Day 313: We’re going to Zagreb?

This was not a part of the plan. Sarajevo was closer to Budapest… And Budapest was THE plan. Little did we know, there were no direct trains nor buses between the two, despite it being a quick (six hour) drive… I suggested we hitchhike. Andrew brushed the idea off. Instead, we had to spend an entire day on a train to Zagreb, and then another simply to get to Budapest. I wasn’t happy. Andrew wasn’t happy. When we saw the prices for even just a hostel bed in Zagreb (after not hearing from any couchsurfers) we were practically dreading the detour.

The silver lining (after nearly missing our train out of Sarajevo waiting for the tram to the station) was that we scored our own cabin and I was able to recline the seats into a bed and sleep for the majority of the ride. I slept so much that when I woke up, Andrew questioned if I was feeling ok.

Another silver lining, is that when we were given the wrong tram information in Zagreb, and ended up having to walk several blocks to our hostel, Andrew carried my big backpack for me. He always does. He won’t even let me carry it anymore, and instead gives me his smaller backpack in it’s place. Sometimes though, I’ll trick him and I’ll get to both big backpacks first. This doesn’t happen often though, because he has this whole height/long leg advantage over me.

Whenever other couples see him with both big backpacks, the men roll their eyes and I have this feeling that they give me the once over thinking I must be sooo high maintenance. But then they usually see me schlepping behind with our smaller backpacks, a bag full of snacks (now including coffee and toilet paper) and my Nepalese yak wool scarf under one arm while I try to balance my camera in the other for either a picture or some video… Then they don’t know what to think. The women look at Andrew like he must be the sweetest. I always want to tell them that he’s equally stubborn- even if it’s in a completely charming and sometimes infuriatingly chivalrous way.

Day 312: Neno’s Free Walking Tour & The Sarajevo Tunnel

We were in Sarajevo smack in the middle of Ramadan. While native Muslims were fasting and praying, we were going on another walking tour and immersing ourselves in Sarajevo trying to learn even more about the city and its people’s history here. We decided to check out Neno’s Free Walking Tour– one that was led by one person (instead of the usual independent volunteer organization that provides this service in cities around Europe) hoping that we would learn even more or be able to fill in the blanks from our first tour in Sarajevo. Afterwards, we headed a little bit out of town to explore the Sarajevo Tunnel that was used during the siege to link Sarajevo with the Bosnian territory on the other side of the airport. It was a busy day, to say the least!

We thought we had failed making the tour on time. We were ten minutes late, and no one was to be seen at the National Theatre where we were told to meet. We lingered for twenty minutes or so while Andrew ran down the river to see if he could spot a small group walking along in a group. He came back with nothing. We gave up and started walking towards the tram to go out to the tunnel when we spotted a group on the other side of the building. Obviously the four of us aren’t the smartest… When in doubt, in the future, walk around the building instead of up and down the street. (Duh, right?)

We were able to join the tour, but we think we missed the 30 minute or so history lesson at the beginning that we were all most interested in. Leanne and I joked around wondering how we could ask Neno if he could repeat everything he had just said. We didn’t, but were delighted when the tour immediately veered in a different direction than our previous tour. One of the first stops was at the busting market that was hit with a mortar bomb in February of 1994 killing 66 and injuring 200. It was devastating to say the least. Aside from learning about this terrible incident, Neno provided pictures of what was sold in the market during the siege and claimed that the market wasn’t as pretty (nor as fresh) as it is today. He talked about the canned meat that was sold and how after the war, one woman opened a can up and set it down for her cat (or maybe it was a dog?) to eat and the poor thing sniffed at it and refused to eat it. He also told us how there wasn’t any chocolate or candy available, so he would sneak sugar into his pocket as a child and lick his fingers and dip them into his pocket for some sugar. He admitted to still having a sweet tooth and dipping sugar cubes in his coffee and popping them in his mouth nowadays. I wanted to relate my passion for mixing sugar into the foamy part of my lattes and enjoying that before drinking the coffee below.

