Heading inland towards Herzegovina the bus slowly meanders along bumpy roads stopping regularly at any place that might serve food or drink. The schedule doesn't appear to be important as passengers happily get off and sit outside at tables ordering coffee and staying for 15-20 minutes. Two hours 'late' we arrive in Mostar. 87 steps from the bus-stop - I'm not counting really but as Vic Reeves says 91.3% of all statistics are made-up (plagarist, sorry Dave, again!) - I meet Miran, a young Bosnian-Moslem man who asks if I need a place to stay. Mostar's main centre is only a few minutes walk away and after ensuring I've settled into the apartment room adjoining the house, Miran leaves to go to work and I'm left to explore.
The stari most (old bridge) was destroyed under bombardment in 1993 during the conflicts. It has since been restored using pieces of the ruins. In the summer, there is an international competition as high-divers from all over the world come to Bosnia to jump off into the Neretva. The town itself bears many reminders of the war, with buildings poc-marked with sniper bullet holes and signs warning of dangerous structures where shells have battered through walls and ceilings.
Back at the house around 6.30pm I meet Miran's mum, Nada. She's really friendly and invites me inside the house where I'm treated to fruit tea and Bosnia coffee, a small glass of heavily sweetened potent caffeine. We sit and watch the news together and somehow, without speaking English, manage to discuss what's happening, with Nada explaining the Bosnian political system of three presidents, and four tiers of government, and who she thinks is a good or a bad politician. There's a panel interview with the three main leaders, all looking like identikit politicians in black suit and the only distinguishing attire being slightly different ties. Nada shakes her head and rolls her eyes at the various comments, and after a while turns sighing and shrugging to say they're just talking and interested in themselves, hardly any differences. This could be Newsnight, and I nod agreeing.
Miran returns from work around 8pm and takes me out with his friend to a local restaurant-bar. We order some teas and sit talking about Mostar and their passion for the local football team, Velez, currently 3rd in the League. A number of top football players and coaches hail from Bosnia, including Zlatan Ibrahimovic who although playing for Sweden has a Bosnian parent, and Arsene Wenger's assistant coach was once a player at Velez.
I'm curious about their experiences but wary of raising painful subject, so I ask a vague question about what it is like living in Mostar after the conflict. Miran's expression changes and he looks at me with intent. He and his friend are very willing to talk about their lives but I need to understand this is something deeply important. They take me walking out into the town along the road which was the frontline, pointing to buildings where snipers and artillary aimed at anything opposing or unfortunate enough to be exposed. Miran shows me places where friends and family were killed. It's hard to describe how it felt to have him share these experiences, deeply deeply moving, something that is I know is now embedded in my memory.
Back at the house around 6.30pm I meet Miran's mum, Nada. She's really friendly and invites me inside the house where I'm treated to fruit tea and Bosnia coffee, a small glass of heavily sweetened potent caffeine. We sit and watch the news together and somehow, without speaking English, manage to discuss what's happening, with Nada explaining the Bosnian political system of three presidents, and four tiers of government, and who she thinks is a good or a bad politician. There's a panel interview with the three main leaders, all looking like identikit politicians in black suit and the only distinguishing attire being slightly different ties. Nada shakes her head and rolls her eyes at the various comments, and after a while turns sighing and shrugging to say they're just talking and interested in themselves, hardly any differences. This could be Newsnight, and I nod agreeing.
Miran returns from work around 8pm and takes me out with his friend to a local restaurant-bar. We order some teas and sit talking about Mostar and their passion for the local football team, Velez, currently 3rd in the League. A number of top football players and coaches hail from Bosnia, including Zlatan Ibrahimovic who although playing for Sweden has a Bosnian parent, and Arsene Wenger's assistant coach was once a player at Velez.
I'm curious about their experiences but wary of raising painful subject, so I ask a vague question about what it is like living in Mostar after the conflict. Miran's expression changes and he looks at me with intent. He and his friend are very willing to talk about their lives but I need to understand this is something deeply important. They take me walking out into the town along the road which was the frontline, pointing to buildings where snipers and artillary aimed at anything opposing or unfortunate enough to be exposed. Miran shows me places where friends and family were killed. It's hard to describe how it felt to have him share these experiences, deeply deeply moving, something that is I know is now embedded in my memory.
1 comment:
i been on that bridge. it was darker then of course. and more bleak. ;)
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