Balkan Odyssey 2009. Part II: Mostar, Sarajevo, train to Zagreb, Plitvice

(continued from Part I)

Mostar-bound

Good thing I had already had some mental border-crossing experience with BiH. The next day brought three such crossings. Some of you may be familiar with Croatian geographic specifics. Basically, mainland Croatia is divided into two parts by a narrow corridor granting Bosnia & Herzegovina narrow access to the Adriatic coast. Thankfully, passport checks on both ends are quick, painless and entirely void of stamping.

The entry to Mostar was accompanied by several cemeteries on both sides of the road. I could spot each of the Muslim, Catholic and Orthodox ones. The bus station definitely fit my ex-Yu profile better than any such in Croatia. Other than not having one timetable on display and being built from socialist-style concrete blocks, it was also free of English-speaking staff - which was actually a positive thing given my ardent desire to speak Bosnian, Croatian, Serbian and (optional) Montenegrin. Seriously, one day when I actually start speaking, I am going to update my resume with not one but FOUR new languages.

I checked into the hotel, swiftly arranged a half-day trip to Počitelj and Kravice for the following day, and ran off to town. I was impressed at first sight. Travel guides always refer to Mostar as the meeting point of East and West, but it is only when you visit the place that you realise the full meaning of these words. Populated by both Bosnian Muslims (Bosniaks) and Bosnian Croats, Mostar is stunning in the way its skyline is dotted by mosques and churches alike, how its women are dressed in line with both Muslim and Christian traditions and how conventional European buildings surround the orientally inspired old town. Likewise inspiring is the River Neretva cutting Mostar in two parts. I have never seen a more beautiful river anywhere else. Add to it Mostar's undisputed symbol, the Old Bridge, rising high over the waters, and you get an almost surreal picture. Mostar was definitely the highlight of my entire trip.

Some memories from the city include watching the locals jump from Old Bridge for a bit of cash; tasting amazing Turkish-style burek; checking out some ex-Yu memorabilia; and exploring the multi-denominational cemeteries Mostar is so full of. I generally find cemeteries a great source of history and culture and try to visit at least one in every destination. Equally impressive but quite depressing were ruined buildings all over the city; the remainders of the war. One building amazed me in particular. It was entirely burnt down inside, with only the iron frame remaining. However, the house number, new and shining, was still hanging above the door. I could never forget that sight.

Mostar merchandise

South bank of the Neretva River, Mostar

Mostar's Stari Most (Old Bridge) by night

Aleksa Šantić's grave, Mostar

I was quite lucky to make friends with Sami, the hotel manager of the place where I was staying. A Bosniak and native of Mostar, he had spent many years in Germany and other places abroad before returning to Mostar. While I had originally arranged a day-trip to Počitelj and Kravice with a tourist group, Sami was kind enough to offer me a private lift to these places. We had a wonderful time chatting, climbing, eating ćevapi, drinking coffee and eventually going for a swim in the Kravice waterfalls. After being disappointed with another friend failing to meet me in Mostar, I was happy to have some alternative company. Both Počitelj and Kravice were amazing. The former was an old Muslim village famous for its art heritage and incredible views over the Neretva River. Kravice is a chain of medium-sized waterfalls on the Trebižat River, which, admittedly, I appreciated much more before I got a chance to see Plitvice National Park in Croatia. But more about that later.

View towards the Citadel, Počitelj

Kravice waterfalls

The unforgettable Sarajevo

The next morning saw me leave for the capital city of Sarajevo. The road, mostly running along the Neretva, confirmed my first impression that it was the most beautiful river I had ever seen. My first impressions of Sarajevo were rather mixed. First, I felt out of place among rather conservatively dressed women in my short skirt - but then I am used to undressing to the maximum in the sweltering heat of over 30 degrees. Second, the city looked smallish, and I questioned my plan to stay there for entire two days. Third, my friend Jadranka was silent, which meant I could end up in Sarajevo alone. Finally, after conquering far too many hills and cemeteries in Mostar, I could barely walk. I decided to stay optimistic, changed my skirt for some long leddings, and set off for the city.

