We first realized we were going to have a problem when we arrived at the border crossing between Croatia and Bosnia and Herzegovina. We pulled up, passports in hand, with all the optimism of two people setting off on an adventure in a foreign land. The border guards quickly crushed our enthusiasm, telling us this border crossing was for local people only. We weren’t quite ready to give up as we drove away, trying to get Google Maps to give us an alternate route. It refused. As we were about to return to the main highway we saw some police officers and stopped to ask directions. They were friendly and pointed us in the direction of another border crossing. Excellent, our detour had been but a minor inconvenience. We pulled up to the next border crossing, passports in hand, with only slightly more apprehension than at the previous stop. The border guard informed us that we could not cross there because it was for locals only. At this point, had anyone looked closely, they might have seen the smoke streaming out of my nose. Where exactly were we allowed to cross the border? I asked the guard if he would put the correct crossing into our Google Maps. This was, of course, a mistake. 

Believing we were finally on the right track, we followed Google Maps along winding roads wide enough only for one car. The more twists and turns we took on the narrow Croatian backroads, the more suspicious I became. Where exactly were we going? What was the red dot on the map that we were slowly approaching? We realized our mistake when it was already too late. There was no going back. The red dot on the map? It was nothing. Truly, it was just a spot on a tiny road, high on a hill, surrounded by farms. Essentially, it was a dead end in the middle of nowhere. Let me tell you, the middle of nowhere in another country is far more disconcerting than the middle of nowhere at home.