A crash course in bridge diving and raki.

Day 6, Part II

Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina – Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina

Arriving at Mostar wasn’t too difficult, following signs for it with the Roman alphabet spray painted off helped to improve my Cyrillic reading skills, which I haven’t done so since I stopped learning Russian a couple of years, even though the Balkans added a couple of alterations and letters.

Parking at Mostar was easy enough, too. I found a decently sized space on the side of the road, which was right next to a set of steps leading into the pedestrian zone. After seeing some of the Bosnian driving, I made sure there was nobody behind me before reversing into the spot, God knows what the driver behind would have done otherwise. But I think the pavement was wide enough.

Considering being a relatively narrow road and part of the one-way system, the street was busy, bustling with people crossing the road everywhere and whenever they felt like; the sounds of horns blaring from every vehicle, even the motionless ones; and the chugging sounds from the worn out engines of the worn out cars.

Walking down the steps into the centre, passing a Labrador sitting on the pillar of the wall as if he was guarding it, we got into the centre, which was busy with people from many different nationalities. The narrow and cobbled streets were lined with small shops selling keyrings, old Yugoslavian currency, handmade wooden chess sets and clothes.

The original Stari Most was built in the sixteenth century, by using a new feat of engineering design. It served the people of Mostar and the growth of the city, connecting the two sides of the Neretva River. It became the most important emblem of the city. But in 1993, the Bosnian-Croat artillery reduced it to rubble on the riverbed. This deliberate act finally got the attention of the UN and the Western nations to intervene in the war, in order to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

With the war finally over, and the city slowly rebuilding itself to how it once was a prosperous and lively place, the rebuilding of the bridge began. It was built to how it once was, using the rubble salvaged from the river, and now serving as a diving board into the river, despite the river being shallow and the bridge somewhat high.

As a reminder of what happened to Mostar, the people, the bridge and also the nation, there is a block of stone, presumably from the original bridge, on each side of the river, with the words painted in thick, black lettering: Don’t Forget ’93.

After wandering around this old and fragile looking city, we followed the river upstream through the valley towards Sarajevo. As Rob munched on a very good and very cheap kebab, I drove the car up one of the most spectacular valleys I’ve seen.

The river cuts through the mountains, forming a steep valley, flanked by dense, green forests. Both the road and the railway run along the steep mountainside, through many tunnels and over several bridges, sometimes we were driving on a platform, built hanging over the riverbanks. All that we saw were high mountains, forests, the blue river and old, aged hydroelectric dams and power stations. However, as the river and valley was not very straight at all, neither were the roads, making it difficult to get passed some of the many lorries and slow vehicles that frequent this route.

It was like this for most of the way to the capital. But we knew once we got there. The roads became better, but busier and wider. Those tall, old, grey concrete building started to pop up from the ground. The noise became louder and louder; an orchestra of horns, rattling trams and crazy drivers screeching their tyres as they swerve from lane to lane in any random order, in the mindset that their car or van or truck has its own force field, being unable to come into any contact with vehicle or pedestrian, no matter how it’s driven.

Finding the hostel wasn’t too straightforward, either. Quite literally. We had to run alongside the river, bypassing the centre of town until we got to a junction of some kind. It was unclear what this junction looked like, as it was right at the edge of the map. But we could work out that it bent left, nearly double backing on itself. And we believed we came to such a junction, as it seemed there was no way to continue apart from trams. So we went left, following the road around, straight into the centre of town itself.

Road and safety awareness goes straight out of the window at this point. There are crowds of people congregating in the middle of this junction, as trams, taxis and cars try to make their way through. And the way we needed was right in the middle of it. I had to get the car through this crowd and up the hill, but slowly I made it. Then we took a couple of back streets (which were just normal Sarajevan streets, apparently). We got to a small fork junction, one straight ahead, but blocked by a parked car, and one up a steep hill with a no entry sign. So I had to choice but to make it up that hill, after all, it was short and everyone does what they well like, anyway!

Finally at the top, after abusing my clutch and creating that lovely burnt smell that it does, we went further along the maze until we reached the hostel. It looked like a hotel, in fact. It was one of those places that could be described as both. And blending in with other residents of Sarajevo, I parked wherever I could, which happened to be right in front of the hotel, but conveniently making enough room for anyone to pass, if they were able to actually make further progress.

Inside the hostel or hotel, it looked very modern and presentable and clean. The room, however, was on the top floor and only had one bed, though it was a double and big enough for two. The room itself wasn’t as friendly for tall people, as I often hit my head on the low ceiling, especially the parts where it sloped. The view, however, was great. We could see the whole city; the red rooftops, including ours; the tall minaret that stood gracefully right beside the hostel; the green, sloping mountains; and the valley leading up to them that was once dubbed as ‘Sniper Alley’ during the war.

We left the hostel and went into the centre. By now, it was getting dark and the place started to quieten, as if there was some kind of curfew left from the war. We looked around for a place that made kebabs. The whole town smelled of kebabs. Not the kind of kebabs you find in greasy places at three in the morning when you stumble in, drunk up to your eyeballs after a heavy night out back home. These places cooked fresh and proper meat, cooked with good herbs and spices, and served in freshly baked bread. They were really good, yet so cheap.

We found this outside bar showing some football match between some two teams, but all I was interested in was the beer. Later on, we started talking to this group of Americans, who were serving in the army in Germany. We moved on from talking about football, or soccer, and went on to talk about Sarajevo, Bosnia and the situation it was in just less than two decades ago.

We parted ways and later we found a bar, which had a more Turkish oriented feel to it. We had some more kebab type stuff there, and Rob suggested we got a raki, which was a herb based spirit drink, like tequila or grappa, but much to my distaste. Not only was it strong, but also I just couldn’t get round the taste of it. So Rob finished it off for me. In the meantime, we were talking to the barman about where he was from (Turkey), where Rob went to in Turkey, and also more conversation about how the country is developing after independence and war and all the troubles in the past years.

And after a long time conversing about these things, it was time to get going. But getting into the hostel was not just a matter of walking through the door. It was locked, and the button to ring the bell didn’t seem to work. The lights were off and there was nobody to be seen. Though there was no sign of any closing times, if hostels actually have closing times. We spent some time outside, walking around the buildings trying to find a way in, but to no avail. There was the option to stay in the car overnight, even though it wouldn’t be as comfortable. However, we eventually caught a reflection of light in the window, and the receptionist was at the computer of the front desk. Thankfully, we could easily get her attention and she came to the rescue!