Back in the Balkans Episode 2 - Bosnia

So, the last time I visited Bosnia I didn't have time to visit Mostar, so I made that my number one priority for my return.

After a very interesting bus ride, including a border official who sternly questioned me about the "symbols" on my arm (huh?  You mean my tattoo?  It's a type of plant...  How else do you explain a carnivorous plant tattoo to foreigners?) and an unceremonious bus change, I made it to the hostel in Mostar, which had been recommended by a fellow I met in Zadar.  

Majda's Hostel turned out to be lovely, and I arrived just in time for Bosnian Coffee.  I quickly made the aquaintance of an Aussie girl who had ridden the bus with me from Split, and a group of us from the hostel ventured into town for a quick tour followed by dinner.  Along the way we picked up a couple girls who Adi, one of my hostel mates, had met previously, and got to know Tess and Eli.  Tess is from San Francisco (finally, a fellow Californian who's not from SoCal!) and Eli has been traveling almost exactly the same amount of time that I have, which was so unbelievably heartwarming after so many months of the shocked face when I told people I'd been gone for eight months.

We had a great dinner and ended the evening with beers down by the river before heading homeward.

(Not my photo).

The most glorious chicken and grilled vegetable salad in existence.  I picked out all the mushrooms.

The next day I had signed up for the tour run by the hostel, so after a home cooked breakfast by Majda (she actually made me eggs and sausage, bless her) we hung out until noon when the tour was starting.  As it turns out the tour is run by Majda's brother, who is a crazy high-energy guy determined to give us both a heavy dose of fun and also a heavy dose of recent history, told from the perspective of someone who actually lived it.

During the war, their entire family had to flee the country, because they have Muslim heritage.  Never mind the fact that they aren't strictly religious or even practicing.  They were lucky to even escape with their lives; Majda's brother literally got out by the skin of his teeth when a guy he knew from grade school (knew, but wasn't friends with, keep in mind) claimed, despite the danger to himself, that he was a Croat, one of them.  He later escaped in an ambulance across the border and emigrated to Sweden.

Hearing stories like this make my personal problems seem about this big.

After ten years spent in Scandanavia and the UK, the family was able to return home, and to make ends meet opened a hostel out of their house.  Majda was opposed at first (can you really blame her?  You want me to open my house, my room, to strangers, after all we've been through?) but now she runs the place like a mother hen, taking care of all of us backpackers in with compassion and humor.

Even over twenty years later, a huge amount of the Bosnian population still lives abroad, because they have no homes or jobs to come back to.  It absolutely breaks my heart.

I learned the history of the war from a local perspective.  I learned that the Serbian and Croatian governments stil have a hand in local politics and are still trying to divide the people based on religion.  If you look at the "Bosnian" side of Mostar, you still see bombed out buildings.  If you look at the "Croat" side, you see new shopping malls.  Genocide happened here, and the world just looked the other way.  Our guide called it "world war III," and he wasn't exaggerating.  

At what point do we not turn our cheeks?  How do we help?  Because I hate to say that this is still going on today across the globe.  Everyone should have rights, but how do we fight for all of it?  Where on earth do we start?  When will we learn?

Our first stop was the waterfalls, where we got to swim, eat a lovely lunch, and drink beer and rakia.

I swam in that.  It was amazing.

Photo cred: Adi.

Photo cred: Adi.

Afterwards we went to a "medieval village," which for the record was just a village before the war, when the locals were forced out.  Even now only three houses are inhabited, because nobody can afford to come back.  There we had one of the best experiences of my trip so far.  This lovely elderly woman invited us into her home, served us platters of dried and fresh fruit, cakes, and drinks made with her homemade syrups.  Pomegranate syrup mixed with water is amazing and I must learn how to make it.  I cannot thank her enough for that experience.  Hvala.

Driving with the van door open for "air conditioning."

Did I mention that my seat was a lawn chair in the back?  I don't know how many safety codes were violated but it was amazing.  12 people in a 10 personal van, local style.

