Bosnia

This post will be a long one, so bear with me. We do not aim to take sides, only to present what we learned.

I came to Bosnia with a mix of excitement and nervousness, perhaps more of both than for any destination we plan to visit. Certainly among those on the European leg of our travels. It’s a land that’s so familiar, bordering Serbia and sharing a language, yet so foreign. The land of east meets west, and in recent history a foe in a not so removed proxy war.

To be candid, I think the idea of visiting this embattled nation excited me. To see the other side of the story felt almost rebellious. I had not stopped to consider just how much of this was living memory and hardship. Thousands of people suffered and died in ways and numbers I had not before fathomed, at the hands of what could be regarded as my countrymen. Could I expect a warm welcome? Hell, should I expect anger, and who could blame them.

We crossed by bus into Bosnia and that’s where the first signs of its troubled past and present showed its ugly head. See we had crossed into Bosnia, but more specifically we had crossed into Republika Srpska.

In the 90s, the once world power Yugoslavia began to dissolve into its many republics. First, Slovenia in relative peace. Then, Croatia more violently. But when Bosnia voted for independence, shit hit the fan. The other two republics were relatively homogenous, with some ethnic Serbian populations near the borders. Bosnia though was a mini Yugoslavia, populated almost evenly by Croats (Catholic), Bosnians (Muslim), and Serbs (Christian Orthodox). So much so did it represent the blending of cultures that the capital Sarajevo is referred to as the Jerusalem of Europe.

Under Yugoslavia’s socialist republic so well did this system work, that Sarajevo was even chosen to host the 1984 Winter Olympics. Despite lacking the infrastructure of other candidate cities that year, it had one rare thing. It embodied the Olympic ideal, unity and collaboration across all peoples. However, in the war, this was all quickly forgotten. The Bosnian and Croatian factions wanted their own state, and the Serbian population theirs. After 4 years of war, which will be talked about more later, the Dayton agreement was signed. Creating a stalemate to this day with two states in a loose symbiosis, Republika Srpska and Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina.

We were not staying in Republika Srpska though. Rather it was just another patch of land to pass through on our way to Sarajevo. I can’t tell you that I noticed really where the border changed. There is no official check point, maybe just a sign that I missed. But what I did notice the further we got into the heart of the county was the destruction.

I heard a joke earlier on my trip that Balkan buildings could be nuclear fall out shelters. This had clearly been put to the test here. Many buildings still stand pockmarked with bullet holes and shell fragments. I suppose these are some of the lucky ones, as in other areas you see ruins of presumably village homes taken over by three decades worth of vegetation. It’s impossible for me to tell who these homes once belonged to, but the sights are sobering.

At long last, we arrive in Sarajevo. I’m told it didn’t suffer as greatly as the villages had but 4 years of siege (the longest in modern history) has left its mark. Nary a building can be found not baring a scar, bullet holes, cannon strikes, and craters where mortars once fell. I’m certainly feeling I won’t be welcome here.

But we arrive to our hostel and as we are checking in the front desk staff, Ajla, sees my name and happily asks if we should continue in English or our language. I say Serbian is fine, whoops, but she smiles and replies how happy she is to have a native in her hostel.

That day, we rest, having seen quite a bit on just our bus ride in. Ajla makes a point to let us know despite having a shared dorm room, we have it all to ourselves that night. She seems fun.

The next day we head to our first of many tours in Bosnia. This is a free city tour specifically skirting the topic of the siege, as that’s a separate tour in and of itself. We learn about the Ottomans and the Austro-Hungarians who once ruled the country. About the impact each had on the city’s architecture to this day. And a certain historical figure who didn’t like them very much, so he killed the Archduke Franz Ferdinand thereby starting WWI.  Apparently, there is a divide in the country whether to call him a hero or a terrorist. I’ll let you decide.

We end the tour outside our first taste of the 90s war, Sarajevo’s City Hall. Once the national library, during the war, it became a target of a mortar attack which left the building in flames and millions of books and manuscripts destroyed. Now rebuilt, it’s a fascinating blend of Austrian exterior and moorish inspired interior with lacy stone work and gorgeous stained glass.

