Bosnia and Herzegovina

We are getting used to border crossings and were ready for a smooth transit out of Montenegro and into Bosnia. The right hand drive vehicle helped this time, as the border officer took one look at Dawn sitting there without a steering wheel to lean on (or it might have been the distinctive EU standard issue passports) and he waved us straight-on through.

Unlike other crossings, we then drove through an extended no-man's land which included a planked bridge over a river with white water rafters on the water below.

Then we were at the BiH border and the officials there (at least three), said "British" and waved us on. However we weren't ready to go without a fight as we needed insurance. The usual "Green card" was this time met with arm waving, head shaking (or is it nodding, I can't get it right in the Balkans) and they pointed back through NML and said "Insurance Montenegro".

So we turned around, drove back over the planked bridge and stopped on the entry side and knocked on a window. There was no reply, even though I could see people in the room. So I knocked on the door and went in. Before I could speak it was made clear that I was interrupting lunchtime as they pointed to the food on their plates.

Now I have rarely been "at lunch" in my career, in fact at the Jet project at Culham in the late eighties, I gave a guy much older then me a bit of an earful when he insisted he was "at lunch". I didn't think that would be wise this time, so instead I walked over to the Montenegro-exit window and the guy pointed back up the hill.

100m into Montenegro is where all those people rafting were assembling and we drove up and pulled in, conveniently between two Defenders. People got interested in ours and once we had compared engines, we managed to explain that we needed insurance.

I was taken to a random cafe, over which was a guy in an office. He wouldn't open the door but he did respond to a shout (a bit like the guy at Jet) and came to ask what I wanted. Ten minutes later I was €30 lighter and had third party car insurance to cover me for three days in Bosnia and Herzegovina.

All that remained was to go back through the exit gate, over the plank... and we were into Bosnia. New territory!

There's another sign at the border which I was surprised to see. It's for the Republika Srpska, recognised by the EU in 1992 as independent from Bosnia and Herzegovina. A former President is Radavan Karadžić and the Chief of Staff of the Army then was Ratko Mladić, names people will remember with some significance. The Republic is now one of the two main political territories of Bosnia and Herzegovina.

The road on the Bosnian side was more suited to Land Rovers than normal cars and it continued like this for about thirty minutes. As we were to find, this isn't typical of BiH roads, although it made us wonder just what were we doing there as we drove from the border.

The reason for going to the country was to visit Sarajevo and Mostar. Everyone of our generation and older, will remember the Yougoslav wars, perhaps especially the war in Bosnia and the siege of Sarajevo. This terrible ordeal lasted from 1992 to 1996 and my memories have been reinforced by reading "The Cellist of Sarajevo" by Stephen Galloway, in which references to the tunnel under the airport, sniper alley and the snipers in the hills, all brought back those memories. It's also the twentieth year since the Srebrenica massacre.

We decided that camping overnight wouldn't be the most suitable option and instead made an advanced booking at the guest house that came top of the Trip Advisor list. The Halvat guesthouse has five rooms and is fantastically convieniently situated in the Old Town and so we would therefore need to drive into the middle of the city.

The people of Sarajevo have been repairing and rebuilding since the war ended and it's a beautiful place but still with a few signs of the conflict. This building is on Sniper Alley, the road from the airport into the city.

This block still shows bullet holes and shrapnel marks.

This however is City Hall, once the home of the National Library, which was all but destroyed through deliberate targeting and 90% of the contents were lost in the fire.

It has been totally rebuilt; I believe it was completed last year.

This is "that bridge", which rather surprisingly, wasn't much of a focus. This is the place at which the heir to the throne, Archduke Ferdinand, was assassinated during a tour of the city. This was the trigger that started the First World War.

As we walked through Old Town, the hills were very close. It's easy to see why the people in the city were easy prey for the snipers up there.

We had a lovely breakfast at a café called "To Be or Not To Be" and talked to the owner about the war. In spite of the fact that she had for sale, a poster featuring 'The Cellist', she told us that she had remained in the city throughout the siege, but that she preferred now not to think about it - not for the fears particularly, more because she simply wanted to move on.

She makes a mean omelette by the way, Dawn was impressed too. Much as we engaged her in conversation, she never let slip her "secret ingredient" that made it so tasty.

It's Ramadan and as we were staying in Old Town which is full of Ottoman influence, it was noticable that very few people were eating during the evening. It wasn't until 21:45 or so that we heard the sound of a cannon that marked the end of the fast and the beginning of the meal, Iftar.

We had already walked past a shop with a long queue of people all buying what in England would have been fish and chips. They were walking away with a paper bag full of some foodstuff. We later learnt that they were buying Somun and that queuing towards the end of the fast and embracing the smell of the bakery, is all part of the end of the day ritual. It seems that Somun is made with a dough including yeast, baked for two minutes in a wood-fired oven. I'm sure it's delicious, especially if you haven't eaten since sunrise.

Sarajevo was a lovely city and as with many places, we could have stayed there to soak up the atmosphere; but what do you do? So we went to Mostar.

We camped at a little place just a few kms south east which was memorable in its own way. The little village of Blagaj has a Dervish house, a fort on an inaccessible hill (too steep for us anyway) and a river sourced from a spring within the rock wall under the castle. This spring flows at a rate of 43m3 per minute (43,000 litres if that's easier to relate to).

The campsite is right next to the river just a km downstream. That evening we were subject to an extreme change in temperature. It had been well over 30C during the day, yet as soon as the sun went down, the water temperature become noticeable as it was at 8-10C. By mid evening it was really cold sitting by the tent. If you've ever stood on or close to a glacier in summer , it's a similar sensation. 

I could read-up about what a Dervish house is and then write about it, as if I knew all along, but I haven't and this is left to the reader as homework. As a clue, this is how Dawn was required to dress in order to walk around.

As well as a ruined castle, the village bears scars from the more recent conflict.

It really feels odd when you see scars like these that have happened just a few years ago.

Mostar is another city that everyone remembers, not least because its iconic bridge was destroyed in the conflict, only to be rebuilt, starting in 1997 under guidance of UNESCO with money from various countries, including Italy. It's now one of the UNESCO World Heritage sites.

We spent ages talking to one of the real metalworkers in the town. Most of them are half heartedly tapping away to show off some slightly tacky metal souvenir. When I walked into this particular workshop it was clear that it was something special. I now know how to punch a copper/silver plate (obtained from Bosnian gypsies apparently), in order to produce a raised image. When I also found out how long it took the expert to make one, I realised that I wouldn't be buying one to take home. Sorry Mostar.

More war scars.

After our experiences with Mike the Greek a few weeks ago, you would have thought that we would not let the market traders get the better of us. This lady was far more brazen than Mike our NATO seller at Epidavros. She waited till we had chosen all that we wanted, telling us it was all "dobra", then took the bags and started to stuff other goodies into them. However, she ensured that she weighed them too!

It was when Dawn hesitated in front of the old man selling fruit brandies, that things got a little out of hand. The more samples she tried, the happier they both became!

It was very hot in Mostar. It's only 45m above sea level so there's no cooling through elevation. It's too far from the sea to get any obvious relief that way. During our visit it was 35C, but we were lucky as a few days later it was 39.