A sleepless night

Unlike normal circumstances, I wasn’t returning to consciousness to escape from a bad dream. I guess it was jet lag that woke me up in the middle of the night. My biological clock was still not able to get in sync with the seven hours of time difference.  This was, after all, the second night since coming back from Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Nor was I eaten up by worries like in the other sleepless nights. Lying wide awake on the bed, thoughts and memories rushed up like the water in the springs and waterfalls of the country I have just travelled for over a week. I saw again the family of sheepdogs at a mountain house in Umoljani. I heard again the melodious chanting of Islamic prayers from a mosque while sipping Turkish coffee at a roadside café. I relived the scenes of looking at the sun setting on Sarajevo from the balcony of my hostel, listening to the local people talk about how they survived the war and taking that tedious but pleasant trip from Trebinje back to Sarajevo. I felt, gosh, I need to get hold of these flowing inspirations like when I would have a drink of, or bottle, the cool and fresh water from the fountains throughout the country.

I have to write down the experiences.

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