Marvy Mostar.

I love it here. It's shockingly beautiful, cheap, the people are laid back. This is my kind of town.

I stayed in a lady's house not far from the bus station last night. A little noisy, but nice. Her mother in law greeted me with Turkish coffee when I arrived. It's so cheap that I offered to pay for two beds so I could have a room to myself. Why would I want to share a room with any old scuzz coming off the bus?

I met a couple from Chicago at the house, and they were a delight. At the end of a few hours wandering around the city together, we parted as they caught the train to Sarajevo, but before they took off they offered to let me stay in their Wrigleyville condo anytime I come to town. I heart Midwesterners.

We ate Cevapcici on a terrace overlooking the emerald Neretva River and Stari Most. Cevapcici is the kind of food drunk Chicagoans would totally go for. It's lots of short, fat fingers of spicy lamb sausages stuffed into a thick, soft pita bread served with onions and pimento sauce. So yummy. And fills you up for days. Almost.

Before the 1990s war (as it's called around here) and the destruction of that 16th century bridge, men would jump off it into the river as a badge of virility. Now they're doing it again, and I caught a couple of dudes in speedos doing cannonballs. Made my heart glad.

But it sure as shit ain't all gladness around here. Lots and lots and lots of bombed-out buildings have not been rebuilt; parts of the city still look like a war zone. I've seen several Muslim cemeteries in which all of the tombstones reflect the same date of death: 1993. Chilling.

Yet these are the liveliest, most charming, welcoming people I've met on this journey so far. Sometimes it's the people who have gone to the depths who can most consistently embrace the possibilities of the day.

I am so glad to be here.