I had been planning this trip for months—shocking myself with a degree of organisation I rarely exhibit.  Near the end it nearly all came unstuck—now I am on the train to Zagreb.  Here is what happened:

• My mother-in-law became ill just before I was to leave and then died at the end of June. We made a quick trip to New York for the memorial.
• A week or so later my closest uncle passed away after a long illness. This time I did not go to New York, guilt notwithstanding.
• Two days before I left, when I called Direct Line to put my car insurance policy into force, they told me that they do not cover four of the countries I will travel to. When I explained that weeks ago I had called and listed each verbally—I did so twice, to be sure—all they said was, “I am terribly sorry but we cannot (I just love that term ‘cannot’, as if such a thing were beyond the realm of philosophical or practical possibility) insure cars in those countries”.  When I explained that I had planned an entire trip on that basis—and spent hundreds of pounds getting my car into shape, they offered further apologies.
• A frantic search for other insurers came to nothing. My son came up with an ingenious idea—“why not travel by car to Croatia (which is covered) and then rent?”
• I phoned American Express, my travel agent, to organise a car. A helpful woman swung into action.  One by one she informed me that no rental car company would allow me to travel through the Balkans.
• I explained my problem and she said, “Well, American Express Insurance is terrific. I used them myself and they were excellent for travel, cover the dodgiest countries—they are brilliant.”
• Uplifted by her assurances I phone them—not a chance.
• As panic set in my colleague and I ring round. Surely someone must rent cars or drive cars in this region.  How can they rebuild their economies without this most basic economic ‘engine’?
• Thirty minutes later my colleague calls elated. “It’s all sorted, Rod, you will be a consultant to XXX and they are fully covered across the region—you will come in under their policy”.
• I confirm this with their CAO and shout with joy. He puts me in touch with their broker who lists the many benefits of this fantastic policy.  “And what about my car?”  “Oh, we do not handle car insurance”.
• My heart sinking, I realise I cannot drive there—and I do not want to fly. The train is the only answer.  I call Amex again.  “All the trains are booked—you have left this really late, you know!  I suggest you phone the train company directly.”
• I call the company. “You have left this really late, you know!”  I know.  “Let me see………..we only have a few seats left………and they are in………..First Class.”  I never would have chosen First Class for this trip……..but………well, they are the only seats.  “I will take them”.
• Now I sit on a train, the sky is crystal clear as I twist and turn through the Austrian Alps. I have six seats to myself, and am feeling embarrassingly good.  Yesterday I met two fantastic people—more on that in another blog post.
• This was indeed all for the best—my family is also pleased I will not be driving. The train is safer, greener and less stressful.

But before I sign off feeling obnoxiously smug and self-satisfied, a few reflections:

1. We in the UK take a lot for granted. What if I could not travel from London to Wales or even Cornwall in a rented car?  Or my insurance policy would be void as I crossed the borders?
2. When I meet the successful Balkan social entrepreneurs, will I be able to bear in mind the obstacles they have faced? Those I encountered in setting up Catalyst pale into insignificance.
3. I am very sad to lose two close relatives—I will miss them both, and I leave for this journey with a heavier heart. But can I even begin to compare this with the suffering of many of those I will meet who lost parents, siblings, children, friends and neighbours in a decade of anxiety, armed conflict, bombing and worse?

The last few weeks I’ve been toying with the idea of keeping some sort of diary about preparations for my trip to the Balkans and my feelings and impressions as I prepare for the trip.  In fact, somebody urged me to do this a few weeks ago, and, although I thought it was a good idea, I didn’t actually take any action.  I kept feeling as if I’d missed so much time for which I hadn’t been capturing these thoughts that it made no sense to start.  This reminds me of long time ago, when I wanted to save matchbooks from different hotels, given how many hotels I had already been to, only to talk myself out of it because I had already been to so many hotels for which I hadn’t had matchbooks.  Nevertheless, I also knew that the longer I put this off, because of the matchbooks I hadn’t saved, the less inclined I would be to ever start the collection.

Here I sit, or stand (I am dictating this) in the loft of my house on the 28th of April 2007 at 6:46 p.m.–and I have resolved to begin this blog today because there’s still so much I could capture.  I had an interesting thing that happened to me on Friday when I had a conversation on the telephone with someone from USAID.  I had been introduced to by a friend, after sending them my update on the Balkan trip.

I should’ve known right from the start that the USAID worker was a particular type of American.  He seemed to begin every e-mail with a similar phrase like, “greetings from warm Warsaw”, or “hello from sunny Ljubljana”.  After the third or fourth e-mail like this I should have been somewhat suspicious.  I was finally able to arrange a telephone conversation for yesterday in the morning.  I mentioned briefly, what I was up to, and there followed a long pause on the phone.  “Look Rod, let me be direct with you,” he said, “what precisely is the purpose of the trip?” or words to that effect.  I then reassured him that I was trying to be helpful, that I was open to learning something.  I would try to do whatever I could for the region and for companies and people in the region.  “My main purpose”, I tried to assure him, “was to learn, to help them and in the words of Paddy Ashdown to have a bit of an adventure.”  He paused and then said something like, “Look Rod, and forgive me for being so frank, but I’m not gonna waste my time or the time of people down there on what is basically a bit of a fact-finding mission.”  He then went on at great length to tell me how difficult it was to work with “the people down there” how challenging it was to get anything done, how useless they were in following up or taking action and how he therefore could not possibly take the time on something that quote was not going to lead to “something concrete”.  He then carried on for a few more minutes to tell me how busy he was, how small his team was, how much he is trying to get done and how much they have done.  I found this curious for somebody who told me how busy he was.  He then gave me a few names from a couple of research institutes, and I thanked him for his time.

The simple truth is that somebody like this particular USAID worker is just a bit of an asshole, and that in life one has no choice but to come across, self-important “know-it-alls” like this.  I shudder to think what it’s like for people who have to work with him.  On the one hand, they need the skills, resources, expertise and contacts that guys like this can muster.  On the other hand, dealing with him and his condescending ways must be an unbearable burden for the people of the region– especially after all they’ve been through.

Nevertheless, it is a useful case when illustrating one of the great problems I’ve had since I can see this trip at the end of 2006 or beginning of 2007.  That is, it is very difficult to pitch things correctly.  It’s hard to describe something that is a bit of a self-indulgence, also a fact-finding mission of sorts, as well as a genuinely well-intentioned (at least believe so) effort to help the people in a battered region and to highlight some of the positive endeavours which they themselves are undertaking. Perhaps it will come across as somewhat condescending?  Nevertheless it seems well-nigh impossible to get it right.  Sometimes you get the impression that people genuinely want you to lie about the nature of the trip—to create an expectation which I will then inevitably disappoint–as if I represent a huge investment fund was something like that.  Sometimes people want to assure themselves (and they never really fully assured) that this obnoxious Northern capitalist is just trying to make a big pile of money—as they all are.  But sometimes, just sometimes, it’s clear that somebody really gets what you’re trying to do–wonderful people like Jeremy Condor and the people he is introduced me to; Alma Masic or Valentin Mitev and others.  When you are introduced to come across people like this it makes the preparations I have undertaken really exciting.  And yes, it reassures me that the best of the human spirit still exists.  Even in, and in particular in a region that has had more than its fair share of difficulty.

I have to leave soon as I reviewed this first draft it looks like this is going to take some effort.  On the other hand, I also think it looks like it might be worth the effort.  What is clear is that this is turning out to be a marvellous experience.  What is also clear is that it’s an enormous amount of work.  But perhaps that’s as it should be?