Sarajevo wasn't small. In fact, it was just the right size for walking, with enough greenery around to sustain one's lungs. I absolutely loved the multifaceted nature of Sarajevo. Baščaršija, the old Turkish part of the city, reminded me of Istanbul. The wide pedestrian avenues could easily have been Vienna. The retro socialist buildings almost looked like taken out of Riga about a decade ago. Everyone around looked rather stress-free and chilled. Finally, my friend Jadranka responded, and I was not alone anymore. The food was great; the cemeteries educational; the people photogenic; and my legs were slowly recovering. Full points to Sarajevo!

One incident from Sarajevo in particular stayed in my mind. I was taking photos inside the Gazi Husrev Bey’s Mosque, when a baby girl crawling about on the prayer carpets attracted my attention. I took several pictures of the happy little thing, when her father noticed my artistic activity, and we started talking. Burhan had a respectable job in Denmark but his wife and daughter were living in Sarajevo. We agreed that I would send Burhan my pictures of his little girl. I really hope one day they will be reunited!

Eternal Flame, Sarajevo

An infant girl at Gazi Husrev Bey Mosque, Sarajevo

Sarajevo's multicultural skyline

Sarajevo sunset

Exploring the local rail network

My next plan was to end up in Zagreb and meet a colleague of mine. I had the choice of an 8-hour bus or a 9-hour train from Sarajevo. The train seemed more expensive and took longer, but I would not have to spend the entire time crammed into my seat and could freely open windows to take photos. Besides, I have a secret passion for trains - in particular, for those old, slow-moving trains where usual tourists rarely venture. I remembered my rather positive transfer from Thessaloniki to Skopje on a Serbian train, and chose the train option.

Not for one moment did I regret it. Seriously, nine hours were over in a flash. With all the out-of-window snapping, I had little time to sit down, let alone a nap. The fun part was that few of my co-passengers seemed to be travelling the entire distance. People were hopping on and off continuously, providing a fresh flow of observation material. The surroundings, too, kept on changing. Suddenly I realised the Latin script had taken a secondary role, Cyrillic stepping into the limelight. Mosques and Catholic churches were replaced with obvious Orthodox domes. I gathered we must have been in Republika Srpska, that part of BiH mostly populated by Bosnian Serbs. I could hear a change in the language, too. It was difficult to believe I was still in BiH. Seriously, I still find it hard to believe that BiH still holds together as a country; I find its diversity beautiful though.

Possibly the most grotesque experience of that train transfer was the entry of my compartment neighbour for most of the journey. A curtain was suddenly thrown to the side, enter a rather colourful gentleman with a massive golden cross on his bare chest; to complete the picture, imagine a big orange butterfly entering the compartment simultaneously. Not quite awake, I found it surreal. That was not the end of confusing events. A couple of times, the train would stop in the middle of nowhere (no houses seen among green hills and streaming rivers anywhere around), not more than one person would jump off the train and wander off happily across the rails. I still have no idea what happened to either.

Dobrljin Railway Station

As wonderful as the train ride was, I was tired by the time Zagreb's skyline stepped into the foreground. Needless to mention the amount of dirt which had been flying into my face and onto my clothes for the past nine hours. My face was covered in a layer of black dust, and my white top could be considered such only in principle. Bosnian railways obviously do not invest in new, cleaner vehicles or rails. I am still not sure about the substance of that dust. While my face has by now hopefully recovered, my white top, after a handful of laundry cycles, still bears a few yellowish stains - a memory from Bosnia.

Back in Croatia

The familiar view of Zagreb's Central Railway Station could not make me happier. I was picked up by Marina, driven safely home, fed to the brim and taken out for coffee. I could not believe my eyes. The only picture I had of Zagreb was from last November, when the city was covered in a grey melancholic aura of the impending winter. I remember the streets of the Old Town cold and empty, with only a few adventurous tourists shooting about. Zagreb in the summer was a different place! First, it was nice and warm, if not rather hot. Second, the Old Town streets were packed with open-air cafes. Finally, there were people everywhere, dining, having drinks, walking, chatting, playing music and simply living the night life of Zagreb. I was impressed. Back I take my earlier words of Zagreb being my last choice of a Western Balkan city to live in. In the summer at least, I would be just fine!

The next morning brought a transfer to Karlovac, a smaller town about 50 kilometres southwest of Zagreb. Karlovac has traditionally been famous for its beer, the Karlovačko, and recently also for its football team, currently in the process of making history in Croatian National League. The reason I went there, however, were neither football, nor beer - rather to join my friend Sandra on the final discovery route of my summer holiday - Plitvice Lakes National Park.

