There's such a lot of world to see...: Shreds of Bosnian Truth: Mostar!

I set of to yet another country on the morning bus to Split. I actually managed to take one that goes along the coastal road, possibly slower, but even once more standing for most of the trip I enjoy the view of the turquoise sea, little bays and harbors, the rocky islands in rows off the shoreline, definitely worth it.

In the bus to Mostar there is no standing and as tickets for the morning bus are already sold out I have to wait for some hours at the crowded bus station in Split. Finally on the creaking and roaring vehicle I enjoy both the view and talking to a Croatian-German going to Mostar to see family. At this point I am only mildly bemused that her answer to my ‘the central bus stop in Mostar is next to the train station, right?’ is ‘There is a train station?’

At the Bosnian border I need my passport for the first time on this trip. The Croatians didn’t bother with it although they haven’t joined Schengen yet. Majda’s Hostel is not far from the bus (and railway) station and both the warm atmosphere and that Mariella already told me so many good things about it make me instantly feel at home. Majda really makes us feel like guests in a home and this also stretches to the forming of a group from these randomly arrived travelers. In the evening around ten of us have dinner together at a much recommended restaurant, in addition to great amounts of great food it actually feels below 30 degrees on their terrace.

The rest of the evening and most of my next day I spend just wandering around criss-crossing in and out of the Old Town. After severe destruction, most painfully also of the Old Bridge that gives the town its name and coat of arms, the Old Town main street and the bridge is now primly rebuilt. It is beautiful, but close up the bridge looks so old and new at the same time, that I don’t know how often I would have to cross it until I don’t notice that silent paradox anymore. The liveliness both during the day and also in the late evening hours is what really completes the picture to be as lovely as it feels to me.

Former six storey shopping center

Other streets carry less fine scars. The frontline ran right through this quarter, the whole town was a battlefield, bullet holes are still visible on many buildings and some formerly big buildings still are in destruction. And, of course, there are still other scars. The woman about my age who works in a souvenir shop near the Old Bridge tells us she hasn’t been to the photo exhibition of Mostar during the war. She can’t, she doesn’t want to. As I climb the minaret of a mosque – the cupola has been restored by the Turkish government – I see a largely intact town bedded between dramatic hills and stretching along a river. There are considerably more minarets on one side of the Neretva and more church towers on the other. This is a hint at the segregation of the ethnic/religious groups in this town that had up to 70% of mixed marriages until the war. The vague “ethnic/religious” is me trying to fine tune the simple logic of civil war that was also reproduced by Central European media. What is actually ethnicity in this melting pot region with its only now artificially divided languages (Bosnian/Serbian/Croatian)? What was religion under communist rule? And how can these two be seen as one? I know the phenomenon from Germany where many people still have problems to see that someone can be German AND Muslim at the same time…

Much of the fine tuning of my picture of Bosnia was gained during Bata’s tour, he is Majda’s brother and throughout the hostel season he does a wildly energetic and diverse 12 hours tour on Mostar and Bosnia now and then, he insists we shouldn’t believe him and never forget that this is his perspective that, of course, cannot be neutral.

What can be neutral? I don’t want to blow his secrets, of course, as I hope that many of you will be able to take that tour themselves… So I’ll just say that it also made me understand why, on top of the generous openness and hospitability, I could instantly relate to Bosnia and Mostar. Situated at the corridor connecting Europe and the Orient different cultures, languages, religions, ways of seeing, shaping and structuring the world, goods and people, customs and dishes have been moved hence and forth and created a unique mix that ultimately holds a little bit of everything, and still is its own, unique, twisted and golden. And also pretty much on its own.

Groups perceiving themselves as ‘other’ obviously prefer to see what differs and not what is shared. This being true for both sides gives fuel to conflict and living close to each other sometimes results in a firestorm…

Another phenomenon apparently fuelled in this region is spirituality. In Bosnia there are many tekkes (houses of dervish orders) and the old Bosnians even had their own religion, they called themselves Bogumils, loved by God, did not have church houses or elaborate clerical hierarchies and like Sufism they were shunned as heretics by many teachers of their, let’s say, cousins in faith.

A modern example of spiritual impact is the neighboring Medugorje. After some children apparently (sic!) saw the Virgin Mary some 30 years ago, the tiny village has grown into a thriving center of pilgrimage business even though it is not approved of by the Vatican.

As the hostel staff is getting ready for Bajram, the Holiday of breaking the fast at the end of Ramadan, my first stay in Mostar is coming to an end. Megan, Catherine and I enjoy some coffee close to the bridge and soon it’s time to head back to the bus station. Not without dipping in the Neretva – much less than half as warm as the air and with unsurpassable current – or shaking hands with Bruce Lee, though!

Bata says, don’t say good-bye, wir sagen auf Wiedersehen.

So, see you, Mostar!