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It was time to leave Croatia, after about two weeks there. That is a lot longer than we had planned, but it was cheaper than we had anticipated, and we also used Croatia to hide out over Christmas and New Year’s, when finding restaurants and shops would have been hard.
Masayo and I woke up in Split on our last day in Croatia, and my BG was still high from last night: 248. A good indicator that it wasn’t just food ‘n’ insulin at play, but stress from driving last night. But we ate a small breakfast and I tried to take enough Humalog to get back to normal.
#bgnow 248, still some highness left over from last night. I was not amused.
We checked out and walked to the bus station and got our tickets to Mostar. Just before getting on the bus, I noticed my camera was acting funny: it would work, but the controls seemed touchy and at times it wouldn’t respond when I touched the buttons. I had to sort of squeeze the camera to get it to work, and it still wasn’t consistent. I just bought this camera three months ago, for this trip specifically, and already it’s messing up?? Come on, Olympus.
The bus from Split (Croatia) to Mostar (Bosnia and Herzegovina)!
The bus set out on its journey, which went straight down the coast for quite a while first, giving us our last view of the Croatian part of the Adriatic Sea. At 1 pm I checked my BG and was still high, 259. I had a chocolate croissant I’d purchased in the bus station in Split, and took another Humalog shot.
#bgnow 259 on the bus. Still couldn’t get it lower.
Trying to get my BG lower — and eat a chocolate croissant.
When we got to the border the procedure was different than the Slovenia-Croatia border. A guard came on the bus and took everyone’s passport or ID card. This was evidently a guy from Croatia. He disappeared for a while, then the bus driver came on with the stack of passports and gave them back to everyone. After a couple minutes, the same bus driver took them all back again and took them to the Bosnia building.
The border post leaving Croatia, and entering Bosnia and Herzegovina.
After a few minutes everything was done, and the driver handed us our IDs back again, and we continued into Bosnia and Herzegovina. Masayo and I were uneasy to find that we both had exit stamps from Croatia, but nothing at all for us entering Bosnia. No stamp. But we were indeed inside.
We got to a small town inside Bosnia, and the driver said we should get off and take the bus that was waiting beside us in the little gravel area we had pulled into. We shrugged and did so, and sure enough that bus took us to Mostar. There are two bus stations in Mostar, one in the west and one in the east. We stopped at both, and got off at the east one.
Mostar was welcoming enough, except this pile of firewood on the sidewalk.
It was still early afternoon, and the sun was out, as we walked through Mostar to find the apartment we’d rented. Mostar was strange: half of the buildings were empty shells, and many others were riddled with bullet holes. The Bosnian War had only been twenty years ago, and reconstruction had not been complete at all. The scars were still everywhere.
We found the street and luckily the owners drove up just as we arrived; they had emailed us to ask about our arrival time but we don’t have European phones so I hadn’t seen the email. Lucky timing.
They let us into the place, called Little Rock Apartments, partially in honor of Bill Clinton they explained. It is a brand new building, and a really nice apartment with a full kitchen and nice living room area. It’s quiet too, but near the middle of Mostar.
We walked around town a little bit, though it was getting a little dark. We soon found the famous Old Bridge (Stari Most), infamously destroyed by Serbs during the war for no military reason, just to hurt the town’s feelings. The four-hundred year old bridge, the symbol of Mostar, was rebuilt after the war. I knew it from a Michael Palin travel documentary in which he visited Mostar.
Our first view of the Old Bridge in Mostar, from the next bridge downstream near our apartment.
Some Pac-Man graffiti in Mostar.
Near the bridge I checked my BG and it was 152. Finally brought it down! We didn’t want anything fancy and went looking for pizza. We were going to get some to go and eat it at home, but when we found Porto Pizza, we liked it and decided to eat there. I got a big draft beer too, and took a big Humalog shot in an effort to avoid my usual post-dinner BG spike. The pizza was great, and we took some of it home with us because it was too big.
#bgnow 152 in Old Town. Finally back down from the 200s!
Closer to the Old Bridge, around dusk. Very cold, and almost nobody else around!
Another pizza place, another Humalog shot. Let the battle commence in my bloodstream.
Back in the room, I developed a very runny nose, and I was sneezing. Uh-oh. With tissue stuffed into my nose, I worried that I was getting a cold or something. That’s all I need!
Drinking a hot lemon drink with tissue in either nostril.
The good news was my BG though: at 10:30 pm, I was 187. Not 300 like I usually am after pizza! I considered it a great success. Now I hope my nose is ok tomorrow.
#bgnow 187. The Humalog beat the pizza!
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