BiH

Trip # 3 of my post-SIT travels down…leaving Mostar and headed to Sarajevo. Perhaps the most exciting prospect of this trip is that it is my last on a bus. As strange as it is (despite the dread that comes along with trying to somehow manage under 20 kilos out of a bag that currently ways what feels like 80), I’m really looking forward to getting on a plane. While buses are indeed easier and cheaper, they are rarely on time (definitely took the Swiss transportation system for granted), usually hot, and likely very smelly (the stereotype that some Europeans aren’t fans of deodorant is all too evident in such close quarters). Also, the bus companies seem to have capitalized on the airlines’ thievery and have now started charging to put a bag underneath. Granted, it’s only around 1 euro but still, principle.

Mostar: The bus ride from Dubrovnik (where we had a 3 hour ‘layover’ after taking a bus that morning from Kotor…much time was spent drawing out two cups of tea and 4 games of sporcle at Pizza Retro across the street from the bus station-we managed to name 137 out of 195 countries of the world in under 15 minutes) to Mostar was by far the most scenic. The mountains in the Balkans, while nothing compared to the Alps (I know, I’m sure I’ve driven the point into the ground that nothing is quite like the Alps, but I’ll continue to say it), are actually quite peculiar. They are green and covered with trees, but when you look at the actual mountain surface, it’s all rock…how DO they do it? Furthermore, it’s as if someone hand-sculpted the hills out of playdoh (I always knew God was a fun-loving kid at heart). They have huge canyons and ridges that are precisely equidistant from one another, and the tops are almost completely uniform in height and surface-even flat in some place. As we barreled along the route from Croatia to Bosnia-Herzegovina, I began to feel as though I was more on a Disney World ride than a bus ride. The tunnels that cut through the mountains were unlit and about 100 meters too long to make enjoying a book on the bus worthwhile, as I found myself putting my book down approximately every 3 minutes while the light disappeared, only to find the world re-illuminated with a view of a river or ocean with water too green and clear to be natural.

If anyone ever ventures to Mostar, STAY WITH MAJDA. Majda, the owner of a guesthouse/hostel in the town, greeted us at the bus station. After piecing together the puzzle of fitting 3 oversized suitcases and 3 camping backpacks (oh, and 4 people) into her tiny VW Golf, I was pretty sure the car wasn’t going to make it, but alas we were please to find ourselves in an adorable apartment with a few other globetrotters where we were immediately ushered onto the sunlit porch and offered tea and cake. We ventured out that evening for Lauren’s birthday dinner (where we gorged ourselves on plates of meat, fish, and house wine all for about 8 euros each) in the Old City and caught our first glimpse of the bridge, the landmark of Mostar.

Out of all the cities in the Balkans, Mostar was hit the hardest during the war. As most of you probably know, I’m not one for sentimental thoughts or reflection, but coming into a city that had been so completely and utterly destroyed a mere 15 years ago and seeing the very evident remains is bone-chilling. I don’t know if it was because we’ve only really read about the experience of war in textbooks (thank god) or because I’m just that naïve, but walking past buildings that had gaping holes from shrapnel, bullets and bombs really left me at a loss for words. The bridge was just recently reconstructed (and to be honest, it wasn’t even that pretty, keeping in mind some of the other bridges I’ve seen in Europe), but it was all but demolished in the war and thought to be one of the most unifying reconstruction projects and crowning achievements of Mostar as it got back on its feet. Of course now, the bridge is mostly populated with tourists who blindly drop coins into a fez to encourage a few locals to jump into the currents below. Frankly, I applaud these men. If I could pull off a Bosnian accent and persuade people to pay me to jump 20 meters into a river? Done. But I digress. We walked around the city for a while, saw the markets, ate some cevapcici (crucial), drank some Bosnian coffee, and saw the outsides of the town’s mosques (frankly, most other buildings in the town are anything but aesthetically pleasing, considering the majority of them were built on a budget in the last 15 years). But before moving on, this coffee deserves special mention. Bosnian coffee is unlike anything I have tasted. The thickest, darkest coffee you’ve ever seen, served in a copper pot and poured directly over a sugar cube-tastes more like chocolate than coffee. Apparently a small pot of this liquid gold costs 1 kyme (.50 euro) in Sarajevo. Can’t wait. Re: the mosques. I’ve once again been reminded how much of a dumb, uncultured, naïve, lived in a bubble my whole life American I am (or would like to think, was). Hearing the call to prayer echo from the minaret towers was one of the most beautiful, foreign, and intriguing things I’ve heard. What’s more, we were actually allowed in one of the mosques, and I was thrilled to be asked to cover my head with my obnoxious yellow scarf and remove my shoes. I should get out more…

That afternoon, we got on a bus to the neighboring town of Blagaj. Here, the river that runs through the city of Mostar originates from deep underneath a cave and is so pure and flows quickly enough that it’s drinkable right from the source. My aspiring doctor germaphobe tendencies went right out the window as I picked up the ornately carved silver bowl that was attached to a long chain by the steps down to the water, dipped it in, and drank. We made it back to the bus stop (i.e. curb) for what we thought was a 5:45 bus, but after waiting until 6 and attempting communication with the man across the street at the café, we learned that the next bus back to Mostar wasn’t until 7. Fail. Cup of tea #3 for the day it was.

Making it back to Mostar, we headed out to dinner and enjoyed another meat-filled meal outside by the river with 4 newfound feline friends who seemed just as hungry as we were. I was flattered yet extremely disappointed in myself when, after greeting the waiter with a “dobar dan” and “hvala,” he cheerfully responded in rapid serbo-croatian and I ashamedly had to say “English?” This morning, we awoke to fresh French toast, tea, and some of the other hostel guests chatting around the patio table about law and politics and were informed that we’d be driven to the bus station…for free. I felt like I was leaving home.

And so it is that we’re off to the second city in this “semi-failed” state (as deemed by the EU-how depressing…congratulations, your infrastructure only kind of sucks…good job, but best of luck on your way to complete failure). More to come, along with pictures…I know you’re probably sick of reading my babble, props to you if you’ve even gotten this far, I know I wouldn’t have.