"Look at the silly tourists wandering around confused with their big backpacks, let's go and scam the fuck out of them" was what went through a taxi driver's mind as he pulled up next to us as we contemplated the long walk from Mostar train station to the Hostel Nina. After we agreed a five euro ride, he first asked if we were Swedish (must be my flowing blonde locks), before dropping us at a place with Pansion Pulzic emblazed on an illuminated sign above. "This, Hostel Nina", he triumphantly assured us despite the evidence to the contrary, and shouted up to an old man, who didn't look like a Nina, on the balcony above. This chap took us in hastily and showed us to a double bedroom. Alarm bells were ringing and sure enough, a
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