Plitvice is a series of 16 lakes of unearthly beauty separated by natural dams. My expectations from the trip were sky-high, but the weather ruled otherwise. It started looking gloomy soon after we had reached Plitvice following a 1.5 hour drive from Karlovac. Sandra's mother kept on delivering aggravating reports on weather conditions from the start of the route. Karlovac weather soon caught up with us, splashing out in torrential rain. We were lucky to find shelter in a cave with a bunch of other summery dressed individuals, and watched somewhat less lucky travellers passing by without a dry spot on themselves. The rain eased off after some 30 minutes, and we walked on under malicious, low-hanging clouds, to the boat station, where each of us got equipped with a “kabanica” (plastic raincoat). We immersed ourselves for a while into more lakes, waterfalls, wooden bridges and abundantly luscious greenery, until it just became too cold to bear. We turned back, were stormed in once again on our trip back to Karlovac, were fed generously by Sandra's mother, unsuccessfully tried to step out for Karlovac annual Dani Piva (Beer Days), dismantled our plans thanks to the rain, and called it a day. A rather long one, too.

Plitvice from above

Lone duck in Plitvice

The morning after, the rain had stopped, but I had the feeling of ending holidays all over myself already. After a short walk around central Karlovac (one would not need long to cover the town's main landmarks), a pancake lunch, and getting loaded with Croatian goodies courtesy of Sandra's generous family (hvala puno!), time came to depart for Zadar.

Goodbye to the Balkans, goodbye to the south!

Four hours later, I returned to my starting point. My query for airport connections at Zadar bus station’s information point, which I attempted in my best Croatian “Dobar dan, kada ima zadnji autobus za zračnu luku?”, was met with an utterly bland expression. “Za aerodrom, mislite?” I heard back. Fabulous. First Croats come up with a bunch of new words, then they refuse to understand them? Thank goodness I didn’t mention the famous zrakomets or zrakoplovs.

Painter in Zadar

Sea Organ, Zadar

That was perhaps the last entertaining incident of my trip. It had by then been exactly two weeks since I left Zadar to begin my Balkan Odyssey, but it seemed like months. During that fortnight, I had seen dozens of new places, landscapes and people in three different countries, travelled by every possible conventional means of transport - and could not be further away from London in my mind.

No holiday can continue forever though. I tried to prove myself otherwise on my 8-month-long Greek experience, and failed. Perhaps I will be back for a holiday in Croatia next year. God only knows. The only thing I know now is that I have had the best holiday for my 26 years. And I only needed two weeks for that.

Balkan Odyssey 2009. Part I: Zadar, Split, Hvar, Korčula, Dubrovnik

Balkan getaway - route planning

My holiday is finally over! Thank goodness. In fact, I am not sure if it was a holiday at all. In just over two weeks of zooming around Croatia, Bosnia & Herzegovina and Montenegro, I managed to sleep in 11 different locations, travel the distance of close to 1,700 kilometres, use every means of transport available (airplane, bus, ferry, train and car) and take over 5,000 photos (of which only about 30% turned out above the passing mark). That in addition to covering a walking and swimming distance possibly comparable to that travelled. While most of my friends would have a different definition of a holiday, the time I had was truly wonderful. Below is the brief description of my route and the main impressions from the trip.

I had initially pondered entering Croatia through Split or Dubrovnik with an easyjet flight, but discovered, months in advance, that low cost airlines' price levels to those two destinations were already comparable to flag carriers. Imagining an airplane bursting at the seams with (already drunk) British tourists, I opted for Ryanair, which, for the summer only, was flying to Croatia's most underrated city - Zadar. Tickets were booked and filed. Bingo.

My next big challenge was route planning. I tend to get carried away with these things. Friends had explained to me repeatedly beforehand how unrealistic it was trying to cover more than a few spots on the Adriatic over two short weeks. I bent to peer pressure and preliminarily decided to stick to Zadar, Split, Dubrovnik and a couple of Croatian islands. When I started putting my route on paper, however, I realised that the Adriatic could only fill up one week of the two I had at disposal, no matter how hard I'd try.

