The touristy side of Mostar goes like this: Stay at Hostel Majdas.
DO NOT skip the tour. Eat at Hindi Han and the best cevapi place (which is near
Tito’s bridge). Go get beers at Black Dog Pub (they have craft) and be sure to
visit the Sniper Tower and Partisan Memorial.
The other side of this story goes something like this: once you
begin traveling you notice that some places are more enjoyable than others for
a number of reasons. Sometimes it has a lot to do with the people you meet
(thanks Thailand) or the amount of experience you can cram into it (Thanks
Jogjakarta.) But the best places are the ones where you have an instant
connection with the culture and people. You taste the food and feel alive. The
people welcome you into their stories and they touch your hearts. You look
around and see love and beauty. You find bits and pieces of your heart in the
mountains and on the streets, and you leave bits of it behind as well. Mostar
is the first place I visited that felt that way to me, and for that reason I
had to come back.
While on a day tour I learned so much about the history and
culture of this country, and I cannot simply spend time spitting it all back to
you because the tour I went on took 10 hours of stories and talking for me to
get it, plus additional discussions and research. I'll put the main point of it
in simple terms: There was a war in Yugoslavia. Most people know very little or
nothing about it. To be honest, I didn't until I visited this region of the
world.
For those of you who don't know: In 1990 Yugoslavia was a great
world power. After Tito's death Milošević came to power as President of
Serbia. Disagreements began and Slovenia quickly sought independence resulting
in a 10 day long war. Croatia soon followed suit, but their war left a far
longer and greater impact. Eventually they joined forces with Serbia to try and
split Bosnia up, and keep the pieces for themsleves. Citizens were killed,
bridges were broken, genocide was a major part of it, and the UN was highly
responsible for its continuation.
Most people agree that the war ended in December of 1995 when
Bosnia agreed to partitioning a portion of land to be known as "Republika
Srpksa". It didn't.
There are no missiles being fired, there are no bombs being
dropped, the snipers are no longer firing at innocent citizens, but, the war
continues through segregations and fear. People from one side of the city
refuse to interact with people from the other. One side of the city has modern
buildings and green parks while the other suffers to keep its heritage alive.
Kids are taught different history and languages in school. Muslim Bosnians and
Croats who are romantically involved are judged by their family.
The war ended in 1995, when I was just 5 years old, but Bosnia has
been fighting a silent war for 20 years. The remnants of the Yugoslavian war
and are all over the city and they make me sick. The remnants of this
silent war break my heart.
As we leave the city to begin the 10 hour long tour, our guide
points out a large white cross. A little while later he points out some rocks
in the distance that form several letters. Later we are told that the cross is
a Croat symbol of hate towards the Bosnian Muslims. The stones on the other
side are a retaliation.
The letters spell out "B&H me te volimo."
"Bosnia and Herzegnovia we love you" it states. I think this is such
an incredible act. After so many year of fighting, after being treated in
terrible fashion, after bombs, and gunshots, and genocide, these people are
sill capable of offering their love.
And then there is us...Americans. Taking and taking and offering nothing in return. We shun Muslims for mistakes a few of "them" have made. You can be an immigrant and work 60 hours a week for less than minimum wage and we will still judge you for not learning English. We will judge you for terminating a child you know you cannot afford, but upon convincing you to keep it, we will refuse financial support. We will shun you for loving someone freely simply because you share the same genitalia, but will judge you for needing medication to deal with depression. We will pray for you when you have cancer but expect you to fork out thousands of dollars to pay for your own chemotherapy. We will offer you support when you crave it the least and then turn our backs when it is needed the most.
Where has our love gone?
The day after the tour we return to the dervish house. In this
house Muslims perform whirling dancing to show their devotion to their God.
Many use it as a form of meditation. I choose to perform my own religious act
in the nature that surrounds this surreal place. I sit by the flowing water
whose source remains a mystery and close my eyes. The sound of the water moving
through the river is blood rushing through my veins. I am alive, and breathing.
My heart is thumping and I am grateful for every single beat.
Later in the day we visit a deserted Partisan Memorial. Here lies
the graves of so many who fought for their rights during WWII, and among their broken
flower shaped gravestones are walls of Fascist graffiti. People are heartless
enough to defile this masterpiece. I sit among the deserted beauty and remember
the moment I realized the words to describe this part of the world.
"Hauntingly Beautiful." Still a perfect explanation. You look
around in amazement of the nature and sights.
You listen to stories and attempt
to memorize the history in your mind. You see an old woman smile at you as she
tries to sell fruits at the market. You imagine her part in this history and in
this place. A shiver engulfs your soul.
At the snipers nest the feelings are the same. Trees emerge from
the glass that has been shattered on the floor. Hauntingly beautiful. I think
back to a quote I relied on when I was deciding how to pick up the confused,
shattered pieces of my soul that remained in Jakarta. "They tried to bury
us. They didn't know we were seeds."
Throughout the Balkans there is a heavy coffee culture. People
will go to a cafe, and simply sit for 3 hours sipping 1 small espresso. Our
tour guide explained to us that going for coffee with someone is not to be
taken lightly, as in reality there is nothing more intimate than drinking
coffee together. This is something you do with only a true friend.
I feel like I haven't had such an intimate relationship with
anywhere, as much as I do with the Balkans. I want to sit and sip coffee with
it for a long time.
Another night passes and I sleep like a baby. I wake up the next
morning and head out to explore. As I pass into the old town I am overwhelmed
with emotions from the past 2 days of experience and have to stop, sit on the
cement street and let the tears run, as hundreds of people rush pass me to keep
to their busy schedules.
So much has gotten me to this point. So many little events. So
many random encounters. So many planes, buses, boats, and car trips. So many
friends. So much love. So much heartache and homesickness. So many hellos and
goodbyes. I am forever grateful that I have had the pleasure to call this place
home not once, but twice.
This love is hauntingly beautiful.
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