mind—and onward we went. Later we found out that this was in fact Boze's first day on the water, and was unfamiliar with boat skills.  

Ironically, the only piece of equipment that seemed unquestionably reliable was the stereo. As we cleared the harbor, our imagined theme song was abruptly replaced by Another One Bites the Dust by Queen—which felt… mildly concerning given the circumstances. Almost to the Blue Cave, we did hear Three Little Birds by Bob Marley, with the familiar reassurance: “Don’t worry about a thing, ’cause every little thing gonna be all right,” followed shortly thereafter by No Woman, No Cry, where Marley reminds us again that everything’s going to be all right. 

Somehow, that felt like the universe trying to settle the nerves just in time. From Split, it’s roughly 70–75 kilometers (about 40–45 miles) out to the island of Biševo, where the famed Blue Cave awaits. The ride took about an hour and a half, slicing across open water until we reached one of the Adriatic’s most mesmerizing natural wonders. The Blue Cave is something you don’t quite believe until you see it. The entrance is so narrow and low that our Zodiac couldn’t fit—we transferred into small boats, almost like Venetian gondolas, and ducked our heads as we slipped through the opening. Inside, the cave transforms into an otherworldly chamber glowing with an electric, almost neon blue light. This isn’t artificial—it’s sunlight filtering through an underwater opening, refracting off the white limestone seabed and illuminating the entire cave from below. The water itself glows, while objects beneath the surface appear silver, as if lit from within. It’s surreal, quiet, and almost cathedral-like despite the handful of boats sharing the space. We were lucky—visiting in shoulder season meant a fraction of the crowds. In peak summer, especially July and August, the cave can see upwards of 2,000 visitors a day. Today, it felt almost intimate. A rare moment where hype and reality align perfectly.

 From there, we continued to the island of Vis, long known as a former Yugoslav military stronghold under Josip Broz Tito and often cited as one of the sunniest islands in Croatia. We pulled into the fishing village turned postcard town of Komiža—a charming harbor lined with stone buildings and a relaxed, lived-in feel. Right on cue, our arrival soundtrack shifted to Mamma Mia by ABBA.Not by accident—much of Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again was filmed on Vis, and the island wears that cinematic charm well. 

 We explored more caves along the way, including the Green Cave on the nearby islets of the Pakleni Islands—a limestone cavern where sunlight filters through an opening above, casting an emerald glow across the water. During World War II, these hidden coves and caves reportedly served as discreet gathering points for Allied forces, adding a layer of history beneath the natural beauty. 

 Our final major stop was Hvar, where we spent a couple of relaxed hours in Hvar Town. Towering above the harbor is the imposing Fortica Fortress, standing guard over the marina and red-roofed town below. Lunch was unhurried, the stroll through town easy and scenic, and a quick stop at a small grocery store rounded out the visit. In one of those classic “small world” moments, I struck up a conversation with a Mass Maritime instructor—sparked by his Diablo Bait and Tackle shirt (a fish taco spot in the Panama Canal, of all places). Turns out he had sailed with Jack Stansel’s dad and also knew Steve Gasecki from Port Canaveral. File that one into the “small world” folder. 

 The ride back to Split was about an hour—long enough to feel every mile of the day. After nearly 11 hours on and off that Zodiac, it was good to be back on solid ground. But there’s no denying it: the day delivered. From glowing sea caves to historic islands, quiet fishing villages to lively harbor towns, it was a full immersion into the natural beauty and layered history of Croatia’s Adriatic coast. And somehow, despite the rocky start and questionable seating arrangements, we all made it back—happy, a little sun-soaked, and with a story that definitely earns the title: an 11-hour tour.