I just walked to the central bus station in Zagreb and bought a return ticket to Belgrade. Alea iacta est. I trust that my book on climate change will indeed see the light of day any day soon. Fingers crossed. But the walk was quite an emotional ordeal for me. Every step brought me closer to the city in which I grew up. The bus station itself was the right place to jog my memories, too. The people. The smells. The architecture. The Balkans. Sorry, the Western Balkans. Although I will be away for three days only at the end of this month, the origin and destination of my trip has already merged in my mind. Indeed, the only part of the Croatian capital that does not feel like the Western Balkans is its very center. Both the upper and lower towns are Austro-Hungarian to boot. Well, the upper city is outright German. But the rest of the city is much closer to Belgrade than many of its inhabitants would care to admit. One way or another, I am already on my trip. Nearly a fortnight in advance, I am trundling along. Belgrade, here I come!