I had to take some emergency measures. My itinerary was expanded to include Bosnia & Herzegovina's beautiful Mostar and the capital city of Sarajevo. I then unexpectedly received a full commitment from a friend in Montenegro to drive all the way to Dubrovnik to see me and tour Montenegro's Kotor Bay together for a day. Montenegro was duly squeezed into the route. Then another friend jumped in to offer a visit to Karlovac and Plitvice National Park in Croatia. The only way to accommodate that was by undertaking a 9-hour transfer from Sarajevo to Zagreb towards the end of my tour. Then I remembered a good friend was now living in Zagreb and could spend an evening hanging out in town after my killer journey. Finally, the first friend got cold feet about driving into Dubrovnik with Montenegrin plates and asked me to take a bus across the border. The bottom-line was drawn there, the absolute highlight of the route being not two, not four, but EIGHT Croatian border crossings. With an almost virgin passport, I boarded a plane in London. My holiday had begun.

Finally here!

My arrival in Zadar set a good start to the entire odyssey. The cutest passport control officer I had ever seen made prolonged eye contact, deprived my passport of virginity, smiled and said "dobrodošla" ("welcome"). I have to admit people from the back of the queue had to push me forward from the precious spot in front of Mr. Cute. I will always be flying through Zemunik airport from now on!..

A beautiful town on the Adriatic coast, Zadar was every bit as expected, and more. A group of klapa singers were performing on Narodni Trg main square that night, filling the air with melancholic Dalmatian folk melodies. After receiving close to queen's welcome from Sandra and family, I really could not have wished for more. That in addition to much milder temperatures on the Croatian coast compared to London.

St. Donat's Church and St. Anastasia's Cathedral, Zadar

The next day brought a visit to Nin, a small coastal town on Nin Bay, famous for its rich royal history and salt production. After Nin, I bid farewell to Sandra and transferred to my next destination - Split.

Split is the largest Dalmatian city, second largest urban centre in Croatia and a busy point of departure for several Croatian islands and Italy. Again, I was impressed. I still remember the year 2000, when Croatia first started to be advertised by Latvian tourism agencies as the "new Italy". With the communist past, the recent war and all, most of us remained very sceptical back then. I had also spent eight months of the past year travelling and living in Greece, that paradise of a holiday destination, so held my standards rather high.

Cathedral in Nin, the smallest in Croatia

All that summarised, I repent to say that I had expected much less from Croatia in general and Split in particular. But the city was simply amazing. The old town is built inside a real palace (Diocletian’s Palace), except that the chunk of this one is not a closed museum but an open area where normal people still reside. The Split harbour is always busy with ferries and boats zooming in and out. The riva (waterfront promenade) offers fantastic leisurely strolls and people-watching. Finally, the Marjan Hill on the west side of the city takes a pair of strong legs to climb, but awards one's patience with truly breath-taking views of the city and the surrounding Adriatic, especially around the sunset hours. Absolutely recommended.

Split harbour by night

From Split with love!

Sunday fish market, Split

Island hopping

New day, new transfer. After attempting a relaxing swim off one of Split's beaches and cutting the back of my knee literally open (Croatian beaches can be quite rocky), I was off to the island of Hvar. The island of the glamorous, the rich and the trendy. Despite not fitting any of these categories, I thought it would be good fun, anyway. And it was! I was absolutely inspired by the sapphire-coloured sea, the amazing Venetian Španjola fortress overlooking the Hvar town and harbour, the views along the old road from Hvar town to Stari Grad and by the cosy evening city bustle. I was less inspired by the uninterrupted party noise during the night. Seriously, by the time the noise would end, my alarm would go off and the new exciting day of my holiday would begin. Either I get up too early, or go to sleep not late enough.

Panoramic view over Hvar from the Španjola fortress

St. Stjepan's Square, Hvar

Another less invigorating aspect of life on Hvar was the number of sticky Italians. The "ciao bella" was already echoing in my ears by the time my ferry to Korčula was due. I used to compare those individuals to a chewing gum stuck to the sole of your shoe on a hot summer day… but enough of that. After a day excursion to the idyllic Pakleni islands (some of Croatia's best swimming spots are there), I left the shining Hvar to its legitimate owners.

My next stop was Korčula, Croatia’s second most populated island after Krk. The island generally popular with families (as opposed to party animals), Korčula turned out much more peaceful than Hvar. Within seconds of arriving there, I was flooded with Marco Polo memorabilia. The legend says that the famous globetrotter was born on Korčula in 1254. The island is also famous for moreška sword dance, which used to be performed all around the Mediterranean Sea but is now unique to Korčula. I happened to catch one bi-weekly performance of moreška, and was much entertained. Even more so because I understood every word spoken in Croatian and one of the actors looked like a good friend of mine. I kept on imagining my mate Ivan dressed as a Red King and dancing around with a sword. My resulting giggling distracted not one a co-visitor.

