Bosnia & Herzegovina, January 2016

Under siege.

The winding road ascended away from the coast, the croatian border control in the distance. The female agent quickly stamped our passports and we pulled ahead into the purgatory that often exists in remote mountain border crossings. (Between Chile and Argentina emigration stops near Bariloche, there is a several mile no-man's land.)

After a half mile we pull up to the Bosnian check point. A corregated shack on the windy ridge, the gate requiring manual operation. The agent, in a navy trench coat and military hat,  emerged from the shack and we handed over our passports and the vehicle documents. He asked me to get out of the car and pop the trunk.  He was quickly satisfied that my backpack and Clare's teal suitcase contained only personal items. He dissappeared to the shack and a few minutes later we were through.

The road winded along the ridge for a few km, the ritzy croation coast visible down in the distance, the rubble of burned out buildings out the other window. The landscape was rugged and remote. Mountains draped in low hanging clouds, the temperature flirting with freezing. After several minutes of silence between us, no other vehicles, the road rough, I wondered aloud if they had snow plows here.

We were heading inland, snow seemed imminent and for the first time since getting the car we were a little nervous. Croatia has great roads, is really well developed, has bounced back from the war. We felt a little more isolated coming into Bosnia. The occasional police check point didn't make us feel any better.  In the middle of nowhere, a small group of police (in their trench coats and hats) were standing on the roadside, waving some cars over. It seemed sketchy. While we saw several of these checks throughout the country, we never got waved over, but we were nervous passing them each time.

Bosnia & Herzegovina conjures up visions of war and instability and I never really thought of it as a 'destination'. We were intrigued, however, after reading endorsements in other blogs while researching this trip. It's true, Bosnia still bears many scars from the war. But the old adage rang true. Rich culture, friendly and warm people, great cuisine. A great book, indeed.

We reserved an airbnb in Mostar for our first stop. We only planned to stay one night there, so we got an early start (for us) leaving dubrovnik, arriving in Mostar about noon.

The place we booked had a few hundred reviews  (that's a lot) and the host was very communicative in advance. (This bodes well for a smooth transaction)  Because we don't have active phones or mobile data plans, it's very important for us that we firm up all arrival details, including directions, to these Airbnbs prior to hitting the road. We have learned over time that hosts will expect us to just call them when we get close or if we get lost.  That's not an option, so we are very diligent about collecting info and confirming plans in advance. This is by far the main drawback of using airbnb vs hotels.

Of course, as we honed in on the place, we couldn't immediately find it.  Turns out google maps only led us to the street, not the actual address. We parked and decided to look on foot. It was a busy street, difficult to drive back and forth on.   Well, none of the buildings or houses have numbers on them and nobody we asked knew what we were talking about. (We later found out that after the war, the government removed all the numbers and changed the name of the street, but never bothered to return the numbers. So even the locals are unsure of the names).

After an hour, we finally found the place, tucked behind a store, not actually on its addressed street.  Sigh. An hour is precious time when you only have one afternoon to visit.

Our frustration was quickly erased when the host, a middle aged gal, invited us in for tea and coffee.  (On several occasions, the host listed on Airbnb and who we correspond with is a young adult who we never ultimately meet.  It's always their parent.  I think the kid just handles the online stuff due to their tech savvy and language skills, but their parents really manage the property.) Anyway, she invited us into her house, prepared bosnian coffee, tea, and we gestured our way through a nice visit.

We then walked down to old town, stopping at an atm to retrieve local currency, Bosnian Convertible Mark. (The fourth currency of the trip - euro, krown, kuna)  The cobblestones were very rounded and bumpy! Definitely not heels friendly. The streets of the small old town were narrow and quaint. We walked across the iconic and unesco inscribed Stari Most (old bridge),  spanning a beautiful green river. A hand painted sign at the edge of the bridge stating "never forget 1993."

We wandered out of old town through the city streets to the Spanish square, a polished and stately promenade dotted with foreign embassies and buildings in ruin. 

In one of the parks, there is a life size Bruce Lee statue. Not sure of the connection, but we molested it and got a few fun photos.

We found our way back to the old town and the restaurant that came recommended by all, Sadrvan. This began our love-hate relationship with bosnian eateries. The food was top notch. We shared a mixed platter of national specialties. Stuffed vine leaves, stuffed tomatoes, stuffed cabbage,  sausage links with soft and moist pita bread, bean stews and a bunch of other flavor rich little nuggets. The meal topped off by dessert and bosnian coffee. (Similar to turkish and Greek coffee,  a very fine powder boiled in a decorative copper pot, creamy and rich,  served with a super sweet turkish delight candy).

We were having an early dinner, as we tend to do, so were alone for the majority of the meal. As we hit coffee and dessert a few other groups arrived, armed with cigarettes. There is no escaping second hand smoke in this country. We are particularly sensitive to it due to Clare's pregnancy, but seriously. The baby is probably going to need a nicotine patch to wean itself after this trip.

That night we were woken by the loud sounds of young men partying and carrying on in the street below our apartment. We thought for sure our car, parked on the curb, was going to bear the brunt of it.  Thankfully not.

We packed up after a quick breakfast and headed down the road toward Sarajevo.

The journey took us through the mountains along a strikingly beautiful river.  The blue green glacial waters reminded me of similar rivers in Patagonia. (Not as beautiful nor pristine, to be sure, but still really nice).

We again booked a place on Airbnb, a rather large and nice place perched on the hill above old town.  For the money (30 us d/night), the nicest place we have stayed on the trip.  We were given specific instructions  on how to back our car into the provided spot, from above. The place was on what seemed to be a 20% grade. You only have one shot to get it right. We would stay here the next two nights, never moving the car.

