Smoke wafts through the camp with the woodstoves and campfire already going before Caroline and I emerge. The sound of the nearby rapid has been a constant reminder of where we’ll be traveling this morning. I’d like to imagine it is some raging whitewater, but I can’t see details of it from here; only the sound is working on me.

I’d love to share with you that these amazing breakfasts were thoroughly embraced by each and every person on our Balkans journey, but I’d be lying. Unfamiliar meats, cheeses, and other products were often just too much for some of the other passengers who’d opt for eggs and bread, leaving plates of the handmade local foods untouched. I tried my best to show our hosts the enthusiasm my fellow travelers were missing, but if half a small group has all turned their noses up at what’s being offered, there’s no hiding that. On the positive side, I was able to indulge to my heart’s delight in all the things there was an absolute abundance of. Matter of fact I will never forget these incredible feasts put on by the many hosts from Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Montenegro; thank you all.

The river is running high and is muddy brown from the runoff it’s been collecting from yesterday’s thunderstorms. We are also getting word that floodwaters up in Sarajevo spilled out of the river channel and have reached all the way up to Pigeon Square.

As much as this will press into my wife’s chagrin that her husband is dragging this into our long-term memories, I have to share some of the unfavorable impressions I’ve had on this adventure. I have been embarrassed to be with some of the passengers and their self-imposed isolation. They have not tried to learn about the language, food, music, or much else about the culture of the Balkans, though we did have an hour a couple of days ago where we spoke of politics, religion, war, and the health care system. With a mere 48 hours to go before we exit these lands, their conversations are still revolving around jobs, weather, and past and future travel plans. Too many of my fellow travel companions are so self-absorbed I don’t think they can ever recognize that they ask very few to no questions of others but are nearly constantly telling others about themselves.

On to some gnarly Class IV whitewater.

Well, that was amazing. That’s right, I don’t have one photo of that part of our journey. We had the sun over our shoulders, and luck was smiling upon us, too. On one particular 400-meter-long section that was called the “rapid of concern,” we handled it deftly, and somewhere in the middle of it, Masha (pictured above right) asked those on the left to back-paddle with those on the right pulling us forward which put us into a spin through part of the rapid.

I caught a glimpse of Caroline nearly falling out of our raft when we hung up on a boulder in the center of the river. She quickly recovered and was immediately paddling hard with the rest of us. We were only on the water for a brief two hours today, and halfway through that, we pulled over at a small deck hanging over the water for a break. Somehow (carried down a trail, I’d imagine), there were cold soft drinks and beer for sale; Caroline opted for the Schlitz of Europe and had a can of Tuborg.

Back at Divlja Rijeka where we had stored our gear a couple of days ago, it’s time to say goodbye to our river guides pictured above that brought us down the Tara River.

After a hearty lunch of soup and mixed grill at Wild River Camp we were heading up the road to our final destination of this vacation.

This gas station is pronounced NESH-cove-itch and has no other significance than that it’s at a crossroads and is something so common that we often overlook those things that are not monumental or intrinsically beautiful.

While it’s barely more than 100 miles to Dubrovnik, it will take us nearly 4 hours to get there as the roads are a twisting, winding maze through mountains, tunnels, lakes, and other obstacles that make for some slow going across southern Bosnia.

This is one of those tunnels.

And the obstacles I spoke of? Sometimes, they are cows. These three hogging the road gave zero jebe.

Trebinje is the last big town we are passing through in Bosnia before reentering Croatia. Here are a few impressions as seen from the car.

What is likely blight to the residents of this city is character to me. If only there was enough time to take a walk down these streets and stop for a coffee.

This is the Trebišnjica River and is known as a sinking river, meaning that for part of its route, it flows on the surface, and then for other parts, it flows underground.

We just drove past Dubrovnik and are heading to Zaton Mali, about 5 miles up the coast, and out of the chaos that this popular tourist destination has become.

This is the view from the villa we are staying at in Zaton Mali. Zamagna is the 16th-century, fully refurbished summer home of a noble family from Dubrovnik, but tonight it is ours.

After dinner, Caroline and I took a second walk around the inlet and are starting to dig deep into anxiety that we will be leaving soon.