The color all stands in sharp contrast to the exhibit within though. Unbeknownst to me, we had arrived on the anniversary of a horrible massacre of civilians in the village of Srebrenica during the war. Inside was a gallery of black and white photographs depicting the exhumation and identification process of mass graves in the countryside. The images and personal accounts collected within are horrific, in some cases the entire male lineage of a family executed together. We leave in a daze.

Half way back to our hotel and a man with Down syndrome approaches me. I begin to say hello when he responds by shouting pub and punching me square in the stomach. I guess I deserved that, and at least it snaps me back into reality.

The day winds down with a view of the sunset before hiking back up the hill to our hostel. I love looking at the hills and mountains around and in this city, but climbing them is a different story. We had plans of going back down to a pub but the thought of another climb nixes this idea. Instead, we seek out a student club house, turned concert venue/bar at the nearby college. To our disappointment, we reach a locked door and some other disgruntled patrons explaining that it closed early that night.

The next day, we run full speed into the elephant in the room. A tour called The Fall of Yugoslavia and Siege of Sarajevo. After a slight mix up, our guide finds us and ushers us into the back of his car. From there, we set off to the front lines, or what once was. Interestingly, we start where we caught the sunset last night. While within the city limits, it’s a good vantage to see where the Serbian forces had taken position encircling the city. We’re told every 30 meters along the ridge there was one form or another of heavy weaponry.

Our next stop is on the other side of town but with a quick detour on the way. We pass by the hospital our guide was born at. The city’s once children’s hospital is now in ruin. He explains that prior to the war the leader of Republika Srpska had been working at that hospital as a psychiatrist. He believed that by targeting it he would break the locals spirit. Obviously, it had not worked, but what a twisted idea, clearly he needs a psychiatrist.

We continue our journey, and every block seems to hold some story. More often than not, one including death. 11,541 civilians died in the period, so it became a part of life. Our host tells us he and kids all over the city made a game of it. They would collect the leftover stabilizer fins after mortar strikes. Sadly for some eager kids, the game would turn deadly when one strike was followed by a barrage.

Eventually, we arrive at the “main attraction,” the Tunnel of Hope. As the siege progressed, the Serbian forces took more and more of the surroundings, until only a small alley connected the city to the rest of the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina. This was compromised of the airport (UN controlled) and the hill behind it, which was fiercely contested by the warring parties.

Being the only way in and out of the city, the airport became a spot of intense scrutiny from the sieging military. Given that it also had no shelter or obstructions, crossing it was a near death sentence due to sniper fire. To solve this problem, two groups of men began a jail break. From either side of the airport they began digging a tunnel set to meet in the middle. The work was done 24/7 men worked in 8 hour shifts and were paid with one pack of newspaper rolled cigarettes a day.

This may not seem like much but was considered a fortune at the time as they could be bartered for other goods. For reference, our guide’s mom was paid 4 Bosnian marks a month, and a chicken could cost 150 marks. He claims people made it work, but honestly, I’m not sure how. Food was scare, water supplies were cut off, electricity was cut off, and fuel for heating was non existent. Even wood to burn was in short supply. Shockingly, he tells us that the average amount of books it took to bake one loaf of bread was 40.

I digress, though, because after 3 months of work the tunnel was done. Resources could come in, as well as weapons, and people could come out. Interestingly, we learn few used this as an escape route. In fact, later in the war it became a way for refugees from villages to enter into the city for protection. The grass was less red in the city.

We leave the tunnel, hoping on a road that delineated the front lines and now the divide of the two republics. So easily one crosses back and forth, we even stop in Republika Srpska to hit an ATM and our guide surprises us with Čokoladnena Bananica (chocolate banana) ice cream. Along the front we go and reach the top of Mt Trebevic, the Goliath watching over the city. Here one can find the most famous landmark in the city, the abandoned bobsled track.

The mountain forest is so serene and air so fresh it’s hard to image it as a war zone. Even seeing the abandoned track covered in graffiti, I wouldn’t guess it’s later purpose. It looks more like another relic of Olympic construction used once and left to the wilderness. Well, the wilderness and graffiti artists.

