Rivers That Stretch, Gorges That Tower And Bridges That Stand

Part III

A knock on the door stirs the senses.  Heavy eyelids are pushed up as the body slowly drifts out of slumber. The duvet is torn aside and the legs swing over the edge of the bed.  It is already morning and already bright. 

Filip is at our door fresh as a daisy. 'Sorry I had to wake you,' he tells us, 'but they told me you have to get up, get breakfast and ready.'

My movements are lethargic but after a dirty coffee, I feel that I am ready for life.

We are going to canoe down the river Drina. There had been talk of rafting, but thankfully, to my secret exaltation, there are too few to go rafting. So, we are going on the canoe which is ample excitement for me.  I liberally apply sun lotion. It is hot today and the sun is intense. We get our wet suits, life jackets and shoes and climb into the back of the Fiesta. In a Yugo 4 x 4, our fellow tourists set off and we follow. We travel quite a bit away, pockmarked and twisting roads.  Later we learn we were not far from the Montenegrin border.

The canoes are inflated. We watch a group of chilled beer guzzlers ride a crude raft down the river. There is a chorus of cheers. Solidarity of man in nature. 

We step into the water. It is cold.

I am not used to the water. I cannot swim. I try to get accustomed to the chill, lying and drifting in the hope of calming my nerves. But this will be a baptism if fire.

I dip into the water hoping my fear of not being able to swim will evaporate, it does not but we cannot wait any longer. I am directed to sit in the middle. Clutching my paddle I climb aboard. We wait, the three of us until a little distance come between us and the other group. Slowly we begin our journey ca. 25km of river. The river is gentle at first but I paddle with nervous anticipation. Every once in a while Filip tells us to stop and we admire the beautiful Bosnian countryside. At various points there are clusters of people by the river enjoying the sun or the shade, picnics, barbecues and water sports. Some cheer and some yell as we drift by. 

What did they say we ask? 

'Oh,' Filip replies, 'they asked us if we would like to join them for a beer.'

When we meet the rapids I tense up. I hug the bench,clenched between my legs and my backside, I do not want to fall out. They are not overly rough and while I get a surge of adrenaline I do worry my fellow paddlers are a little underwhelmed or even bored. It is sufficiently exciting for me!

We catch up on the other crew and pose for a few pictures. We have already travelled 10km. The worst is over. We can relax now it seems. We climb back in and carry on. Soon the other group slip out of view. We go on and on, the temperature drops and the sun has gone. A canopy of dark grey clouds covers us. There is a storm brewing. The weather breaks and the rains comes, drops at first and then a downpour. The thunder rolls and the lightening flashes. Unsure what our best course of action ought to be, we paddle on.  No one has brought a phone because of the chance of water damage.

Pelted by rain, and feeling fresh after a whipping, we reach the camp, Filip's father takes a picture and we wave our paddles like the mad seamen we are.

The rest of the evening involves, a shower, a change, food followed by rest and relaxation. There is also cake.

Our time in Bosnia Herzegovina is almost at an end. We have one more full day here before moving on to Dubrovnik.  The weather is not so good so we decide to give the national park a miss. On the walk on Saturday, Lola had mentioned an ancient bridge. Believing it to be nearby a short walk down the road we make a plan.

We travel to Višegrad.

Filip alerts to various speed traps and also fondly reminisces where he received his first ticket from the police. He even points out the location to us.

We get to Višegrad and park to take  a few pictures. We climb the slippery, jagged steps to a vantage point. We stop and admire the view. A little cat wanders over to us, curious and maybe hungry.  It begins to rain and so we hastily rush down to the car. We drive on to Andricgrad for some lunch.

Several sad stray dogs wander around. Some of them pause and stare before plodding on.

We dine and wander around the cobbled streets. A film of rainwater covers the stone making it treacherous and slippy. We step into a bookshop and I buy a copy of The Bridge Over The Drina. On the street Filip draws our attention to a mural above the cinema which depicts several heroes including Gavrilo Princip. We pass through a little tunnel, an artist sketches various personalities, some living some dead. Do you know who that is? Filip asks, 'How about him?' 'That is Nikola Tesla.' I tell him.

We step into a bakery and indulge in some sweet pastries. On the wall a painted picture of Vladimir Puten beams down on us.  Why have they got Putin on the wall? Because Putin stands up for Serbs. 