We walked past another Sarajevo Rose, and he told another story about how someone he knew came home one evening after walking through town wearing some extra wide leg pants. When she arrived home, she discovered holes in her pants from sniper shots. My eyes grew big. Can you even imagine? He said that despite the war, and the siege especially, his mother refused to stay home and hide, saying she would go crazy if she didn’t go into town to work. She walked to/from town for 45 minutes or maybe an hour each day. And remember, the city is basically surrounded by mountains with snipers scattered around, shooting into the city day in and day out. One woman piped up;

“I’m a mother… What made your mother decide to keep you all here? Why didn’t she take everyone out?”

Neno responded that his mother always thought the war would end. It would only last a month more… She would say.

In case you’re unfamiliar with the length of the siege, it lasted three years.

After our stop around another Sarajevo Rose, we walked into Sacred Heart Cathedral, the same we saw on the other tour. Only today, a nun was taking care of some ironing in the front of the church.

Another (equally exciting) chess match was on in the park. We all lingered, again, enthralled by the intensity of the game and how interested all of the men gathered were in the game going on.

We stepped into the Cathedral Church of the Nativity of the Theotokos (The Orthodox Church) and as there wasn’t a ceremony going on, we were free to walk in a bit closer and take more pictures.

I debated titling this post “How to NOT be obnoxious on a Tour” because we were unfortunately graced with the presence of two girls who were exactly that. Annoying. You might notice them in the video above, because chances are they are in every frame. I had to get creative shooting footage without them standing in front of me. I also started getting a bit more forward, asking them if they could move out of the way. I’m pretty sure most people know how to act on a tour, but in case you’re unfamiliar with tour group etiquette, here are a few tips for you:

1. Don’t stand in front of the tour guide at every stop. There are other people on the tour, and they might want to see the tour guide’s face every once and awhile.

2. Take your picture, and move out of the way, so others on the tour can take a picture as well. If you want to take more pictures, if you want to get different angles, if you just can’t get the right perspective, then let others go first.

3. When the tour guide holds up a picture for everyone to see, don’t stand in front of the 8×10 laminated picture preventing all 20 others on the tour from seeing it. And if you absolutely need to have a picture of that picture, then ask for it when the tour guide is finished talking about it!

4. When the guide is talking about what life was like during the war, don’t ask him “What was that like for you?” after he just finished explaining the answer to your question. Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You have a notebook out, you’re taking notes. What on earth were you doing?

5. When someone (me) is clearly waiting for you to move so she can take a picture, MOVE! Why on earth are you standing there looking at me, with my camera in front of my face, ready to take a picture? I don’t want a picture of you! I want a picture of the beautiful building you are standing in front of and NOT even looking at!

6. And so help me if you are going to introduce yourself to others as a photographer (yea, I overheard you talking to the Australian whose yacht is “stuck” in Croatia) don’t steal my shot. I’m not talking about taking the same pictures that everyone takes on a tour of the Sarajevo Roses or the facades of churches or the men playing chess. I’m talking about when I go out of my way to practically lay down on the floor of a church and then I see you see me and then you do the same thing. If you really are a photographer, you would know that any other photographer would NOT be cool with that. And I don’t even introduce myself as a photographer, even though clearly, I take a lot of pictures.

I know, you’re probably like, ‘Woah, Liz. Calm down!’ And really, I told myself the same, until Leanne confirmed how ridiculously unaware these two girls were. I tried to linger towards the back of the group, thinking surely that would help. It didn’t. I debated pulling them aside, much like a mother would do to her own children and tell them to stop being so annoying. Instead, I rolled my eyes at myself, at my impatience, and tried to find them entertaining instead of annoying. That is, until the (same) one purposely stopped, waiting for me to move, and then started walking back to where I was standing to take the exact same picture.

“I’m a witch.” I whispered to Leanne as I caught up to them after taking the picture below. (Only I might have used a different word)

“I asked her if she was going to take the same picture I just took, and told her I didn’t like when other ‘photographers’ take the exact same shot that I took.” I explained, and Leanne said that she had worried on our safari that I was annoyed with her for doing the same. I rolled my eyes at her and explained that’s different.