"New profile pic!"

I refused to climb on the wall, to the amusement of my new friends.  I'll ride in a van on a lawn chair in the trunk but I will not scale walls.

The most fabulous sunset clouds.

(Not my photo).

Photo cred: Adi.

We finished up the tour at a whirling dervish house, where we were encouraged to take a drink out of the river and wish for something big, not just for ourselves but for all out brothers and sisters in this world.  I wished for a little love for the world.  It felt appropriate.

Reflection.

The most amazing rock face.  Recent excavations have found truly ancient history there.  Did you know Bosnia is 1,000 years old?

The biggest thing I learned is that Bosnians see the good, the positive, in everything.  We could all learn something from their strength and resilience.

My last day in Mostar happened to be the local bridge diving competition.  After lunch I made my way down to the "old bridge" (which was actually destroyed in the war - you can see videos of the destruction on YouTube and I encourage you to watch them) where I watched a bunch of crazy young men not only jump, but dive, off the bridge into the river below.  

The cross on the hill.  From this point snipers used to kill the locals during the war.  The cross was erected later, which according to my new Bosnian aquaintances is a grave misuse of history, and I can't fault their feelings.

Getting ready for the jump.

He's actually diving.  Oh dear god.

They dove off this thing.

This sums up my feelings on this sport.

The next morning I got up at the crack of dawn to catch the train to Sarajevo, which is supposed to be one of the most beautiful train rides in the world.  It is.  But I will (shamefully) admit I fell into an exhausted sleep and missed the last hour or so.

We arrived in Sarajevo in the mid morning, and I made my way to the hostel on the tram.  There I promptly passed out after a lunch of Burek and napped away the afternoon.  I was woken up (briefly) once by my room mate, and Mexican guy named Chris who came to affectionately call me "gringa" during our time knowing each other.  "Hey, gringa, can I turn on the air conditioning?"

The infection that I had in Croatia had since turned into a brutal cough, so one of my priorities was hitting up the local pharmacy for cough syrup, a minty concoction I came to hate in three days.  I had no idea that cough syrup could get worse, but it did, as you will see in my next update.

In Sarajevo I met Tilo, an adorable German guy who promptly hooked up with the most beautiful South American girl (with the tiniest hands I've ever seen), beautiful inside and out.  A group of us went out to the bars and hit a Bosnian "club" one night, then went on the walking tour the next day, which we ditched after an hour because our guide was the most unenthusiastic person I've ever met, a terrible combination with my inability to pay attention due to a combination of heat, lack of sleep, and alcohol consumption.  We went for ice cream instead, then after wandering around got dinner delivered to the hostel for a night in.  I'll never forget the Dutch girls, a group of three we went out with the previous night, and I will always think of them with "yes yes yes girl!" after their stories of a bad Dutch porno involving a elderly bicycle repairman and some nubile young Dutch girl speaking halting English.  I will also never forget the lovely young African American girl I met at the hostel, who has been living abroad for years, who writes a blog and volunteers her way across the Balkans.  Volunteers, because she believes it's the best way to get to know a people, a culture.  I still need to find her blog, if for no other reason than to read about the "7 useful uses of sperm," which she researched, wrote about, and then was told by her father that he would never read her blog again after reading.  I left Sarajevo with new friendships and memories, and gifted my cough syrup to Tilo who I deemed needed it more than I did before departure. 

I spent one more night in Mostar with Majda before heading down to Kotor, Montenegro, where I spent two nights with nothing to note before continuing on my journey to Albania.  A new country!  A new adventure.

~Swan

Back in the Balkans Episode 1 - Croatia

From lake Bled I made my way back to Lubljana to catch a bus to Zagreb.  Despite getting there well in advance, I was informed curtly that the bus was full, and I would have to wait for the bus to arrive to see if they had space for me.

Considering that in eight months of travel this had never happened to me I was a little flabbergasted.