That night, we see the Sarajevo spirit on full display. There is a beautiful orchestral concert in front of the city theater and children dance while adults roller-skate on by. I’m not saying they are all the happiest people, but they have an attitude of “what happened happened, what will come will come.” They will find a way to carry on. We finish the night in one of the city’s most popular bars simply named City Pub, listening to a local rock band play.

The next morning, we meet a true optimist, our guide to Lukomir, Samer. Pegged as the last untouched Muslim village in Bosnia, we would spend all day hiking the mountains to it, then a lovely night in a cabin up top.

The views were incredible. Even the drive to the trail head we pass through mountain valleys, past lush forests and icy blue streams. We park in a village and hit the trail, walking first through pastures that sheep graze and eventually alpine meadows on the mountains above. There is not a person in sight. Only us three and the vast green plateau atop of the mountain. Around, dramatic cliffs fall back to farmland below, but up here looks like a landscape civilization forgot.

Our solitude is only interrupted by a herding dog who’s left his flock to investigate the strange arrivals. He is massive, so I have some apprehension as he approaches but as soon as he reaches us, it’s clear he’s just looking for some scratches. He follows us a bit longer, then beelines downhill for a shallow pond to beat the heat.

After four or so hours of hiking, we crest the hill above Lukomir. Below, lunch of burek awaits us, followed by a well deserved nap in an old school house. The evening we spend stalking sheep, petting pups, and eating lamb (sorry sheep).

The surprise delight is Samer. He’s full of joy and passion for the mountains and for his native Bosnia. He tells us how the company Green Visions he guides for was formed shortly after the war by locals and members of war time aid organizations. Their intention is to rebrand Bosnia, to change it from a place of danger to a place of wonder.

For Samer, this strikes especially close to his heart, as the mountains are where he first escaped after the war. It’s where he met his wife. Over the years, he’s hiked most of the world’s continents, and despite a soft spot for the Himalaya, it’s Bosnia that he always comes back to. It may not be as grand, but he makes the case that it’s still not to be overlooked. With countless peaks, it lies on a mountain range stretching from Slovenia to Albania. In fact, Green Visions latest accomplishment has been connecting a series of trails from one end of the range to the other, called the Via Dinarica.

We also talk a bit about the war itself. Samer spent all of it in the outskirts of Sarajevo as a teen. I don’t probe too much, but it seems the isolation and boredom were the hardest aspects for him. At one point, he laments how he was sad to miss the mid-siege Iron Maiden concert (watch Scream For Me Sarajevo to learn more) because they had finally installed a trench which made reaching the city center survivable. The way he says it makes the trench seem like it was more of an added benefit than a necessity to his then teenage mind. Here, I’ve skipped concerts because I was too sleepy to go, and he regrets not dodging sniper fire for Iron Maiden.

We bid each other goodnight and pass into a deep sleep. I’m finally woken by a heard of sheep passing right under my window. With the valley behind, it’s the most wonderful alarm clock I’ve ever had.

We hike back down, talking more treks and rock and roll, our new shared languages. Samer is so engrossed he actually steps over a snake. Not just any, a poskok or horned viper, Europe’s deadliest snake. Following closely behind, I nearly step right on it then jump back. We snap some photos and usher the snake off. The trail ends with no further issues, and soon we’re back in Sarajevo. This time in an AirBnb.

Inspired by our luck of privacy, we spend the following three days hardly leaving. We hit the grocery store, the war museum which shares more personal stories of families affected in the war, but mostly we rest. Our bodies need it.

On our way to Croatia we swing by the town of Travnik. Considered to be the home of the best cevap in the former Yugoslavia, we gorge ourselves on not only cevap but also trout and more burek. We also stumble across the most ornate little mosque on our travels. We’re welcomed inside despite interrupting a wedding ceremony, and we are in agreement that this little building puts the Blue Mosque to shame.

In the end, we loved Bosnia. We loved the land, and we loved the people. Everywhere we went whether we spoke English or Serbian (yes there is a small difference and they can tell), the people were kind. When they heard Kathleen was learning the language, we often got freebies. Not once did people make any off-hand or aggressive comments about my heritage. Like many places on our travels they longed for the days of Yugoslavia when we were all one. #europe