Finding Gonzo

After I dropped Ellen and Allison off at their hotel in Jahorina (if you don’t know Jahorina is the region/ski area where a majority of the ’84 winter Olympics skiing events were held) I climbed back into our Opel Zafira and headed back to Sarajevo.

I was fairly certain that it would be difficult to find the Hostel that I had chosen. I was, unfortunately, correct in this. As I entered Sarajevo I started looking for Gatacka 33, the street my Hostel was located on. One of the first things that I noticed about the street markings in the city was that, even though I was on a one way street, most of the names were posted so that they were easily seen by drivers coming from the opposite direction. Foreign city, little sleep, poorly (in my opinion) marked streets this was not looking good. I circled the city on the two main one-way streets a few times attempting in vain to locate Gatacka 33.

I decided to try my luck at branching out into the side streets, according to my directions, obtained from Bookings.Com, the Hostel should have been on the right side of the road as I came back into Sarajevo from Jahorina, so to the right I went. I found the American Embasy, saw the hospital, and enjoyed driving around but had no luck in locating Hostel Gonzo.

By this time, it was closing in on 4pm Monday. Keep in mind that Allison and I left Korca at 1pm on Sunday, drove four hours to Tirana where we rested until 1am Sunday night/Monday morning. I was now running on about two hours of sleep, and beginning to get desperate. Those of you who know me well will understand just how desperate I was, as you read what I did next. I started stopping pedestrians, and asking them if they spoke English. If they did, I asked if they knew where Hostel Gonzo was, or even the street that it was located on. If they didn’t then I gave them the paper with the address and Hostel name and tried to look real confused, lost, pitiful, anything to try and get pointed in the right direction. In all I think I asked about 8 people, none of them had a clue even about the street name.

By now, it was 4:30pm and I was exhausted. I was thinking about finding another place to stay and just calling to cancel the rest of my time at Gonzo, but that would mean paying for at least one night in two places. I am too cheap to consider an idea like that for long. So, I kept driving. At one point I was coming down what I thought was a one way street, as I waited for the light to turn I realized that it wasn’t. I did what any good driver with an Albanian license plate and American drivers license would do; I made a hard left jumped the curb and went on my way. At this point I thought “you know taxi drivers have to know the city real well. If I find a taxi driver who can speak English I am as good as at Hostel Gonzo.” Then I realized I was talking to myself and that I must be far too tired.

As I came to the top of a hill across the street from me were four taxis just waiting. There was a place to park on my side of the street; obviously God was saying “PLEASE ASK THESE GUYS TO HELP YOU!!!!!!” as I had seen a total of about four parking places in the entire time I had been in the city. (I later learned that Monday is the worst day to drive in Sarajevo! That would have been good to know in advance). I crossed the street and walked over to one of the taxis. In that instant my mind was made up, I asked if he spoke English, no, Albanian, no, Spanish, no. He looks up at me and asks if I know German, I wish. I know that this man is going to help me find the Hostel, even though we have no way to communicate using language.

I handed him the address, pointed to myself, then to him, to my Zafira and finally made a violent zigzagging motion with my hand. He smiled looked at the paper and picked up his radio. He called in and I can only assume said, “Hey I have this insane American here, do you have any idea where this street is?” Fortunately, for me his dispatcher did know where it was and my driver waved me back over to my trusty Zafira.

After about half an hour of following my new best friend (I must admit to a bit of wondering where is he going and a few other morbid thoughts), we pulled into a residential neighborhood. I had no idea what it was going to set me back for this service, and had only Euros since I had not yet exchanged any money. I think he felt at least a little sorry for me since I only ended up paying about seven dollars for his service.

I walked to the Hostel, which my friend had pointed out to me, and was greeted by friendly staff member who was amazed that I had found them without even one phone call. I decided to tell him the story later. I parked the Zafira in front of the paint store that made up the other half of the Gonzo business complex and dragged my bags up to my room. The staff turned on the hot water heater and I decided to lie down for a bit while I waited for it to warm up enough for me to take a shower.

I woke up about eight hours later 2am, and decided to go back to sleep until seven.