I find myself in a rattling mini-bus, hurtling along a climbing and twisting road clinging to the side of a mountain with deadly drops just inches away.
The driver has one eye on the road, the other straining to hang his jacket up behind him while Balkan pop plays out at top volume. It’s mid-October but a sunny 24°C (75°F) and I am sweating in a wet suit.
I laugh to myself at the ludicrousness and randomness of the situation I find myself in.
Welcome to Bosnia and Herzegovina.