Up at 5:30 and onto an early train east out of Mostar. We hugged the Neretva River, winding through steep ravines where fog poured over the ridges and toward the water below. Occasionally we broke out into a valley with clusters of houses and vineyards. Lush green everywhere.

Then through a series of tunnels and into Sarajevo. Cold and rainy and grim. Soviet-style apartment blocks, warehouses, and a train station that was elegant once.

The old city was a different story. While Anna napped, Jon and Marta and I took a walking tour with folks from Tel Aviv, Amsterdam, and Australia. We saw the spot where Franz Ferdinand was shot, visited the markets, and saw the main mosque and Catholic and Orthodox churches (all exactly the same height in a statement of equality). The jumble of cultures and architecture was astounding: Ottoman, Austro-Hungarian, communist, modern. And unlike Mostar or Kotor, the sense of a growing, dynamic city.

Afterwards: Cevapi and Turkish coffee. A stroll through the National Museum. Dinner of traditional Bosnian food. Early to bed.