That’s what the old signs in West Berlin used to say. Some borders you cross and there is no difference. Others are quite dramatic. Crossing from Hungary into Romania felt like a downshift. From Romania into Serbia there was no change. From Serbia into Croatia, major change. Granted, Serbia looks a bit of a mess, and the Croats seem to run an immaculate show. But in the space of a mile you could feel everything change. Cruising down the highway in Croatia you could be in Austria.

I crossed into Bosnia at night. When I awoke today, the main thing to notice was the air pollution. And the trash. It’s terrible. Garbage is everywhere, blowing in the wind, filling streams, rivers. In the cities the fouled air approaches a “no go” level for me. Instead of staying in Sarajevo I fled up to one of the three Olympic ski venues in search of fresh air. I’ll have to regroup and venture down into the smog. I was quite unprepared for the filth and din. People everywhere, traffic chaos, and steep, narrow roads climbing around old neighborhoods.

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