WEDNESDAY, MAY 15
BUS RIDE VIEWS EN ROUTE TO MOSTAR
From Split we headed to Mostar in Bosnia- Herzegovina. The bus ride is a worthy destination in and of itself. Views of small towns nestled into cliffs and hills (we would definitely stay in one of these on another visit) with the crystal, light azure ocean below eventually transforms to rocky mountains whose tops were gently covered in soft grey clouds when we passed.
The character of the villages changed as the mountains came to dominate the ocean. Sparcely built homes, and a couple of upscale hotels dotted the coast; the village were smaller and more humble.
When we turned into a tunnel heading away from the sea, we emerged on the other side to find the Neretva River, which the road follows across the border and into Mostar. It is a glowing, near iridescent river, the same pale blue/green of the ocean. The river is wide and often as still as a lake, sometimes reflecting the mountains and towns beside it.
CROSSING INTO BOSNIA-HERTZEGOVIA
Once we crossed the border, it felt different. Most of the villages are small. The evidence of war is apparent, and becomes particularly focused in Mostar. Broken buildings, destroyed in the early 1990s, stand as a persistent reminder. Trees and plants grow through crumbled and pockmarked stone walls. When we walked to our apartment from the bus station, I looked into some of the buildings, through their broken walls and enlarged window spaces, where the debris of living remained, upturned couches, cracked chairs, shattered glass, scraps of clothing. I thought of the Anselm Keifer’s painting, The Wave, in the Seattle Art Gallery, which makes me think of the children and women who were massacred in the Holocaust.
MOSTAR
We chose Mostar for the same reason as other tourists; it is the most frequently written about and visited city in Bosnia- Herzegovina. The reason for its fame is the Stari Most (or Old Bridge), built in 1566, and an outstanding example of Ottoman architecture. During the war in 1993, the mighty Bridge was destroyed but it took more than 60 shells to bring it down because of its sturdiness, structural soundness and heft. After the war, it was rebuilt to its original design, using many of the original stone.
We were hungry to learn more about Mostar’s recent history. We soon found out that it is a city divided: most mosques and moslem shops are on the east side of the old bridge, while the Christian market and most churches are on the west. This divide illustrates an ongoing tension. We witnessed an example of this later at dinner when a muezzin made the nightly call to prayer. Two young women sitting behind Chloe gestured with annoyance, until one saw I was looking at her, and embarrassed, she stopped.
We cannot really know what goes on among the people here. We are only outsiders looking in and guessing at meaning. But after visiting the Museum of War and Genocide Victims, we were much more aware of the horrors of the war and the flimsy justice meted out after it. Many of war criminals, convicted of crimes against humanity, may well be walking the streets of Mostar today. Most convictions were in 2006. Sentences ranged from between one and 16 years, in many cases much less time than one would expect for the crimes committed.
It was hard not to extrapolate stories onto people on the streets. Were they victims of the war, soldiers, survivors who had been captured and abused in camps? Had they lost family members and friends? Were they the perpetrators of the heinous crimes against their fellow citizens? We saw men begging and downtrodden. One man ranted wildly, and flung his arms around as he moved helter skelter down a pedestrian street. Another man hunkered near a building where we are staying. His clothes were soiled, his eyes downcast. Are they emotionally tarnished, addicted to some substance meant to erase the pain, alone? These are questions we have not asked anywhere else in our travels. As I said to Chloe at dinner, we are on a different kind of journey now…not as tourists, but as travelers.
In addition to the Museum of War and Genocide Victims, we visited the Koski Mehmed Pasha Mosque and had dinner at Hindin Han, a local favorite, recommended by our host. Returning to our apartment that night, though we didn’t discuss it, I think we were both a bit spooked. The graffiti on the walls seemed to speak, the darkness in the bombed buildings felt haunted, the alleys leading to our place whispered stories and memories. The presence of war was alive.
NOTE : I bought our bus ticket from Split, Croatia to in Bosnia-Herzegovina online but it would have been easy to get it at the bus station. Buses run frequently.