“Ohmigod! We were in the same jeep! That’s totally different! It’s animals. On a safari! Of course we’re going to take the same pictures! You weren’t on a walking tour waiting behind me to see which pictures I was going to take when others weren’t around and then take the same one!” I tried to explain myself, but later realized I probably sounded like a witch regardless.

Leanne teased me for the rest of the afternoon that she was going to take the same pictures or that she was going to take a picture too, when I had my camera ready. I figured, she didn’t think I was too big of a ‘witch’ if she was able to tease me about it.

In other ‘obnoxious photo news’ this Copper Street had tons of signs up that you couldn’t take photos or else had to pay the artisan who was hammering away at the metal first. I settled on these two shots and shrugged, not interested in taking any photos of the artisans or even buying anything if you had to simply pay to take a picture!

After a quick local lunch, we made our way out of the center towards the Sarajevo Tunnel and Museum. The family who owned the house during the siege, and today runs the museum despite the government wanting to take over. It’s pretty much just like that, rolling up to a house in the country and then going around the back where you watch a short film that’s mostly a montage of bombings in the city, the building of the tunnel, and then its use during the siege.

The indoor museum consisted of different rooms full of mortar shells, army uniforms, American army food rations, and a recreation of a section of the tunnel. There was also a photo wall displaying famous actors and politicians who have visited the tunnel.

The entrance of the tunnel remains open and visitors are able to walk a short length that still remains intact. I didn’t see any information about what happened to the rest of the tunnel. I’m assuming it has been closed and/or filled in.

It was a little too short for Andrew. I couldn’t stand up straight inside, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. Granted, we weren’t walking through it in the middle of a war, through rain and murky water below and exposed electrical lines above. It reminded me of being in a more advanced version of the Cu Chi Tunnels in Vietnam.

Afterwards, we all headed to the train and bus stations to check about tickets out of Sarajevo the next day. I was continually intrigued by the visible scars on the buildings from the war. In Korea, I would always think in the back of my mind how much the older people have lived through, how much they had seen, and I wondered what it was like for them to see the change. Here, in Sarajevo, those thoughts pretty much apply to anyone over the age of 10.

Day 311: Remember Srebrenica

Perhaps you noticed in some of the pictures of the Old Bridge in Mostar, there was a banner that read “Do Not Forget Srebrenica.” If you’re not familiar with The Srebrenica Massacre (in all honesty, I wasn’t before our arrival to Bosnia and Herzegovina) get ready for the briefest of brief history lessons: It was the July 1995 mass genocide of more than 8,000 Bosnian Muslims (mostly men and boys) in and around the small town of Srebrenica by the Republika Srpska army, commanded by General Ratko Mladić. The town of Srebrenica was supposed to be a safe area under protection by the United Nations, and witnessed an influx of refugees during the war from those seeking a safe haven. Unfortunately, the town was captured by the Repbulika Srpska and the 400 UN peacekeepers were able to leave before/during? the genocide that began to take place. This incident is a huge scar on the UN’s history. At first they denied that it had happened, and then with the discovery of mass burial sites, it was apparent justice had been lacking. I’m sure I’m leaving a lot of information out. The incident is overwhelming, to say the least, and being not only in Bosnia and Herzegovina, but in the Galerija 11/07/95 on the anniversary was moving.

The gallery was smaller than I thought it would be, but there were computers set up with multimedia programs that spelled out the chain of events in an incredibly detailed and informative way. And we were fortunate to have a really great guided tour, great, again, not in the exciting kind of way, but in the this-girl-knows-her-shit kinda way. Saliha (pictured on the right above with her friend and colleague at the Gallery) was incredibly informative and passionate about the events that took place and the events relating to the trials and the UN taking place today. I felt one tiny step closer to having a better understanding of what happened during the Bosnian War than I did before setting foot in the gallery. I thanked her afterwards and asked if I could take her picture (as pictures within the gallery weren’t allowed). She was kind enough to oblige. Thanks again for everything, Saliha!

