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I have wanted to do this trip for a long time…still, nothing can quite prepare you for entering a place where, just 12 years ago, it was a war zone.
The trip to Bosnia started off on a less than ideal note. [read on]
“Are you ready to go?” Charlie asked, grabbing his jacket.
“Sure, I am starv-”
A loud boom cut me off mid sentence. Charlie and I looked at each other. 5 seconds later, a huge explosion from less than 50 meters away shook the walls of our room in a Sarajevo apartment.
I lept up, heart in my throat, and rushed out of the room to the stairs and big window while Charlie jumped to look out the opening in our room. We both saw the same thing…smoke, and lots of it, pouring out across the trees and the cemetary below…all with headstones immortalizing the same dates of death: 1992, 1993, 1994, and 1995…the four years the city was under seige.
At that moment, a wailing started, wafting through the windows. It was disembodied, eerie, faint and, at that moment, the most terrifying thing I had ever heard. “Courtney, we are going. Now.” Charlie’s voice was rough as we scrambled down the stairs.
[read on]
