Sarajevo, 1992: Smoke and Shadows

In 1992, as the Bosnian Civil War erupted, I found myself traveling through Eastern Europe, only to become trapped in the besieged city of Sarajevo. The city was a far cry from the romantic, bohemian charm I often envisioned. Instead, it was a place teetering on the brink of chaos, with danger lurking around every corner.

One day, as I sat in a half-ruined café, pondering how to escape the city, fate intervened in the form of a familiar face. Gideon Samuels, a journalist for Rolling Stone, appeared and sat down at my table. This was the third time our paths had crossed unexpectedly — the first time was in Central Africa, the second in Cambodia, and now, here we were again in Sarajevo, a city on the edge.

Gideon’s demeanor was urgent as he leaned in, telling me I needed to get out of the city immediately. The situation was deteriorating fast, and the chaos that had been simmering beneath the surface was about to boil over. He warned me that staying any longer would be dangerous, and escape was my only option.

He told me to catch a train or bus to Split, the Croatian seaport on the Adriatic. If I could make it there, I needed to head to the St. Duja pier. He promised to have a boat waiting, one that would take me to Italy and safety.

Gideon’s words carried the weight of experience, and I knew I had to trust him. The city was becoming increasingly unsafe, and I couldn’t afford to hesitate. Our meeting, once again in a place of turmoil, felt like a sign—a reminder that survival sometimes depends on the connections we make along the way.

With Gideon’s instructions clear in my mind, I set out to escape Sarajevo, hoping that the path he’d laid out would lead me to safety, and perhaps, to another chance encounter with the man who had, once again, appeared at just the right moment.