But there was a train leaving about an hour after the bus, so I wasn't panicked.  Not yet, anyway.

So I waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  

The bus was late, naturally.  About 20 or 25 minutes if memory serves me.

Lucky for me, when it did finally arrive the driver assured me he had space, so I loaded my bag and bought a ticket to Zagreb.

As it turns out, apparently "full" means "half full."

I arrived in Zagreb in the late afternoon, bought a tram ticket, and hopped on a tram to the town center.  Once I got on the tram it was unclear to me where on earth I was supposed to validate said ticket, so I wound up riding the tram for three days on the same ticket since nobody seemed to be checking.  I wouldn't advise this when traveling, but if you do, playing clueless tourist has gotten me out of a few scrapes.

First things first; a visit to the pharmacy to beg for something to relieve the mosquito bites which were officially driving me crazy in the stickiness of Croatian summer.  Whether or not the stuff she gave me actually works is questionable, but even if it's just the placebo effect, I'll take it.  

I had dinner at the Indian restaurant I remember so fondly from my last visit to the city.  And boy it was just as good as I remembered.  Chana masala, yum!  Oh spicy food.

That evening I went to cash in my free welcome shot of rakia, which from experience the last time I was at said hostel I knew would taste like nail polish remover, so I chased it with a beer.  After a few beers myself and my Australian room mate, who seemed to suffer from a pretty severe form of ADD, went out for more drinks and attempted to find our new hostel mates at a bar, but as it turns out it was too late and the place was closed.  No trouble, we made our way back to the hostel, stopping along the way for tipsy me to run through some sprinklers and lie on the grass outside of a very impressive and official looking building.

The next morning the large group of Canadians in my room woke me up, as they clearly had no concept of appropriate volume.  I finally got fed up in my attempts to continue sleeping through the girl in their party of six whining that she couldn't find her shampoo (to the obvious bafflement of her male counterparts who's solution was quite sensibly "just buy more") and I made my way to the bus station for a late morning foray to Plitvice lakes.  Just as well I got out of bed, as otherwise I doubt I would have made it back to the lakes, from Zagreb at least.

After a couple hours on the bus I arrived, bought a return ticket for the last bus of the day, and found a place to grab some lunch at the lakes.  I then wandered around, rode the ferries around, and stuck my feet in the water to cool off.  

Submerged tree.

Ride across one of the lakes.

A path I remember from my previous trip.

Cooling off.

They could do with some real railings around here.

Plitvice is gorgeous in all seasons, but I have to admit I preferred it during the winter without the crowds.

I got back to Zagreb that evening, grabbed a quick dinner, and went to bed early after chatting with my room mates for a bit.

The next morning I went back to the bus station and got myself a ticket to Zadar, and snacked on a chicken sandwich on the way there.

I arrived in Zadar and made my way to the Lazy Monkey hostel, where I ate my Burek (purchased in the bus station in Zagreb) before making friends with some fellow hostel mates and going to our sister hostel the Drunken Monkey for some drinks, then taking a cab to town to visit the local club and bar scene.

Thomas, pictured front left, was determined to be someone's wingman and kept offering his excellent wingman services to us ladies.  Remy, pictured front right, gave us this gem of a quote: " I don't believe in God, I don't believe in dinosaurs, but I do believe in destiny," which gave N (middle front) and I endless amusement over the next couple days.

Late night found us walking home, stopping for kebab and burgers on the way.  Upon our return, having had an animated conversation about California wine with one of our room mates, I wrote a note detailing the paso wineries he must visit and left it in his shoe.  Several weeks later he would find me on facebook from said note.

I spent the rest of my time in Zadar making friends, swimming in the ocean (including a very fun dip one night after the bars), and going on the pub crawl, where I got to know William, a tattoo artist working at the hostel.  I agreed to come back to get a tattoo, then made my way to Sibenik on my way to Split.

Zadar coastline.

