Another long car ride, this time through the mountains into Bosnia Herzegovina. We stopped just after crossing the border at a small roadside cafe. Three men smoked cigarettes and took in the view. The old Serbian woman at the counter made macchiatos and offered us hard candies. We went out back and petted the dogs while a man fed two cows fresh hay from a trailer attached to his Peugeot.

Back into the car and the driving rain. Though we were in Bosnia Herzegovina, flags with the Serbian red, white, and blue flew on the side of the road and from people’s houses — the southeastern part of the country is a Serb-majority autonomous zone, one of four in the country. Every so often the fog would part and we’d catch a glimpse of dramatic spires of stone poking through out of the valleys. Five hours later we pulled into Mostar. We walked through the old town, scrambling down toward the river to get a better view of the town’s famous bridge. Dinner at the hotel — lamb and trout cooked under hot coals. We tried to fall asleep as the music from the heavy metal bar across from our room mixed with the call to prayer.