A Bridge to the Future

I was entering unknown territory, torn between curiosity and caution.

After crossing the border from Croatia into Bosnia and Herzegovina, Mostar, once a small village nestled in a deep valley on the Neretva River, was poised to deliver a profound history lesson, alongside an appreciation of the harmonious blend of nature and reconciliation.

The Old Bridge (Stari Most), built in 1566 during the Ottoman Empire, once connected the former capital of Herzegovina. It abruptly became the focal point of a divided society, country, and region.

As the sun began to set on a balmy summer evening, I gazed up at the bridge from the rocks on the bank. Local thrill-seekers, professionally trained, prepared to make their leap; tourists watched, donated, and waited in anticipation. The water of the lightly dull green river flowed swiftly, enhancing my appreciation for everything around me. Lost in thought, I felt almost divided.

This very bridge, along with much of the town, was destroyed in November 1993 by Bosnian Croat forces during intense artillery shelling. Through collective effort, it was painstakingly restored using authentic materials and historical specifications, reopening in 2004.

I strolled back across the bridge and began exploring the Old Bazaar (Kujundziluk) — bustling with market stalls amid colourful Turkish houses and shops.

As I stopped to buy a ćevapi, the shop owner queried my ethnicity — had I crossed to the wrong side of the bridge? This minor incident felt like a step back in time, a clash of cultural beliefs.

Navigating the neglected backstreets of Mostar, I observed a spectrum of building structures and designs: some vibrant and untouched, others weathered and dilapidated — a microcosm reflecting not just the city but the country's complexities at that time.

Back at the hostel, the Bosnian owner effortlessly persuaded me to join him and fellow travellers on a tour out of Mostar the next day. Our small group, comprising an American, three French, and an Australian, departed with anticipation.

Beyond Mostar, the landscape evolved — the green, cliff-studded scenery and Turkish houses of the Old Bridge area gave way to a different narrative. Bullet holes and structural scars served as poignant reminders of not-so-distant conflicts, especially in the most battle-scarred locales.

Our guide, who was just 17 when the Bosnian War erupted, educated us as we headed to our first stop — Blagaj Tekija, an ancient Muslim village with a dervish monastery nestled at the foot of towering cliffs. Over breakfast, we absorbed tales of the village's resilience before gearing up for the next leg of our journey, hoping our hearty Bosnian bureks would settle before our afternoon swim.

Next on our itinerary was Počitelj — a fortified village steeped in history. Its skyline dominated by two prominent towers: a clock tower (sahat kula) and a fortress tower. Scaling towards the fortress, we passed traditional Turkish baths (hamam), the Hajji Alijia Mosque, and numerous Mediterranean-style dwellings still inhabited by locals.

At the summit, Citadel Počitelj offered panoramic views of the town. Once a military watchtower during the Bosnian War, both Počitelj and the Stari Most are now UNESCO World Heritage Sites.

Our journey concluded with a serene swim in the pristine waters of Kravica Waterfalls — a green oasis encircling cascading waterfalls in natural splendour. The bus ride back was a peaceful reflection. The mood was not sombre but appreciative — of the knowledge gained and a deeper understanding of the events that shaped this district's past.

As I boarded the bus to Sarajevo the next day, my pre-frozen water bottle doubled as air conditioning. My thoughts lingered not only on what I had discovered in Mostar but also on the uncharted paths awaiting me in this captivating country.

The bus trip itself was an experience, but Mostar had provided the shining platform connecting past and present, fostering hope for the future.