Nebaj. Yeah, 'N-e-b-a-j' - write it down somewhere safe and don't forget it. If you ever hear that name on your travels, remember these words: STAY WELL CLEAR. This is quite simply the most miserable and wretched place I have ever been to. With a population of 11,000 flea infested, disease ridden, crummy folk eeking out an appalling existence at an elevation of 1,900 metres. I could try raping and pillaging the English dictionary looking for suitable adjectives to desribe this place but i'm too tired to even bother and I don't think I could do it justice. The English language was not designed for places like this. A place that time, society and progress seems to have forgotten. Progress seems to have decided to skip this town altogether as it probably felt it had its work cut out.
As you enter this gloomy town along a wind swept, potmarked, dirt track it seems you have arrived at the end of the world. But what is obvious at first glance at the local inhabitants that ply the streets; wallowing in their own filth and faeces, is that the gene pool here needs an emergency injection of fresh DNA. The inhabitants walk around like zombies and blank looks of total oblivion (or maybe they're drunk to numb the pain of existence?) - You feel; like Alexander Von Homboldt, as though you have discovered this place for the first time. You walk around looking for a bite to eat...restaurants? why would you want restaurants? Nobody visits here and the locals are too poor and spaced out for the fine dining a-la carte experience. Lucky i have a melted piece of Kit-Kat to keep me going till thre next day. Nice one.
Tourists don't visit Nebaj. Well, not usually anyway. The occasional few brave souls will make the perilous journey (these chicken bus drivers drive like lunatics) and be rewarded with squalor, misery guts and a sense of what it must have been like in the good old stone-ages. Primeval instincts take hold of you as you walk through the filthy market; you can feel the eyes of the people bearing down on you, drilling holes into your body as you stroll through. They don't get 'outsiders' here. As an outsider you are seen as a curiosity as people look at you, look away and then do a double-take and look at you again when their brains register what they have just witnessed. I spent one night here. Then left at 5:00am the next morning on the first chicken bus out of this ghost town. When you see the technicolour images with pixel gory detail you'll see what i'm talking about.
Must dash, the owner of this internet-cafe looks dodgy and is giving me evil looks. Also, it's getting dark outside; don't wanna be hanging around when the werewolves come out to eat...
Current location: Cobain. Still alive; just about. Hang on in there mate, you'll be fine.
