My travels in Bosnia, and first days in CroatiaOnce the morning rain had stopped pouring down, I ventured out of the hostel and into Sarajevo's old town. It's a lovely city: a maze of tiny streets lined with shops and craft workshops leads into a newer area of wide avenues and grand Austro-Hungarian edifices. The suburbs climb up wooded slopes to look down on the centre. And then you start to notice. A facade stippled with bullet-holes. The old library, half destroyed and shored up by scaffolding. You realise that the pleasant hills were once hiding places for deadly fire. The city remains forward-looking, dynamic, modern. But it's impossible to ignore why I first heard the name Sarajevo.

That feeling was to stay with me throughout my time in Bosnia. Riding along, you'll go through a village, and notice the same: ruined, abandoned houses. Bullet-holes in walls. And yet life goes on around it. The war is a very sensitive subject, and most people don't like to talk about it, preferring to simply get on with their lives. But even as a visitor it marks you.

In spite of this sense of unease, I loved the country. After Sarajevo, I rode north to Jajce. I'd planned some sightseeing on the way, but the Tunnel Museum proved impossible to find, and the monastery at Kraljeva Sujetska closed five minutes before I got there, while I ate lunch outside. I did get to wander round the fortress at Travnica, but the Coloured Mosque was also closed. After that sunshine gave way yet again to thunderstorms, so all in all I arrived in Jajce feeling very wet and miserable. I'd decided to splash out on a nice hotel in the old town, which turned out to be a good decision as I was fully prepared to pay twice what it actually cost! I also met Sabina, the hotel receptionist, who was desperate for company on her lonely late-night shift.

The next day saw a change in my luck: actual sunshine! I ambled round Jajce, whose stone-roofed houses reminded me of Gjirokaster in Albania, while at the same time being very distinctive, with long low roofs against snow. The town is quite small, so I left for Mostar by mid-morning. Mostar was hostelling again - campsites are usually out of town, and being centrally located makes it much easier to explore a city centre. Arriving early meant I had time to explore the old town that day, which I did in the company of Peter, who lives in Edinburgh and knows some of the guys I work with, and of Climmy, a young Dutch girl. Later we were joined by Tina, a Belgian travel writer whose brains I picked mercilessly for professional advice, while she ignored my advice about getting married, and accepted her boyfriend's proposal while we were in Mostar!

Mostar old town is another great place for poking around, like a tiny middle-eastern bazaar but without the hassle. One of the main roads through the city, however, was the front line during the war. Here more than anywhere history - living history - stares you in the face. Buildings are completely bombed out, some reclaimed by trees, others by graffiti artists. In a former bank, papers, office furniture, birth certificates, entire lives are lying around, ignored and untouched among the wreckage. Right opposite is a park, where children too young to remember play in the shadow of a constant reminder.

Since Montenegro I had been hearing about "The Tour". The Tour is run by Bata, whose family own the Majdas hostel. I'm not normally one for tours, and I wasn't entirely sure I was up to coping with Bata's larger-than-life approach to the world for an entire day, but I decided to go along anyway - aside from anything else, with the bike not entirely happy it was a good was of seeing the area around Mostar without any worries.

The tour takes in a bit of Mostar, a fourteenth century fortress, the Kravica waterfalls, Medugorje, and the Dervish monastery at Blagaj. Bata is a Bosnian Muslim, and unlike most locals he believes the war should be talked about. He himself lived in hiding before escaping to Sweden as a refugee, and since his return has made a point of discovering all he can about Bosnia's rich and varied cultural history. He works fantastically well with people, loud when he needs to be and serious when it matters. He clearly loves his home, and loves showing it to people. The waterfalls are a particular highlight, and swimming in them is cold but exhilarating.

I left Bosnia feeling more than with any other country that I hadn't spent enough time there. Not that I needed to visit more (though I did), but that I needed to stay there, to learn about it, to immerse myself in it, to try and understand it. Serbia overwhelmed me with how little I knew about it, Bosnia tantalised and fascinated me.

I had been told that my best chance of getting the bike's speedo fixed was in Split, so I altered my original plan of starting Croatia in Dubrovnik and working up the coast, and instead went straight there. Once again I was drenched repeatedly by thunderstorms, including as I crossed the border - though I was only moderately relieved that neither side wanted to even look at my papers. Getting them out in the rain would have been tedious, but I have no stamp for Croatia!

