It was a moment of the most exquisite frustration. We were in Bosnia or, to be more precise, the indistinctly defined region of the country called Herzegovina. You never have to worry about running out of fuel in this country as even away from its very limited motorway system, there appear to be stations around most corners.
As I pulled up at one such lonely roadside location, a man came out of the small cabin from which he ran said station, took one look at the M340i and disappeared back inside again. Seconds later a small army of men started streaming out of the cabin, more than it looked possible that it could contain, so much so I thought it must be the secret entry point to an underground lair. They maintained a respectful distance as I filled the tank, but their conversation and body language were animated to say the least. What kind of car would you need to get this kind of reaction in the UK? A Bugatti at the bare minimum.
Not speaking any one of the country’s three official languages (Bosnian, Serbian or Croatian) I never found out what the fuss was all about. Maybe they thought it was an M3 Touring, though a quick look at the badge on the back would soon have disabused them of that notion. Nor did I think it was because they’d never seen a car of this kind before: Bosnia is a far poorer country than Croatia to its north, south and west, generating a lot less than half the GDP per capita, but we’d seen a few blacked-out, modern Mercedes limos sweeping about on our journey through the country. Maybe they were just connoisseurs, and know a bloody good car when they see one.
