IT WAS THE summer of 1969. I had just scraped through my first year at the University of Belgrade. I felt like a complete failure. Instead of studying for the final exams, I had discovered the charms of Belgrade’s bohemian life and the thrill of poker games. No wonder I only passed three out of ten subjects, holding on to the slim hope I could do the impossible in September – get enough credits for third semester.

I returned to my family home in a small provincial town in southern Herzegovina with a bag loaded with textbooks and the accoutrements of a new habit – smoking. Tucked into my shirt pocket was a piece of paper that would change my life for good.