Once at the coast however I found some sunshine and a campsite. I'd expected to have to spend all the following day looking for a mechanic, but it turned out when I asked at reception that one of the receptionists has a biker brother, who knew where to find a Honda dealer! To celebrate the ease of finding information I treated myself to an ice-cream (amusing the girl at the counter in the process by trying to order in Croatian), then decided to sit on the beach - only to be thwarted as the sun disappeared in the time it took me to put on my bikini! So instead I amused myself by watching the Polish couple who took an hour to set up their tent next to mine.

It turned out that the Honda people couldn't do anything till Monday, so I zoomed back to the campsite, packed up my stuff, and rode down the coast to Dubrovnik. It was further than I'd thought, and predictably, the campsite which had been signposted from the Bosnian border wasn't marked once you actually got into town. I eventually found it, only to be told that it would cost the equivalent of €25 just to pitch my tent! Stormclouds were gathering, so I thought sod this and headed for the hostel, which I had been told was the same price. Unfortunately, as it was now July not June, their price had gone up to €30, for a bed you could feel every spring on in a poky little dorm without even any breakfast. They made up for it a little by taking us to the sea for a late-night BBQ (bring your own, of course), but still. Croatia has developed a serious love-affair with the tourist buck: it's more expensive than Edinburgh in Festival-time!

Feeling highly disenchanted, I hopped on the bus to the old town. I've been told that in daytime it swarms with cruise-ship day-trippers, but by the time I arrived it was, if not peaceful, at least relaxed. The main streets were lively, but the side-streets were almost deserted, and a couple fo hours wandering did much to restore my good mood.

I left early after my whistlestop visit and headed for Zuljana, on the Pljesac peninsula. I had a note saying there was a good beach there, so I planned to pitch the tent, catch a boat to Mljet National Park for a few hours, then come back and sunbathe. Best laid plans...

I found a nice little campsite, small but perfectly formed, within spitting distance of the beach. I rode to the ferry terminal, found I had just under an hour to kill, so went to take some photos of the peninsula. I cam back, bought a return ticket, and waited for the 12 o'clock ferry. And waited. And waited. Eventually it turned out it was a 1 o'clock ferry, and the returns, instead of being at 5 and 9, were at 4 and 7. It's a 45 minute trip, and about half an hour from the ferry terminal to the national park. Bang goes my late afternoon on the beach - 7 o'clock ferry will have to do.

Mljet is beautiful. It has pine forests, lagoons, mongeese, peace and quiet. And coral reefs. I didn't know about the coral reefs. I hadn't brought my swimming stuff. I made do with bra and shorts, but no goggles meant no fish-gazing. Although there is something quite cool about drying off on a rock with your feet in the water and watching a crayfish and a fish fight over your big toe! And I'm sure I caught a glimpse of a mongoose. All in all it was only spoiled by the feeling that I should have stayed there, instead of Zuljana. You live and learn. And I did at least get back in time for a sunset dip, with the last rays setting behind one mountain and the moon rising over another.

Another early start the next day, and what turned into a mad race for the boat to Hvar. I made it with 2 minutes to spare, and was squeezed on as the last vehicle, even as they turned one car away because it was too long for the space! Initially I was going to pitch the tent, then ride round and explore the island. But I'm tired. It's getting harder to focus on being here rather than on going home. My mind is full to bursting with people, places, logistics, work, personal stuff, mechanical stuff. So instead, I sat on a beach (well, a concrete slab - there aren't many actual beaches here), swam, read my book, chased fishes, watched a fish digging a hole (I'm not joking!), wandered round the Stari Grad where I was camping, took lots of photos and finally acquired a bikini tan instead of just a T-shirt tan!

This morning was the earliest start yet, as the first ferry to Split from Hvar is at 7.45, and I needed to be on it to get to the bike shop for 10. I left the bike with the mechanic, after much wrong-headed maths (parts are expensive, labour is not). It took me a while to get my bearings from the shop, but eventually I found a hostel that wasn't in the pedestrianised zone (well, near enough to the edge of it that you can get away with riding a bike to it!). I wandered round town in blistering heat, then went back to pick up the bike. Basic verdict: she'll need an awful lot of care and work when I get back, but with a new chain, and a fixed speedo, and new oil, and a clean air filter, she'll make it!

Photos of Bosnia can be found here.