Mostaring Up Courage
The more southerly region of Herzegovina, like so many others in the Balkans, has struggled to define its geographic, cultural, and historic borders over the years. Thankfully, for everyone concerned, this has never posed a problem as their northerly neighbours, Bosnia, don’t have any issues with the ambiguity. Despite the lack of a fixed perimeter, there is no doubt that the magnificent city of Mostar is very much a part of Herzegovina and, after we had extracted ourselves from the mud bath formerly known as Mirza’s front lawn in Sarajevo, we headed straight there to see what all the fuss was about.
The sight most associated with the sloping city is undoubtedly its Ottoman-built bridge, which can be found adorning any self-respecting postcard of the country. Hump-backed in shape, the original was destroyed by shelling in the 90s and underwent complete reconstruction when peace was restored to the area several years later. When standing in the middle of the bridge, one’s respect for the Mostar Diving Club, whose members regularly meet in order to throw themselves from the top of the twenty-four-metre-high structure, immediately increases tenfold. Known as “The World’s Most Picturesque High Dive”, the courageous leapers must compute the countless submerged rocks far below as well as battle swift currents in order to survive their dives and collect the offerings of wide-eyed baying tourists. None were brave enough on this December day, however.
The entirety of the city’s Old Town is registered on the exalted UNESCO World Heritage list, along with Blaenavon Industrial Landscape (true fact), with each bazaar and side street skilfully restored to its pre-war beauty. Nevertheless, many signs of the savage street warfare that took place just a generation ago, including countless bullet holes and blasted buildings, have been intentionally left as sombre reminder of the dangers that once existed of living in the city. Thankfully, the only dangers that exist nowadays are being conned out of your Bosnian Marka by countless sellers of sub-standard ceramics.
With neighbouring nation Croatia playing Brazil in the World Cup quarter-finals later that evening, we went in search of a premises that would display such a match on a sizable screen while dispensing any array of frothy fluids to its overzealous observers. Unsure as to the strength of the relationship between the Bosnians and Croats, as understanding the relationships between any two Balkan nations is more complex than trying to explain the plot of a Christopher Nolan movie to a toddler, we were doubtful as to whether our search would be a fruitful one. We needn’t have worried.
The very first bar we entered was stickier, smokier, and rowdier than any we could have possibly imagined – ideal; and with 49% of Mostar citizens identifying as Croat, we were in for a raucous ride. The server had absolutely no interest in keeping track of how many pints he was bringing to our table, resulting in my cheapest night out since the mythical Jolly Tar shut its dilapidated doors in 2008. With all eyes on Modrić and his men, and the game reaching penalties, the tavern hit fever pitch when goalkeeper Livaković saved the final penalty sending Croatia into the semis and resulting in scenes unseen since the Jolly Tar in 2008. A dangerous quantity of questionable shots, and questionable kisses, bestowed from wildly drunk Croats ensued shortly before the flares and fireworks were lit and the police summoned… to join in. Which they duly obliged.
It was a spectacularly surreal conclusion to our time in the country, although it epitomised the great changes that this nation has made over the last twenty-five years or so. Two Welsh drunks celebrating with a crowd of Croats, in Herzegovina, in Bosnia & Herzegovina, in an Irish bar without a single Irishman to be found – bizarre. The diverse nature of Sarajevo, with all its mosques, churches, and synagogues, was equally as captivating and unlike any other city in the region. While the friendliness of Mirza, our long-term host, and of the Bosnians as a whole was a joy, at least until they throw you on their shoulders and destroy you with moonshine. Oh, and the semi-final would take place, by complete chance, just in time for us to reach our next nation: Croatia. Could things get any rowdier? Unfortunately so.
J