We met up with Josh and Leanne afterwards for lunch, and then Andrew and I wandered around the downtown old town area while they went on the tour we did the day before. It was a low key day, one that we all appreciated, that and each other’s company. Have I mentioned how lovely it is to feel like we have friends again on this long journey around the world?

Day 310: If only a Sarajevo Rose was as sweet as it sounds…

We went on another free walking tour. This time in Sarajevo. As always, the tour proved to be educational and a great way to wrap our heads around the latest city we rolled into. I say ‘educational’ because I’m fairly positive I’m learning (and hopefully retaining) way more information than I ever did in any history class. I remember seeing Sarajevo in the news a LOT when I was young, but I had no connection to it, and no understanding of not only what was going on, but why I should concern myself with the conflict. When you find yourself walking through the streets of Sarajevo and seeing all of the bullet holes in the buildings and then you’re given an explanation of the ‘Sarajevo Rose’ you feel like a fool for not being more aware with what was going on in the world when you were younger. At least that’s how I felt as I stood in front of a Sarajevo Rose on our walking tour du jour. So what is it? Wikipedia rather beautifully defines it as “a concrete scar caused by a mortar shell’s explosion that was later filled with red resin.” Our guide explained that the Sarajevo Roses are filled in as a memorial to those who were killed by a mortar shell during the Bosnian War.

Throughout the tour, we learned all about the Ottoman Empire’s influence, the start of World War I, and bits and pieces of the Bosnian War. It was a lot. So much that I kept having to ask Andrew stupid questions like: “Ok, wait, which one was World War I?” “Who was shot?” and “Who was bombing Sarajevo?”  “But WHY Sarajevo?!” because my head was so full. of. history. All through the Balkans, I’ve been trying to wrap my head around the fall of Yugoslavia and keeping track of who was with who and who was against who… Before the Balkans, it was trying to understand Greek Mythology. Before Greek Mythology, it was the rise and fall of religions in Turkey. Before Turkey, it was apartheid in South Africa. My list of books to read is growing longer and longer. If I can remember just a teensy bit of all of this information we’re trying to absorb on a daily basis, it’ll be a success! (Educationally, that is. Obviously it’s already a success on so many other levels.) If my memory proves unsuccessful, at least the past ten months have been cheaper than one year of tuition at my alma mater!

During our stop at this Orthodox Church, a ceremony was going on, of what we weren’t told, regardless, the chanting was beautiful to listen to.

“Who told them there were two ‘t’s’ in Kentucky?” I grumbled to Andrew as we passed by the local KFC, I mean VFC?

“Probably someone from Kentucky.” Andrew snarked.

My favorite part of the tour was arriving in the park to quite the kerfuffle over a heated game of chess. These men were not messing around. Our guide told us that legend has it if you lose the last game of the day, you have to set up the pieces at seven o’clock the next morning. He asked his uncle or father (I forget which) if this was true, but was told that “they’ve never lost… so they don’t know!”

The eternal flame (just down the street from the park above) is a memorial to those who have died in the Second World War in Bosnia. Our guide told us that one day, the flame was not so eternal (it had gone out during a storm the night before). A tourist, I think on a walking tour, asked his guide if there was still gas coming out, and then walked up to it and re-lit the flame. He also burned his arm (to what degree, I’m not sure) in the process.

We ended our tour in a park that held the Memorial to Murdered Sarajevo children during the siege of the city from 1992 to 1995. The sculpture represents a mother protecting her child. Around the base, made from melted bombshell cases, are children’s footprints, friends of those who died during the siege. Sad. That’s all I have to say. Even sadder was when our guide talked about the ‘Sarajevo Red Line.’ It was a memorial of the 11,541 killed during the Bosnian war. 11,541 empty red chairs were arranged down the street that passed in front of this sculpture dedicated to the children on April 6, 2012. Just last year. Our guide said it was a sight to see, and it was rather difficult to do the walking tour during the installation because it was simply so moving to have a visual of all that Bosnia had lost during the war.

