We have lift off!

Lifts. I’ve known people who won’t go in them. I’ve lived in an apartment that had an ancient example within a wire cage, giving a full view of just how precarious a mode of elevation it was. My wife never stepped inside it – but then we were only on the first floor. Today I was helping someone move into an apartment on the tenth floor of one of Mostar’s aging tower blocks. There was no serious option but to load up the lift and hope it’d make it to the top. The top, in this instance, was the ninth floor. Then it was stairs for the rest.

Knowing that a friend of a friend got stuck in a similar lift a week or two back didn’t help my confidence with the whole adventure. It turns out I wasn’t the only hesitant one. Still I won’t complain. I was only there for the morning, loading cooker and washing machine, clothes and crockery into this undesirable elevator. Pity those who in the afternoon carried the oversized object – like the bed- up ten floors. I’d happily take my chances of temporary incarceration over that!