Twenty Cars

Day sixteen, Bosnia. I cross the border between Imotski and Posusje and decide to go straight through, past Mostar, over the hills and the dry country to Jablanica.

The road runs out into distances that don't seem to end. Rock the colour of old bone, a sky doing its best work, clouds arranged as if somebody had been asked to draw clouds.

In a hundred kilometres I meet about twenty cars.

Past Konjsko there is a lake with nobody at it and a handful of small houses along the shore, and I want very much to stay the night.

I don't. I have an apartment booked in Visoko and I want to be there on time, because Nicky is flying in from Germany tomorrow. We are going to look at the pyramids everyone talks about.

Whether they are pyramids at all, we shall see.