On a much (much) lighter note, after the tour, we waited for Josh and Leanne to get into town! Our fifth country together, we were excited to see them, and share an apartment with them again! Excited, yes, but again, it was driven home how much they ‘get it’ as in this whole trip. We were all tired, and despite just arriving into a new city that afternoon (or evening) the best part of meeting up with friends who ‘get it’, was that they readily agreed to a low key movie night before passing out in an attempt to get some rest before a busy day tomorrow.

Day 309: Mostar and its bridge; JUMP!

A friend commented on an Instagram photo I had posted last week, asking if this place really exists. It does. And it’s beautiful. During the war, and after, without the bridge intact, it probably (ok, I’m sure it definitely wasn’t) as pristine looking… But now, thanks to the reconstruction of the bridge, and a growing young population ignoring the rules of the previously divided Croat vs. Bosnian sides,  the town seems (at least to my visitor’s eye) to be one again. Despite a plethora of tourists walking through the town during the day, it was a fraction of how crowded the streets were in Dubrovnik and Kotor. In the evening, only a handful of visitors roamed the cobblestoned alleyways and the town had a bit of magic in the air that gently reminded us both how lucky we were to be able to visit and enjoy this little town together.

We started our day in Mostar at the Museum of the Old Bridge. It’s on the small side, basically housed in one of the towers (Tara tower) and discusses the history of the original construction. It provides views of the bridge from above, a walk through the older underground sections below, and a bit on the destruction and reconstruction. I know, you might be a little surprised at my (our) interest in a museum dedicated to a bridge… But it really was quite fascinating. The architecture is pretty amazing and the history involving the destruction during the war is eye-opening. Normally, I might not suggest starting with a museum like this, but in this case, I highly recommend it.

Damage to the city, from the war, is still evident. Buildings like this one dotted the streets. Usually, when we visit a city devastated by war at some point in history, it’s so far in the past that only a museum serves as a reminder. You get an entirely different perspective when you look at a building crushed by a bomb or riddled with bullet and grenade holes.

Crossing the bridge, I was surprised to see a young man standing on the edge of the bridge, acting as if he was going to jump. I waited (as you can see in the video) and then got bored… waiting. As we walked past him, I asked if he was going to jump.

“If 25 euros are collected, then I will jump!” He answered.

“Ohhh, I see…” Andrew sighed. I rolled my eyes. He stood on the ledge all afternoon. He was there all throughout our next museum visit in the opposite tower. He got longer shorts when it looked as if it was going to rain, but still stood out on the ledge. He was even standing on the ledge a few hours later when we climbed up a minaret down the way for a different view of the bridge… I didn’t (and still don’t) understand their system. Why these boys don’t have an organized daily jump surprises me. It seems as though it would be a much better idea to have a daily jump at a specific time everyday. Ask the city if they will sponsor them, even if it’s just by printing flyers and advertising their daily jump on their tourist website. Pose for pictures before the jump. Jump. Collect donations afterwards. Boom. One hour and done. I’m sure they would even make more than 25 euros per jump!

Instead, dude stood around on a ledge of a bridge for at least four hours waiting for one person, or a crowd to take it upon themselves to collect 25 euros for him to jump. Lame. Unless he likes the attention, which could very well be his thing… but it didn’t look like he ever made any money standing on the ledge all afternoon…

We walked out of the old town to see what Mostar was like outside the historical/bridge area. The most interesting thing we saw was an abandoned building that looked as if it was a graffiti mecca. That, and judging by the amount of empty bottles of beer littered around the floor, that it was/is probably a local night haunt for Mostar teens.

We made our way back towards the old town, looking for the mosque with the minaret that had a wonderful view of the bridge and both banks of the river. Koskin-Mehmed Pasha’s Mosque is small, and we were told it is no longer in use, however a man was praying inside after we climbed down from the minaret.

