Do Go Chasing Waterfalls

Dear Chewey,

There’s a strange irony in how often we humans talk over one another instead of to one another. Maybe it’s ego. Maybe it’s fear. Or maybe it’s just the static of a world that’s forgotten how to pause.

I was thinking about this as I learned that a dear friend had just been furloughed—not because of anything they’d done wrong, but because our leaders can’t perform one of their most basic civic duties: passing a budget.

It’s maddening how people’s lives are thrown into uncertainty because a roomful of adults can’t find the grace to listen.

And I know, as soon as I say that, more than half the people who read this will assume I’m on one political side or the other. That’s okay. We’ve all been conditioned to hear what confirms our own echo.

But my point isn’t about sides but rather about silence. About learning how to stop long enough to see the beauty we still have before all the shouting drowns it out.

And so, I went chasing waterfalls.

Specifically, Kravica Falls in Bosnia.

I booked what I thought would be a quiet day trip—perhaps a few hours to wander through Mostar, admire the old bridge the town is famous for, maybe grab a coffee and soak in the calm.

Instead, I found myself on a bus helmed by TJ, a profanity-laced, caffeine-and-nicotine-charged tour guide who seemed to think he was auditioning for political office.

Within minutes, TJ introduced himself. “good morning. I am Tajrudiin. No one from West pronounce this name.  You call me TJ.  Now, TJ talk, you listen”.  TJ went on to warn us—no, TJ went on to verbally assault us—on the topic of being late for the bus at our various destinations. He assured us that he’d leave anyone behind if we were even one minute late, and that he’d place the offender’s belongings on the nearest park bench for retrieval at their own risk.

After his opening salvo, no one doubted TJ would happily leave behind anyone who was even a moment late. To illustrate this fact, a guest two seats in front of me began crying, as the disclaimer had clearly been directed toward her—she’d been five minutes late to her pickup area that morning.

TJ noticed the crying and attempted to alleviate the mood by telling us, in his thick Bosnian accent, “No need to cry. TJ is funniest tour guide. Just look at TJ’s reviews on internets.” (Undoubtedly written by former guests being held at gunpoint.)

Okay, but then we start our peaceful ride through the Bosnia and Herzegovina countryside, right? TJ had other plans…

Ten minutes into our journey, after finishing his morning paperwork, he jumped onto the microphone and announced that he would not stop talking until we reached our first destination—two hours away.

The reason? Previous guests had assured him (see: gunpoint reference above) that he was “most informed tour guide they had seen. Everyone like TJ’s information most,” now sounding conspicuously like Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi.

It was at this point I began recording the tour on my phone, less because I wanted to remember it, and more because I feared my legal team would need evidence during my civil, and maybe criminal, suit against TJ.

Let me assure you, TJ was not joking about talking for two straight hours, which more than afforded him the time to “reeducate” the Westerners on the bus (a term I believe the North Vietnamese used after the fall of Saigon).

These two hours on TJ’s fun bus consisted of a stream of TJ’s consciousness as he launched into a diatribe that combined politics, religion, capitalism, and corruption into what felt like a solitary breath.

According to him, the CIA was founded in 1972 (which, last I checked, was about 25 years off), life was better under communist Yugoslavia, and “divide and conquer” tactics, perpetuated by the West, was the reason the Balkan nations were so corrupt and fractured.

If images of Alex DeLarge undergoing the Ludovico Technique are rushing to mind, I had the very same thought.

He didn’t spare anyone—Americans, Croats, Bosnians, Serbs, priests, politicians—every group took a hit.

It was the most uncomfortable history lesson I’ve had since Mr. Wright put me on the spot to explain the difference between The Great Society and The New Deal.

By the time we reached Mostar—our first destination and ground zero of the civil war between Croats and Bosnian Muslims, a topic you can imagine TJ had a few thoughts on—the air on that bus was thick, and all I could think of was that misattributed Monty Python quote: “The beatings will continue until morale improves.”

And yet, beneath the venom, there was some truth.

Later that night, I found myself queuing up the BBC’s The Death of Yugoslavia, trying to separate fact from fury.

And though TJ’s delivery was more rant than reason, the core of what he said wasn’t entirely wrong. Division destroys. Listening heals.

Or as TJ would say, “What a fucking joke, man—this anger.” (Which did strike me as somewhat ironic.)

But by the time I had finally hiked down to Kravica Falls later that day, the noise of TJ’s “gentle-handed instruction” had finally stopped.

The water crashed down in great turquoise sheets, and for the first time all day, no one spoke—or at least, no one yelled.

I met Alicia, a 27-year-old Brit living in Marseille, and we shared coffee, stories, and were so engaged in conversation that we almost missed the bus back. (Side note: I was already plotting to throw Alicia under the bus of TJ’s wrath, had we been late.)

We laughed, darkly and inappropriately, as we recounted how often TJ had used the phrase “ethnic cleansing,” which had quickly aggregated to more times than anyone should during what was advertised as a relaxing sightseeing trip.

But that’s the thing about heavy topics, Chewey—sometimes laughter is the only way to breathe through them.

As the bus wound its way home, I thought about how these same divisions—political, cultural, personal—aren’t unique to the Balkans.

They exist within us, too. The civil wars we fight inside our own heads can be just as exhausting as the ones we watch on the news.

So what’s my solution to all of these issues?

Turn the noise off. Take a drive to anywhere—or nowhere. Find a waterfall, literal or metaphorical, and let it drown out the chaos for a while.

Because the world, even in all its brokenness, is still strikingly beautiful—if only we’d stop yelling long enough to notice.

So don’t bother listening to TLC, Chewey…we are absolutely going to chase waterfalls when I get back to you. That’s where I’m finding my peace these days.

Love,

Dad