A stream of consciousness about a journey from Sarajevo, via Belgium, to Connemara in Ireland. A meditation on war and its horror; a group of characters interacting without reason; an abandoned convent in Ypres, and another in Connemara; a search for the links between the two and what those links mean to the narrator and the devastation of Bosnia, held together by the narrative. Not cheerful but thought-provoking, and well-worth the read.
I'm in a hurry, Gjini said; I want to catch the first train he said and stepped quickly through the wide doors onto the station concourse. I put out my cigarette and followed him in; I saw him running through the corridor and looked at the departures board, where the information had just been updated; Ypres, seven minutes, I read. I looked over to where Gjini had disappeared; an illuminated sign was hanging above the corridor, and among the other symbols on it there was one with a suitcase and key; he's gone to get his luggage, I thought; I'll wait here, he'll have to come back this way.