My husband is not an international drug smuggler.

If you are among my friends, you have already heard this story. But it is definitely worth telling again. Let’s face it, if you have traveled a solid amount time and distance, you probably have a bomb ass story to tell along the way. This is the tale of Graeme being questioned in Bosnia for drug trafficking.

This is Graeme. Obviously a drug lord, m i right?!

It was our second last stop on our 5 1/2 month tour of Europe and boy howdy were we excited. We had decided to spend almost a month in a Croatia. We started in Dubrovnik and mosied on up to Split via bus, which is the best way BTW as it’s all along the coast. On the way, there is an ass crack amount of space on the coast that Bosnia owns.

Getting into Bosnia, EASY. Leaving Bosnia, NOPE.

We stop at the border and two officers come onto the bus to check passports. No big deal. One officer stood at the front of the bus so no one could run off while the other one did his thang. He looked at my passport and moved onto Greame. He looks at Graeme’s passport, then back at Graeme, back at the passport, keeps the passport with him and moves on.

Graeme: Um…I’m going to need…that back?
Officer: something something Bosnian walks away.
Graeme: Okay.
Me: Maybe…he has to…look at it more?

We both shrug and think whatever.

Officer finishes looking at everyone’s passports, comes back to Graeme and says ”get up, come with me.” Graeme gets up, looks at me like he’s about to get shot in the face. I start to get up too and the officer says ”no you sit.”

There’s about, 30 other people on this bus. Everyone starts to whisper like we are obvious drug lords or terrorists or something completely the opposite of us. I’m about to shit all over myself. I have no idea what’s going on and it felt like this was taking HOURS. I think overall, only half an hour went by. All that was going through my head was

Okay, Graeme is going to go to jail. Who knows what for. He looks homeless. But it will be a Bosnian jail. That will probably suck. At least the weather is nice. We’re going to be on that show. What’s that show. Locked Up Abroad. Oh god, Graeme’s going to shoot heroin while locked up for 5 years. I just know it. I wish we had a cellphone. How am I supposed to call our parents for bail money. I’m sure they have phones. Does Bosnia have phones. That’s stupid to think. It’s not like this is a third world country. Even third world countries have cellphones. Remember in Thailand how everyone had flip phones? If Thailand has phones, Bosnia has phones. Stupid Bosnia. Stupid ten minutes of Bosnia.

And so on and so forth.

Finally, Graeme emerges from the building. Him and the officers go around the bus and get his back pack and go back inside the building. Well fuck. Now the people on the bus are whispering more. Shit about how his passport is fake and how I’m obviously in on everything. It’s pretty interesting how people will just jump to their own conclusions and instantly lay blame on people they don’t know. I get sick of everyone looking at me so I get up to get off the bus. I get to the front and the second officer is standing outside the bus, AK-47 in hands and yells at me in Bosnian.

”I don’t know what you’re saying but that gun is telling me I should probably not step any closer to you…“

Bus driver: You should sit back down.
Me: My fucking boyfriend (not husband at this point) is probably being questioned for shit he didn’t do and I’m sick of sitting here.
Bus driver: You should sit back down.
Me: …………………… make a good point. sits back down.

Why make a fuss?

About 10 minutes later of me almost getting to the point of a panic attack, Graeme appears. He puts his bag back under the bus, gets on, and the bus driver mutters “fuckin’ cops”. 

Graeme: Oh yeah, they thought I was trafficking drugs.
Me: I mean, naturally.

Here’s what happened on Graeme’s end

Graeme walks into the building and is told to sit down at the table. The English speaking officer stands on the other side.

Officer: Tell me what you have in your bag.
Graeme: Um. Clothing, souvenirs..
Officer: Any drugs.
Graeme: Tylenol, birth control, cipro.
Officer: What is cipro.
Graeme: Pills to stop me from pooping myself.
Officer: You need to come clean on everything you have in your bag.
Graeme all sassy: I just did.

Then the officer kept asking Graeme a thousand questions, patted him down, investigated his shoes, etc etc. The Officer fucked off to examine his passport thoroughly. He comes back and takes Graeme outside to get his back pack. Back inside….

Officer: This is your last chance to come clean before I go through this. Life will be a lot simpler if you tell me what you have in here before I find it.
Graeme: There’s nothing…to find. So go ahead.

Here’s the thing about our souvenirs. We wrapped them up in clothes and scarves so they wouldn’t break. We bought a small, square clock in Slovenia that was wrapped up in my scarf. So when the Officer pulled it out, IT LITERALLY LOOKED LIKE A BLOCK OF COCAINE OR SOMETHING.

Officer: WHAT IS THIS.
Graeme:…..a clock from Slovenia.
Officer: a clock.
Graeme: yep, a clock.
Officer unravels it with PRECISION: It’s…a clock.
Graeme: It’s a clock.

our cocaine on display.

They ripped Graeme’s entire back pack apart to find zero percentage of drugs. The best part is that Graeme has never ever touched a single drug in his life, so to be questioned for drug trafficking in a foreign country was PRETTY fucking hilarious, once it was all over with.

We were pretty stoked the officer didn’t decided to plant anything on him.

Even though this story could have been a way worse outcome, I’d still love to go to Bosnia. I’m sure it’s a fabulous country and the people are great. Bad experiences like this don’t deter me away from anything. They just make for a kick ass story.


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