Lunch with N; ravioli with fig jam and cuttlefish stewed in ink with chickpeas.

Sunset walk with N.

The solar lights.

My one day in Sibenik I spent at the beach, eating at a local fish fast food place where I treated myself to amazing tuna filets and calamari sandwiches with, shamefully, non local beer.

Beef carpaccio, so so good.

Some of the biggest squid I've seen.

My first night in Split I was promptly talked into joining the pub crawl by my Californian room mate, an adorable Asian kid who goes by Moon.  Ridiculousness ensued.  Highlights included the exasperated guides herding the group of 20+ drunk tourists from bar to bar and the cocky Australian named Matt who introduced himself to me by planting me with a big kiss.  I spent the next day lounging around and sleeping off the damage done to my liver and indulging myself in a huge plate of some of the best fried calamari I've ever had.

Note to self, any pub crawl that includes an open bar is dangerous but fun.

The next day I got to the docks an hour before the ferry to Hvar was supposed to leave, to be sullenly informed it was sold out and that I would have to wait until 3pm.

Ok, so four hours to kill carrying my bags.  This calls for a beer and some food.

Eventually I did make it on a boat and by late afternoon I found myself on the island trudging up a ridiculously steep hill in 40C weather to Dink's Place, a hostel chosen solely because the owner shares a name with my dad's pug.  

Having woken up with a sore throat, which I was still stubbornly refusing to believe was related to illness, I took myself out to dinner for some amazing grilled calamari and then curled up in my room reveling in the air conditioning and a movie or two.

My first full day in Hvar I woke up, still suffering the sore throat, and made my way to town where I popped by a restaurant named Fig, where I ordered a watermelon, prosciutto, feta, and red onion salad.  Oh god it was good.

Having decided after that I still wanted more food, I ordered a red onion marmalade flatbread which I ate approximately half of before admitting defeat and getting it boxed to go.

I then went to the beach, and spent a few hours trying to make myself comfortable on the rocks and swimming in the deliciously cool water.  

Island life, Croatia.

By the time I made it back up the hill to the hostel the good feeling of swimming had worn off, so I took what would only be the first of weeks of cold showers.  That evening, true to form, I was talked into going out for a couple drinks, which turned into fishbowls with my hostel mates and a late night swim in my bra and underwear with one of my room mates.  We caused a bit of a stir walking home in our undies, but managed to make it home without getting arrested (frankly, I'm pretty sure the local police who we passed have seen everything and are pretty shock-proof at this point).  Lucky for me at least I didn't run into any sea urchins, unlike some hostel mates, one of whose got one in his back.  I don't even want to know how that happened.

I woke up still under the weather, but spent another day eating at Fig followed by the beach, and wound up going out again.  Hvar is basically not somewhere you want to go when you don't want to go out.

By my final day in Hvar I was officially losing whatever voice I had left, and repeated the typical eat/sunbathe/swim routine before heading out for drinks and late night pizza.

I left the following morning on the ferry and caught a bus back to Zadar, where I promptly curled up in bed and stayed there.  In my final days in Zadar I found myself awake two nights due to intense earaches before sucking up my pride and heading to the local hospital, where I was informed curtly that I had both an ear and a sinus infection.  With strict instructions to not dive and to stay out of the sun and a round of antibiotics, I lounged around, read, watched a lot of movies, and finally got my new tattoo.  William charged me a very reasonable price, and created this beauty in his room at the hostel (don't worry folks, he used a new needle) while we chatted and listened to music.

I also ate more beef carpaccio and grilled squid.

And, as an added ridiculous travel bonus, ran into someone I had met in Romania months before.

I was sad to leave Croatia, knowing it would be the last time for a while, but from Zadar I caught an early morning bus to Split where I caught the bus to Mostar, Bosnia, for the next leg of my Balkan adventure.

To sum up Croatia; swimming, too much fun, and a trip to the local ER.

That's all for now, until next time!

 ~Swan