That afternoon we got our bearings and figured out the path down the steep streets into town. Most buildings have bullet holes in them and cemeteries are scattered about. Here and there stands a new place.

A call to prayer rang out over the city.  Simultaneously beautiful and enchanting, but also a little foreboding. I've never witnessed this ritual and I regret to admit that it gave me a twinge of discomfort.

Bosnia & Herzegovina is a Muslim country, representing half of the population and one of the presidential positions.  (There are always three presidents, one Muslim, one jewish and one serbian orthodox). Small Muslim cemeteries are found throughout the city, where the Muslim members of the Bosnian army are buried. 

We ate lunch at a 'fast food' place where the food is pre-prepared and on display behind the glass ala Chinese take out.  We selected a variety of dishes which they garnished with a fresh piece of bread.  The bread in bosnia was so good! Always fresh and moist. A huge improvement over the croatian hockey puck.

Wandering through the old town we came across a crusty old guy selling roasted chestnuts and fresh squeezed pomegranate juice. He pressed the juice into repurposed pop bottles, 20 oz cost us 5 marks (7 marks to 1 dollar). Divine. We capped the afternoon at one of the many coffee/dessert shops. Seeking out an empty place and hoping to finish before the inevitable arrival of smokers.

That night we dined at another traditional place called Inat Kuca (the house of spite). It was a charming house turned restaurant that we had to ourselves. Clare had a home made ravioli in cream sauce and I had another mixed plate with the (locally) famed sarajevsko beer. Crisp and flavorful!  (The brewery, with its own water well, was a life line for the city during the war when the municipal water supply was cut off by the republik of Srpska forces. A tried and trued method of warfare. Really frustrating to witness us poison our own water in Flint and potentially with the proposed copper mines on the edge of the Boundary Waters Wilderness.)

A round of bosnian coffee and dessert to cap off another fine meal.

The next day we decided to take a city tour, the first one of the trip. We booked the Complete Sarajevo War Tour, led by a quirky guy in his early thirties (who looked early 40s), self described as "really fat". We met him, in his large orange jacket and small red backpack, in the center first thing in the morning ( 9am).  We loaded up in the chauffeur's car (a fit guy in his early 40s, looked like early thirties), a small 4 door hatchback. They whisked us away, heading through town, past large hotels, shopping malls,  national media station, and the US embassy  (only cost 6million euros). This stretch is known as 'sniper alley' because the wide multi lane thoroughfare was exposed and vulnerable to the snipers perched on the hills surrounding the city.  Erven, the guide, provided a cynical play by play of each passing building.  Pointing out the nice mob owned high rises and describing the miscues of a disfunctional government reeling in the aftermath of the war.

The first stop was at the entrance to a tunnel that connected the city with the country, running under the UN protected airport runway. It was a lifeline of supplies and also served as an escape route for the few able to secure exit documentation. (The attacking republik of Srpska was trying to kill everyone and the defending Bosnian army was trying to prevent people from leaving the city so they would continue to have something to fight for.  Our chauffeur had escaped with his family through the tunnel. Our guide had taken refuge in spain, his mom insisting they flee prior to the beginning of the war in '92).

From there we drove through the snow up into the mountains. It snowed about 4 inches the night before and was still coming down heavily. The route is through an active mine field, the road flanked with little red signs marked with scull and cross bones warning not to venture off the road. Every year people get blown up.

We visited the site of the nordic ski jumps from the '84 winter olympics held in sarajevo. The facility is defunct now,  only functioning as a little rope tow for beginning skiers.  The podium is still there,  offering a great photo op. It's hard not to notice how modest the podium and the other facilities were.

Next we drove farther up the road to the site of the defunct Hotel Igman, a luxury hotel finished in 1983, specifically for the Olympics. Erven, our guide,  calls it the concrete monster. During the war, the place was destroyed by the Srpska forces. We walked through the ruins, climbing the stairs to the fifth floor. It is now used for people playing paintball and the swat team trains inside it.  (Apparently it's a tourist attraction, again, too.)

We decended the snowy mountain road in route to our final stops.  The jewish cemetery on the hillside above town, a Srpska sniper post. Headstones  bearing bullet holes.

I asked Erven who was happy with the outcome of the war that lasted 5 years. He shrugged his shoulders.

We rounded out the afternoon with lunch and another visit to the dessert shop.

We had a final traditional bosnian dinner that night.

In the morning the city was under a blanket of snow. Our car perched in its spot overlooking the narrow, steep, "two lane" road we would need to descend.

Thankfully we didn't meet any cars coming up and the tires held true.  We were on the road again.

We headed north,  again taking in the scenic country.

Our time in B&H was a highlight of the trip and we would have liked to spend more time. I highly recommend it. Unfortunately we had a deadline to return the car and a plane ticket to Greece. Tourism is rapidly picking up every year,  and B&H is expected to apply to the EU. Visit now while it's less crowded and still a little raw.

We got to the croatian border at slovonski brod. The agent's eyes lit up with surprise when we handed him our USA passports.

We spent the next two days at a very funky "wellness" hotel, Eko Garten. I think we were the only ones staying at the 15 room mom and pop b&b. They only spoke croatian and german. Mom was sweet, dad was grumpy. We decided to eat dinner there both nights. Dad was in the dining room watching tv, mom would take our order and whip it up. We ate German inspired delicacies such as schnitzel slathered in cream cheese covered with shredded white cheese. We took advantage of the facilities, bathing in hot beer. We needed a couple of days to relax before we moved to the next phase of the trip. This fit the bill.