Croats and Bosnians and Serbs! Oh My!

Budapest was good times. The hostel I was at was pretty dead but the city itself was really cool. Tons of history and goulash. I went to a bathhouse as well which was really relaxing but kind of unsettling as there are water jets on the bottom of the pools facing upwards, and Hungarians young and old like to squat over them. And they do this without shame. I tried not to make eye contact with these perverts. After a few days, I headed to Croatia.
My train to Croatia was sweet. It was just me and this old, Croatian grandmother in the compartment and as night fell, we realized that we might be able to lie down on the empty seats and actually sleep. She closed the curtains and locked the door so that the people getting on the train wouldn't come in, securing our luxurious situation. We cackled gloriously as big, awkward, backpacker-shaped shadows walked back and forth in front of our compartment, desperate to find seats as we took up 3 apiece. 'Ha!', I said to her, 'They can sleep in the fucking toilet.' And she seemed to agree. Then, like an hour later, two French guys barged in, sweaty and exasperated, ruining everything. They asked us something about how we could take up so many seats when people were obviously looking for them but I was so shocked with rage and astonishment that Frenchmen had succeeded in invading something, I couldn't respond. I was so mad, given a dull knife and a plane ticket I would have sacked Paris in revenge. The rest of the night was not comfortable.
Croatia was really beautiful but also really expensive. There aren't many hostels so you usually have to find private accomodation, which gets expensive if you are by yourself. Enter Emma, the English girl I teamed up with to split the cost, who was as dumb as a goldfish. She got through 20 pages of her book in 3 days spent on the beach reading. She was good to party with and I usually managed to lose her in the daytime though, so she didn't bother me too much. When we did get to talking, however, it was unbearable. One of our conversations:

Emma: God, I was soooo drunk last night, you dont even know.
Bouche: Yes, I do. You tried to pole dance three times and fell on your head each time. Everyone knew how drunk you were.
E: Oh yeah. I'm usually really good. (We walk past a fish shop) Hey! That's a herring isn't it?
B: That enormous fish right there?
E: Yeah.
B: No. That is not a herring.
E: Oh. Fish are gross. I can't believe how drunk I was last night.
B: Yes.
E: I mean, I was soooo drunk. I feel kinda sick. I might throw up on you, watch out (She laughs).
B: If you throw up on me, I will smash you in the face with a rock.
E: Ha ha, yeah right. Wow, the stars are out!
(I casually pick up a rock)
E: That one is the North Star.
B: That's south.
E: So?
B: Um, the North Star is in the north.
E: Wot? How'd you know that?
B: How did I know that the North Star is in the north?
E: Yeah.
B: (Sighs) I dont know, university.
E: I mean, I can't honestly believe how drunk I was last night!
B: Oh god. OK, let's go over--
E: I was so, so, so, so, so drunk!
(I smash her in the face with a rock)

On our last day, she insisted on walking around in the heat to find a place to eat an English breakfast, despite it being 3pm. We finally found a place where they had $10 omelettes and the waiter seemed taken aback we actually wanted them. I spent the rest of the day trying to take $10 out of her purse to pay myself back. Despite her, Croatia was great. I really have to learn that I don't suntan though.
Bosnia was much cheaper and, although there weren't beaches, a lot more fun. There are still a lot destroyed buildings from the war and the tension between Muslims and Serbs is really high, but the people and the food are great. Sarajevo especially. I stayed in an awesome hostel with a great group of people and 3 days flew by with the help of cheap, 2 litre bottles of beer.
A very funny thing happened in Sarajevo. I won't get into the details, but it involves me, sleepwalking, and a poor Finnish Art student in the other room who was tragically sleeping in what was the urinal in my dream. I can't imagine a worse thing to wake up to. I didn't believe her and her friends when they told me, and I'm still a little suspicious that it was all an elaborate scheme to cover up her pissing herself, but I did wake up in their room, standing in just my boxers, so I suppose they were telling the truth. We all had a good laugh about it the next day, including the Finnish girl surprisingly. Pervert.
Then I went to Serbia. Belgrade is an alright city, not much to do in the day, but it's supposed to have a really good nightlife. Unfortunately, my hostel companions consisted of a dangerously hungover Danish girl, a British guy I refused to spend time with, and a South African who managed to keep my streak alive of hating every South African I've met. But it was the middle of the week anyways and I needed a break after Sarajevo. Now I'm in Istanbul and surrounded by mosques and kebabs.

Bouche