You go to this mosque, not for the interior, but for the view of the town (and the bridge) from the minaret. Climbing the minaret wasn’t my most favorite thing to do, but once you get to the top, you’ll see that the short climb (going in circles in the dark) is worth it.

Towards dusk, we went around to the other side of the old town and sat at the water’s edge to take some pictures of the bridge at night.

I even set up the self-timer and scurried across the rocks to sit with Andrew for a few pictures of us. If I was looking at these pictures of another couple, I would roll my eyes. I told Andrew just that.

“Ohmigod, these pictures are sooo cheesy!” I started laughing at us.

“What? It’s not our fault our love is so adorable!” He responded, on his way into the bathroom, and then he promptly yelled at me that I had left a turd in the toilet.

“Well, I don’t know how it got there!” I just yelled back.

Day 308: Mondays are the worst. Unless…

It’s rather difficult to stay in a ‘Ten Month Travel Slump’ when this is what your Monday morning not only looks like, but involves before getting on a bus to jump countries in the afternoon. Mondays are the worst. Unless you’re on a ‘Round the World’ trip… and then, sometimes, Mondays are the best! We spent part of our early afternoon on this pebble beach inside a little cove on the outskirts of Dubrovnik’s Old Town. The rocks were hot. The water was not. And it was a little slice of heaven, just as beautiful as is in the picture.

It’s my humble opinion that Croatia has the prettiest water. Andrew could not stop talking about how pretty the water was between the islands in Greece. It is, also pretty. But Croatia is where the water is at. Just look at it!

The beach wasn’t too crowded, although when we left (towards 2ish) more and more people were arriving. My favorite part was watching everyone run across the too-hot-for-bare-feet rocks to get to the water. Only the water was quite cold, so everyone would stop suddenly, and let their bodies adjust to the temperature change, deciding which was worse: getting in the cold water or walking back across the hot beach to their towel or chair.

Young ones climbed up the bluffs and jumped into the sea, sometimes from quite high, sometimes making me squirm hoping they would jump far enough away from the cliffs. Needing to get going so we would make our bus into Bosnia and Herzegovina, we tore ourselves away from the beach as best we could. I have to admit, having had our sunscreen taken from us in Crete’s Airport (we forgot to put it in our checked luggage) it made leaving the burning sun a little easier. I took one last picture to remind myself what a ‘typical (even though on this trip, there really is no such thing) Monday’ on the road was like.

And then, a few hours later we were greeted like we were old friends by one of the sweetest hostel owners we have met so far. We felt so bad we were a little over an hour late arriving in Mostar, but Taso shrugged and told us not to worry. He informed us of the buses having GPS and he wasn’t waiting long. He whisked us off to his guesthouse, which really felt more like his house (in a really great way, not like staying in ‘the lady’s’ actual house in Dubrovnik). We had juice and cookies and he told us all about the town. We chatted like we were old friends, and I smiled at how great it is when you get to meet people for the first time and your interaction is so pleasant.

Taso talked about the old bridge that is the city’s main attraction. It was originally commissioned by Sultan Sulaiman the Magnificent in 1557, and survived all the way up until the war in 1993, when the bridge was bombed and destroyed. It has since been rebuilt and declared an UNESCO World Heritage site. (You can read more about the bridge here, if you’re interested)

I knew a little about this bridge (mostly relating to the war) before our arrival. I knew nothing about the bridge jumping that has become a rite of passage for the men (and some brave women) of the town. Taso told us that at just 25 meters above the water below, men would jump from the bridge, and women would give the man they liked a wreath of flowers afterwards, to signal wich one they liked the most. I asked if Taso had jumped off and he laughed, saying that he was too old to do it now. When he was younger, there was a wooden bridge in place of the older one that was bombed. He jumped off of that, but he suggested it wasn’t as high as the original (or current) bridge.

We walked through town to get an early dinner, above are some of the views of both sides of Mostar from the bridge. Beautiful, right?