We debate the other personalities depicted, Castro, Che Guevara. Afterwards we are back on the street admiring fountains and statues, and wander into an Orthodox church. It is not yet finished.

We make our way back to the car, a small child scratches a rough looking dog on its belly. 

Filip drives us to up to health spa for the sulphur baths.  There, I get a swimming lesson.  It is 60 minutes of terror but towards the end my tense body does begin to relax.

We take the route back to the famous bridge for some more pictures.  A little gypsy boy bursts into song while we take pictures.  He is not looking for anything, he sings for the pure joy of singing.

We are quiet and tired on the way back to Foča.

At the camp we eat and drink and I try to impress some people with my few words of Bosnian aided by a printout. I pick up a few other useful words and phrases. And there is more cake. We have not really discussed or planned our trip to Dubrovnik but presumably there are several busses.  We agree on this notion and push it to the back of our minds.

There is one bus from Trebinje to Dubrovnik and it leaves at 09:30.

Our bus leaves Foča at half past three. We decide to take a cursory glance at the local museum.

At the museum we learn about how people lived in olden times, the traditional dress hung on one wall surrounded by cooking utensils and other tools. We also learn about the involvement of Bosnia in both World Wars, Tito and the rumours of fake Tito and his bad Serbian and of crimes committed against Serbs, murders and atrocities in the Bosnian war. There are weapons and tools on display. We cut our tour short as we have to rush to the bus station. We say our goodbyes and thanks.  We sip overpriced coca-cola from glass bottles purchased in the adjoining café.  

Our bus pulls in and we dive for the back seat.  For the next four hours we'll be boxed in here as the countryside rolls by.

Not without fear

Part 2

A typical cabin at Auto Camp Drina

Not without an element of fear, as strangers in this city of Sarajevo, we withdraw some marks from a nearby ATM.  Neither one of us had thought to check the exchange rate.  My companion quickly googles the answer and we win our tender.

Our guide arrives in a little old Ford Fiesta.  We deposit our bags in the boot and climb in.  I am glad we had had time for that coffee.  The car revs as we climb the hills and we begin to ask some questions about the city, the country and the war.  We will get to know our guide better in the coming days.

We stop to break our fast with pita, a pastry with your choice of filling, it's 7 o'clock in the morning.  We travel on towards the the camp weaving around mountains and hills, weaving around hills admiring the scenery.  We speed on to our destination, Foča in the Republika Srpska.  When we finally reach camp we all agree that a nap would be ideal  I'm not sure I'll sleep, but the little  40 winks I steal helps me function.  Slow to move, we get up, dress and make our way to the camp below.  We're ready to eat.  

After a dirty coffee it is time to get some food.  We are served fish and potato salad.  I have never eaten fish like this.  A trout sprung from the river and fresh into the fire.  We have a few hours of downtime.

Pjescane Piramide

After a while, Lola, the camp owner suggests that we go see the pyramids.  We take the 9km ride up in the 90s Fiesta to the sand pyramids, Pjescane Piramide.  This unique structure is crumbling bit by bit.  The harsh weather cycle of snow, frost and then warmth has created this natural phenomenon.  The cliff falls away revealing the orange-red stone underneath.  We take a collection of photos on various devices, and even attempt a few panorama shots.  We are not the only tourists viewing this spectacle.  We pose a few questions, ponder a few thoughts and decide it is time to move on.  We hop in the car and manoeuvre back down the old Sarajevo road.

 Later we set off on a hill walk.  Before we go I pull on my heavy hiking boots, an investment I hope to make a lot of use of, and we get a ride to the bottom of the hills.  Led by Lola we set off.  The path rises gradually.  There are a few occupied homes at first, likely small farmers, later we see old houses and huts over one hundred years old.  We walk on, stepping on the gravel and dried mud.  Part of the path has ditches, grooves made by rainwater washing downhill.  The walk is not exactly treacherous and we admire the flora  while stumbling occasionally.  But we power on like the good troops we are.

Lola talks about the countryside, the flowers, herbs and mushrooms. interposed with snippets of information on the war.  He collects some flowers and promises to make tea for us later and tosses away a mushroom  that was deemed inedible.  We carry on.  We stop and take some photos as a group, and then some photos of the Bosnian family.

