Sleep deprivation finally caught up with us, letting us attempt 8 hours of sleep. I say attempt because Caroline has been suffering through a cough for some days now, and at times, it’s ruthless in how it forces her to hack. As for me, this is the most amount of sleep I’ve seen in over a month since landing in Frankfurt back in early May.

Breakfast will be under overcast skies at 8:00, but about an hour before, we are heading into the dining area with some Croatian folk music set to poorly produced videos on a TV. I sit down with a Turkish coffee to write, and Caroline throws back a Slivovitz (plum schnapps) the barman/barista offered her. I believe this to be a first where Caroline starts the day with a drink, even before coffee.

The locals are the first to arrive with cigarettes just as quickly lit all the way around the table. We’ve forgotten in America what it’s like to have smokers in our midst puffing away in a relatively small space. Listening to the Serbo-Croatian language and the various dialects that are only subtly different to us but obvious to the Croatians here. The soundscape helps define that we are somewhere different. Black and gray are the primary colors worn by the men here. Black hair on the men with blond and brunette for the women.

While I can share photos and fleeting impressions of the beauty and moments of delight that we are encountering, I cannot convey that which is lost in the nuance of conversation and gestures that are the ingrained behaviors and customs of a people communicating beyond the comprehension of my perceptions.

My nerves have been jittery since late afternoon yesterday as we faced rafting the Tara this morning. With the put-in only a seven-minute drive from camp, we’d already donned our wetsuits, yet I still wasn’t nearing a zen moment of calm. Calls for rain over the course of the day were made, but right now, things look great with the sun shining down upon us.

We weren’t on the Tara long before we were pulling over for a hike up a cascade. This, though, isn’t just any hike, as we are just inches from a massive amount of water rushing by that originates just up the hill. Sadly, I hadn’t heard what was just ahead, and I assumed it was just more of this; nope, it was the source of every drop of this. Up and around the corner is a spring where out of the rocks flows a rush of water of giant proportions. With everyone heading back as Caroline told me what I missed, it was too late for me to grab a photo. Really drives home the old adage by Louis Pasteur that said, “Fortune favors the prepared mind.”

Petar showed me how to lean back in order to reach out and pull hard in order to move the raft sideways. Again, I need to point out how incredibly helpful Petar and Ivan from Raftrek were in teaching us about rafting and kayaking.

Look hard at these photos and the next half dozen that follow, as tomorrow we will not have even one image of the Tara River as we’ll be on a short run but a demanding and often difficult stretch of river.

While these passing clouds did not open upon our heads they were signaling us that something ominous outside the canyon was building up.

It’s a shame that I could have easily brought a waterproof camera or bought a waterproof bag for my phone, but my feelings before the trip were that I wanted to focus on writing and not photography. As I put together these blog entries, I realized that a couple of action photos here and there would show an important aspect of what our days looked like and just why we had wetsuits and helmets on.

I’ve watched many a video on rafting the Tara River and admit that today it is not looking like what I’ve already seen online and that’s likely due to the incredibly high water we are experiencing out here. The color is murky green, where normally it’s easy to see the river bed through the clear water but also the many rocks that line the river corridor that are apparently buried today.

We spun through rapids, entered them backward and sideways, and even caught a boulder that elicited an “uh-oh” from our guide.

We are approaching three hours out here on the river, and we’ve been moving fast. The rapids were supposed to be Class I-III, but the high water seems to have tamed them. Tomorrow, we are promised Class IV, or maybe that’s a threat.

It’s enchanting out here with fog rising off the river. The weather couldn’t be any better, and the threat of rain seems to have subsided. Such is the luck Caroline and I enjoy when on vacation.

Our lunch is at a camp under renovation. Matter of fact, this should have been the location of our second overnight on the river, but near the last minute, before we started our Balkans adventure, plans needed to be shifted, and so with that, we instead had our spontaneous Montenegro safari and today will raft more than 50km (31 miles) to the camp that was supposed to be our third overnight on the river instead of the second. Such is life when flexibility due to changing circumstances demands we keep open minds about schedule changes.

While our sack lunches are unpacked, I take the time for a moment alone in the quiet of the path next to the Tara. It’s a sad and tragic realization of how difficult it is to find tranquility amongst such a small group of people intent on filling the silence with their banter about their favorite TV shows, the weather, their jobs, and their previous and future travel plans.

Instead, I’d rather focus on a flower I know nothing about. There’s a spider crawling within it that knows nothing of what I’m about, either. When we leave, it will return to its life in a universe that is vast and rarely visited by human voices going on about really nothing at all, while I’ll return to my life being choked on the pollution of human voices that neither sing nor share the poetry of things felt or dreamed of when dwelling in moments that should be filled with contemplation.

Look hard at that blue sky because, in just a few minutes, it disappeared to be replaced by a downpour that hammered upon us with a ferocity I’ve never seen, even in the worst, angriest moments of the monsoons we’ve experienced in the Arizona desert. Visibility was reduced to no more than 100 feet around our rafts that were drifting on the water without features as the massive drops removed the perception of its surface. The large splashing drops blurred the line between river and rain, and then, when we were hunkering down deeply in our rafts, lightning with near-instant thunderous applause from the heavens rippled through the canyon, ensuring us that the storm was directly overhead.

Kamp Tara-Top, our home for the night. The water heaters here are outdoor 55-gallon drums with wood fires below them. That our hosts knew we’d be arriving soaked to the bone and likely just as deeply cold was a soul saver. The truth is that even if I could have only showered in cold water or needed to step into the river, I would have without hesitation. You see although my wetsuit was disinfected prior to it being assigned to me, someone else had taken a certain liberty in the thing that will forever scent it with a particular aroma.

With our gear hanging up with the hope of it drying a little bit, some will linger by the fire, some will disappear to their rooms, and I will practice being unsocial in the dining area where no one sits so I can write. Dinner was an extravagant affair of home cooking that served up chicken, pork, potatoes, carrots, soup, salad, two types of bread with one stuffed full of cheese, and two different pastries for dessert. All the major Balkan food groups were covered except alcohol, but there should be no doubt that it punctuated both sides of the meal.

The boatmen, hosts, and cooking crew are all on hand when, at 9:30, Cliff, Caroline, and I are once again the ambassadors of our group. Someone here loves the music of Haris Džinović because as the playlist moves along, it’s inevitable that the stereo will be fumbled with, and again, we hear more of this guy’s voice. Haris must be widely known because here we are with Croats, Bosnians, and Montenegrins singing along heartily like that’s just the thing to do. Sadly, we don’t know the words, not that I’d join, but Caroline would. In the background, the sound of the river, the crackling fire, and this boisterous party flow deep between the canyon walls.

This all smacks of the proximity of the exit where I’m trying to grasp hold of every moment that might fill in gaps in the memories that will all too quickly begin to fade as we return to the routines of our other life that pick up again in just a few days.

The Balkans might have been the destination of a river trip that has included a good share of other experiences, but what has to stand out are the smiles, free drinks, singing, the abundance of locally prepared fresh handmade foods, and, of course, plenty of cigarettes. Compared to Northern Europe the people of this region obviously enjoy their time spent with others, especially friends. While their lifestyles may not be the healthiest, their living of life is filled with all the celebrations that can fit into shared moments sitting around a table laughing and singing with one another.

Usually, over the course of a river trip, I bond with at least a passenger or two or maybe a boatman, but on this journey, it has to be the sounds, tastes, and sights of the Balkans. In Germany, I’m drawn to my inner dialog, in America to the vast emptiness of the landscape, but here tonight in Bosnia, I want to get stuck in the moment of the song with these wonderful people dancing right here in the seats and in their souls.