Callum
It’s been four days – four glorious days – since last we hiked. Not that I don’t love hiking, but having single rest days all the time makes them seem a bit like Sundays; relaxing, but with the niggling knowledge that tomorrow you have to go back to work.
Kristen
(For all you Aussies back home, let me first just inform you that it’s pronounced Yab-lan-izia, not Jab-lan-eek-ah, as we have been referring to it for the past few weeks).
(Also to be known as the first day in Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Callum’s birthday!)
Kristen
Waking up in Ljut, I see that it’s become super windy again. Good lord. I’ve never been in such a windy place in my life. To be honest, I’ve never really considered ‘wind’ to be an independent weather system, always just a byproduct or herald of another more important one, like rain or thunderstorms. But not here. Here, we have beautiful sunny days and wind like it’s the middle of a cyclone. Or rather, nearer the edges of a cyclone… Wherever the windiest bit is.
Callum
Today was like one of those comic black and white films – perhaps a Chaplin – where everything moves in fast forward, and instead of dialogue there’s just a clanky piano playing circus tunes. The cops chase the robber through a door, the robber chases the cops through another, then they’re all being chased by a bear… you get the idea.
Kristen
Two cyclists sit on a bench outside a house where an old man is watering his vegetables with a hose. We’re walking along on the other side of the road. One of the cyclists, with a small beard on his chin, calls to us – where have we come from?
Callum
There are many famous winds. The Siberian High, the Southerly Buster, the Trade Winds, and the Brickfielder to name but a few. They tie the world together in great invisible knots, bringing rain, or dust, or desolation in their wake. Like the tectonic plates, or the ocean currents, they mark the invisible palm lines of the world, and, if you’re skilled enough, you can read them.
bushnuts 