October 7, 2025, Zagreb- The bus conductor pretended to be livid, shouting in Serbian: “Five minutes means five minutes!”, as I came back from seven minutes in a supermarket queue. Some things are more essential than others, and as he well knew, no one cuts in front of a mother and two children, with a modest basket of groceries. No one does that, anywhere in the world.

The driver shrugged his shoulders and made up the two lost minutes, once we were back on the highway. We didn’t stop again until the Croatian border. There, with two buses ahead of us, we sat for ten minutes. Then, we go out, and were exited by the Bosnian border police, got back on the bus, waited until our time to re-enter Croatia, and got back off the bus. We retrieved our luggage from the storage bins and fell in line again.

A pleasant, business-like young woman stamped everyone’s passport, checked to see that the bins were empty then joined her two colleagues in the baggage inspection room. We were especially selected for the spot check, because there were a few people on board from countries which were being watched by Europol. The U. S. is not among those countries, but I have nothing to hide, regardless. The passport stamper checked my bags, educating herself about American dietary supplements in the process. I was glad to oblige. I would proudly claim that woman as a daughter, the way she dove into her tasks and joined her teammates without being told.

The rest of the way was quiet, the conductor, who was now the driver, maneuvered his way through Zagreb’s rush hour traffic-hardly Los Angeles or Berlin, but a slowdown nonetheless. The first driver got off the bus at a truck stop and the rest of us went to the now familiar West Zagreb Terminal. From there, I caught a tram to near the Mickey Mouse Apartment-a variation on Alora-Heart of Zagreb, except the apartment was on the fourth floor, instead of in the basement. It was of similar size to Alora, and was across the hall from Mini-Suite, which had Madame Mouse on the front door. This start-up apartment business seems to be unique to Zagreb, but it’s a nice idea, even if it wouldn’t work for all travelers.

The day had started a bit less organized. Sarajevo is a larger city than one might think, and there is a world of difference between the Old Town and the modern downtown, which looks pretty standard. No one near the Miljacka River bank knew where the bus station was, but a bartender (open at 8:30 a.m.) said it was too far to walk. I caught a tram, advised by a university student, and a woman who had just taken her kids to school, that it was eight stops ahead. A young woman from Germany joined me in the luggage pile section, and we power-walked together to the bus terminal, doing a 10-minute walk in 7. She sat and waited for her bus, and I caught mine outside, leaving my Bosnian Mark coins with a destitute young man who stood, forlorn, on the platform.

Here are some scenes of the day.

Safely in Mickey Mouse Apartment, I bid all a good night. Tomorrow, it’s off to Salzburg, probably via Slovenia.

October 7, 2025, Zagreb- The bus conductor pretended to be livid, shouting in Serbian: “Five minutes means five minutes!”, as I came back from seven minutes in a supermarket queue. Some things are more essential than others, and as he well knew, no one cuts in front of a mother and two children, with a modest basket of groceries. No one does that, anywhere in the world.

The driver shrugged his shoulders and made up the two lost minutes, once we were back on the highway. We didn’t stop again until the Croatian border. There, with two buses ahead of us, we sat for ten minutes. Then, we go out, and were exited by the Bosnian border police, got back on the bus, waited until our time to re-enter Croatia, and got back off the bus. We retrieved our luggage from the storage bins and fell in line again.

A pleasant, business-like young woman stamped everyone’s passport, checked to see that the bins were empty then joined her two colleagues in the baggage inspection room. We were especially selected for the spot check, because there were a few people on board from countries which were being watched by Europol. The U. S. is not among those countries, but I have nothing to hide, regardless. The passport stamper checked my bags, educating herself about American dietary supplements in the process. I was glad to oblige. I would proudly claim that woman as a daughter, the way she dove into her tasks and joined her teammates without being told.

The rest of the way was quiet, the conductor, who was now the driver, maneuvered his way through Zagreb’s rush hour traffic-hardly Los Angeles or Berlin, but a slowdown nonetheless. The first driver got off the bus at a truck stop and the rest of us went to the now familiar West Zagreb Terminal. From there, I caught a tram to near the Mickey Mouse Apartment-a variation on Alora-Heart of Zagreb, except the apartment was on the fourth floor, instead of in the basement. It was of similar size to Alora, and was across the hall from Mini-Suite, which had Madame Mouse on the front door. This start-up apartment business seems to be unique to Zagreb, but it’s a nice idea, even if it wouldn’t work for all travelers.

The day had started a bit less organized. Sarajevo is a larger city than one might think, and there is a world of difference between the Old Town and the modern downtown, which looks pretty standard. No one near the Miljacka River bank knew where the bus station was, but a bartender (open at 8:30 a.m.) said it was too far to walk. I caught a tram, advised by a university student, and a woman who had just taken her kids to school, that it was eight stops ahead. A young woman from Germany joined me in the luggage pile section, and we power-walked together to the bus terminal, doing a 10-minute walk in 7. She sat and waited for her bus, and I caught mine outside, leaving my Bosnian Mark coins with a destitute young man who stood, forlorn, on the platform.

Here are some scenes of the day.

Safely in Mickey Mouse Apartment, I bid all a good night. Tomorrow, it’s off to Salzburg, probably via Slovenia.