On the road

I'm reaching the end of Jack Kerouvac's novel and it brings memories from my own past of not so long ago. Most of us had a phase in life when we finally broke the chains of parental supervision and went traveling to discover new places and new things life had to offer. Though I did a lot of travelling through sports in my youth, the most time I spent on the road was during the war of former Yugoslavia which started in 1991. I had my own Dean Moriarty character in the childhood friend Sasha, who also was a photojournalist and was by my side through the many events of the 90's. Like Dean in the novel, Sasha was the half-crazy driver who couldn't drive without speeding and who could pilot a car around--or through--any imaginable obstacle without a scratch.

There was a particular day the book constantly reminds me of. We were sent to relieve our team based in Tuzla, northern Bosnia, but the fighting broke between the Bosnian Croats and Muslims which were allies until yesterday. As a result, all the land routes northward through Bosnia were disrupted, with new front lines and conflicts flaring everywhere. There was no safe route and the four of us--Sasha, the reporter for our agency Thea, her interpreter and a good friend of ours Brane and I--were stuck down south in Croatian port of Split, waiting for situation to clear enough for the trip. A British TV crew arrived from Tuzla one evening and told us which route they took, but also advised that situation is changing each hour and they can't guarantee the same route will be passable the next day. Still, we got the information we needed and headed out to dinner to plan our trip. Carol, a reporter for a big American newspaper and a friend of Thea's, joined the dinner. She asked for the ride to Tuzla and we agreed. In the time of war the competition is usually forgotten and the journalists try to help each other as much as possible. However, with Carol strange things took place. At the dinner she appointed herself the leader of the trip, justifying that with being the oldest among us and the most experienced. No one questioned her journalistic experience, but when it comes to driving through the war ravaged Bosnia, Sasha, Brane and I had years of experience. Hell, we crisscrossed the country when Carol was still learning to find it on the map of Europe!

Since Carol was Thea's buddy, we left Thea to deal with her. But, good sweet Thea is such a non-confrontational person that she just shrugged and let it all be. With that we went to sleep, hoping the things will get straightened up in the morning. But, they didn't!

In the morning we loaded our two Lada Niva all-terrain cars. Sasha and I were in one--Sasha was driving, of course--and Brane took the wheel of the other car, with Carol claiming the front seat and pushing Thea at the back. In a couple of hours we reached the dirt road which led through central Bosnia. There, Carol insisted we turn back and go find the UN base where we can inquire about the situation on the road. Sasha, Brane and I were against wasting time. UN was basically useless, the units from different countries didn't communicate with each other and more often than not they'd ask us journalists for the directions. We voiced our opinion, to which Carol scoffed and turned to Thea.
"These macho boys are irresponsible. The only reasonable thing to do is to find the UN base and get the information. I can't trust my life to the likes of these three." She didn't try to lower her voice. Of course, we were furious, but it seemed that she convinced Thea. So, we went to look for the UN base.

Here starts the part just like from the book "On the Road": we were driving back to town; Brane was ahead, Sasha and I were following. Sasha was muttering under breath bent over the steering wheel. I could discern a few words: "show her macho" and "bitch" being most frequently used, the rest was incessant string of obscenities and grumbling. The road was snaking around the hills and into the town in the valley. There was no other traffic. On a downhill stretch Sasha stepped on the pedal and the Russian car reluctantly gained speed, its engine groaning loudly as we passed the other car. Brane got the clue and pushed his car grinning at us. We were in the lead through a few curves, huge springs and wheels squealing in an effort the car wasn't made for. Finally, Brane gathered enough speed to pull beside us on the passing lane.
"Now she'll see irresponsible," laughed Sasha and kept the car parallel to Brane's. Carol's face was inches from our window. She shook her head with motherly annoyance then stared ahead, ignoring us.
"Grab the wheel," Sasha yelled over the screaming engine and rolled down the window. "Lend me your foot too!"
I threw my leg over the gear stick and stepped on the accelerator pedal holding the wheel and steering from the passenger seat. Sasha was leaning through his window and pounding on the roof of the other car, right above Carol's head. Her lips were moving, but we could not discern what was she saying. Nor did we care. Now Sasha had both of his palms and his face pressed at Carol's window. All the while the cars were going slightly over 100 km/hr, driving parallel on the both lanes of the two-way road. Finally, Sasha had enough fun and slid back inside. We let Brane pass ahead. Thea was shaking her head from the rear seat, but she was laughing.

In town, the UN told us exactly what we expected. They had a day old information and had no clue what was going on at the moment, but advised against us driving north. While Thea, Carol and Brane talked with the UN media relations officer, Sasha stopped a car on the road. The driver told us the road is open to Vitez, which was approximately half the way to where we were going.
"You'll have to ask there for the rest," he said. Sasha and I looked at each other and the decision was made wordlessly.

The other three came from the UN building. Carol bent to Thea, obviously convincing her to cancel the trip. Brane was walking aside from them.
"The UN said the road is closed," Carol told me and Sasha.
"Actually, they don't know that. They just advised against travelling today," said Brane.
"We just spoke to a local man, he said the road is open to Vitez," I said. "From there, we should be able to get through to Tuzla."
"I think we should return to Split and wait a few days," said Carol. She locked her eyes on Thea's. We all knew we'll do as Thea decides. She looked at the three of us, than back at Carol.
"I trust these guys," she said, "if they think we can get through, I'm ready to take chance."
There was a long silence. Carol's eyes drilled through us all.
"Fine, drop me somewhere where I can hire a car to take me back," she said and climbed on her seat. We couldn't resist high-fiving each other and whooped and hooted around the cars, finally climbing in and speeding to the center of the little town. Of course, Sasha and Brane kept racing all along, passing each other, sort of playing tag in cars, swerving around oncoming honking traffic. Just in case Carol thought of changing her mind.

Once the villain was gone, the road was clear. Well, sort of. We went through numerous check points, negotiated passage through areas controlled by different warring factions, bluffed, lied, charmed and bribed. At midnight we stopped on a dirt road high in a mountain. It was pitch black, the forest concealing any light that might have come from the sky. There was a waterfall near by, though we couldn't see it, but we could hear it clearly. Sasha and Brane lit cigarettes, Thea leaned through the window and someone started singing "Lean on Me". We all joined in. That was the most surreal scene of the trip: in the middle of the night in the middle of Bosnian forest in the middle of the war, the three of "irresponsible" "macho" guys were singing a cappella serenade to Thea.

We arrived to Tuzla without further troubles a couple of hours later. When Thea checked with our head office in Vienna the next day, they were relieved. Apparently, Carol alerted them that we undertook an extremely risky trip against her advice.