9th july 2007 - vukovar

"Perhaps the culture of the Danube, which acts in such an open and cosmopolitan manner, also nurtures this very concern, the inner closure; it is a culture that over the course of all too many centuries was possessed by thoughts of containment and walling-off from others?"
Claudio Magris; Danube

docked on the right bank, on the left bank: serbia. The cityscape, a large crusty wound. Scars that will perhaps never fade, even if the buildings damaged by gunfire are at some point demolished or refabricated. They itch and cause pain with every societal change in the weather.

In the city itself you feel the echoes of the war when you come into contact with the people there. If they smile at all, it is shy and uncertain. Despite numerous indications that I don’t understand him, an old man sitting on the ground on an outspread newspaper in the shade of a tree tells me a long story. I only ever get the words "motorbike" and "serbian police". He uses his right hand to indicate the other side of the danube. I take my leave from him and go back to the ship. Opposite the stage stands a charred tree, even more admonishing than the damaged buildings all around. It’s probably a lime tree. It had been shot at for days until it finally went up in flames. What unimaginable destruction, that doesn’t even stop at plants.

Unimpressed by all this, the sun burns whatever its rays can reach. By 11am it's only bearable in the shade. I go swimming on an island with half the guys. The water is cloudy with mud, but refreshing.