We begin to descend and make our way over fences but pausing to enjoy the view of the mighty mountains, however, the Maglic is obscured by clouds.  We slip through a graveyard, pausing to deliberate the deaths of some of the cemetery's occupants.  Souls lost in The Great War, World War II and the Bosnian War.  Some people had lived to a ripe old age, some had been cut down in their prime.  The gravestones' have the likeness of each person.  One gravestone depicting an elderly couple states the man's date of death, however, there is a blank under the woman's image.  Why?  We ask.  Well, the woman is likely still alive.

As we continue on our way we meet the odd vehicle ascending the slope.  Is it a road or a path I am not entirely sure.  The sun is dipping behind the mountainous hills and the light is fading.  The moon imbues the countryside with a beautiful blue glow.  We pass through dense patches of foliage swarmed by clusters of fireflies in the pitch black.  We admire them and they dance around before each carries on their own way.  As Foča comes into view below I admire the clusters of glowing light, out of focus they look a little like the fireflies.  I stop and take an low quality image of this image so that I might have something to remember it with.  It does not do it justice, but then photographs seldom do.  Suddenly I follow the group into someone's back garden descending a sharp slope.  Their dog barks at this sudden intrusion, our guides chat to the lady of the house before we step out of the garden onto the road.  We march along the main road for a short while chatting to Lola.  He relays a few stories, sadly none of his own, on heaven and hell.  Bosnia is like heaven for him he tells us.  We reach our camp.

As promised, Lola prepares tea for us,  His tea is made from the plucked treasures of his hill walk.  I finish the fish I was not able to stomach earlier and we discuss the possibility of sampling the nightlife of Foča.  Filip takes us into town, it is alive with the rhythm and pump of Balkan vibes.  Some bars have live music.  We move around keen to soak up as much of the local scene as possible.  We even wander into the local disco, Black and White, before tackling our hunger with some pastry and making our way to a taxi and back to camp.  The day may have started off with a little fearful apprehension but here, we are in safe hands.

Heaving Through Heavens

I stepped out of my comfort zone and went to somewhere I had wanted to go for a long time.  While I held onto my lunch and I did not empty my bowels, I will deposit my experiences, thoughts and musings here.  Enjoy.


PART 1

Broad wholesome charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the Earth all one's lifetime.
Mark Twain

There's a green bag, and it cost more than the items in it.

I pack it to the brim, crowning it with an old pair of
converse, pressing them in and snapping the clips close.

I'm wringing wet when I get to the bus station.

My friend passes me a cold beverage, that I will spill on  a

lady shortly after the bus begins moving.  The carbonated

drink erupts with a blast that drenches every unfortunate

soul, and everything within the radius.  I clutch it and press

my hand upon the breach but to little or no avail.  One lady,

my neighbour across the aisle, suffers the brunt of my clumsy 

act.  I offer a sheepish 'Sorry,' in both English and German.
She won't accept my apology, it only adds fuel to her fiery disposition.

'Sorry?'  She repeats while giving me the cold look of Death.

My friend reassures me that most of passengers had found the 

ordeal funny.  I don't remember hearing laughter.  The hiss and gush

of foam were all I could hear.

I sip the pitiful remainder of my drink and begin a conversation with my

friend.  What follows is a twelve and a half hour journey, punctuated 

toward the end with multiple stops and passport checks.

I think about the hectic preparations and the worry that went into this

trip.

_____________________________________________________

Printing hastily pasted vocabulary

Zdravo

And stuffing balls of clothes into two bags

Kako ste?

I'm sweating heavier than in a cardio session

Ja sam dobro.

And dreading the twelve hour bus journey 

Sa screćom!

Have I everything I need?

Sretan put!

Probably not

Hvala.

But you can't prepare for every experience

Ne razumijem

And maybe that's okay.

Molim te napište to.

But it is good to try.  Despite the fear.

Putujem za Foča.

_______________________________________________________

Sunrise in Sarajevo

For the last stretch

The bus sped around twisty roads

Fog obscuring the countryside

We were rolling into the city

And the dark was fading.

I wanted the journey to last

A little longer

A little longer so I could doze

But it ended by a plum tree

In West Sarajevo.

In a nearby café

We drank hot coffee doused in cream

It could have been the best or worst 

Some stray dogs wandered close by

We left and as instructed began

To look as conspicuous as possible 

But

Also as instructed

We did not talk to strangers

We watched several VW Golfs drive by

Wondering

If the next one was our lift

It came

But not before we saw the sunrise

in Sarajevo.