Sun-kissed Korčula facades

Moreška sword dance, Korčula

A major achievement during my stay on Korčula was the discovery of an authentic YUGO car in the village of Lumbarda. The star vehicle of the former Yugoslavia, it has almost gone into oblivion in more developed parts of the region. My child's joy at facing the real one could not possibly be put into words. I bid farewell to the sweet Korčula, promising myself a return one day. Next visit's mission will be to hit Vela Luka, the hometown of some of Croatia's most famous singers. Next time.

I then jumped on a bus to Dubrovnik. Korčula is quite close to Croatian mainland, which enables a scheduled bus connection with some Croatian cities. The bus loaded itself on a smallish car ferry, was safely transported to Orebić, and continued its way southwards along the Pelješac peninsula. I had only heard third-party praise for some amazing beaches on Pelješac, but can truly say that some of the most amazing sea views during my trip were indeed there. The peninsula is also known for its wine and a regular sea connection with Mljet island. Next time I will even make sure to get off the bus while there.

Heading deeper south

My first night in Dubrovnik was deprived of any glamour. After making the week's most stupid decision of walking from the bus station to the westernmost tip of the Lapad peninsula (which took me just under one hour) and checking into the hotel, I had strength for little else than a quick shower. As exhausted as I was, I could not help noticing a disproportionate number of Russians populating the place. I even had a momentary suspicion that my Croatian was getting fluent enough to give me this illusion. Wrong; the words flying all around me were indeed my native. I went to sleep that night thinking about my following morning's mandatory return to the hapless bus station. Montenegro was waiting!

The morning brought with it a minor entertainment. While checking out at the hotel reception, I was asked where I was from. "Latvija" I said and, unsure whether Croats and Serbs were calling my country the same name, added "Letonija". "It's Latvija in Croatian", said the receptionist. "It's Letonija in Serbian", I remarked. "Yes", was the answer. "Serbs always get it wrong". Well, I did not expect anything less in Dubrovnik.

The bus to Montenegro was loaded with Russians. At the border, passport controllers (notably below my Zemunik standards) collected all non-Russian passports, only casting brief glances at Russian ones. I was only waiting for something like a "welcome home, druzja", but perhaps I was being too sarcastic. Oh, and the road between Dubrovnik and Herceg Novi may be short, but the sea views are some of the most unbelievable on the Adriatic. Not for those scared of heights, though.

After a tearful reunion with Tanja in Herceg Novi, off we went to explore the Kotor Bay (Boka Kotorska), the only fjord-like formation on the Mediterranean (despite actually being a ria, a flooded river valley). We initially planned to dedicate the hottest and least comfortable part of the day to Herceg Novi and Perast and then hit Kotor, but unforeseen circumstances made us reconsider. Boccan Night (Bokeška Noć), an annual crazy event in Kotor, was something both Tanja and I would rather avoid. Hence Kotor was relocated for the hottest part of the day. Even then, it was amazing. Perast was likewise very cute, but I found the distance between the sea and the high-rising mountains - the actual area of the town - far too short. Apparently Russians feel so claustrophobic there that they skip it altogether and proceed all the way to Budva instead. Don't ask.

My only evening and night in Montenegro were spent discussing the Montenegrin national identity (which some would probably question), Montenegro's church dispute with Serbia, specifics of Montenegrin language (which has recently seen an addition of two new letters - ask your Serbian friends for details), politics and sharing romantic gossip. Seriously, all the ingredients for my unconditional happiness. When it comes to little ex-Yu tweaks, I could listen and talk forever. Perhaps I should have been born in the region, but I am never sure which republic I would then choose.

Perast, Kotor Bay

Kotor City walls

I was back in Dubrovnik in the early hours of the following day, met Paula, was told that Kotor Bay used to be part of Dubrovnik Republic back in the days (diametrically opposite to what my Montenegrin buddies had told me the night before), decided not to argue and just enjoy the city. Regardless of how congested and overpriced Dubrovnik was, I could not but agree with Lonely Planet putting it among the top Croatian highlights. It just has to be experienced at least once.

Especially recommended is a stroll along the entire perimeter of Dubrovnik's city walls. The angles onto the old town, the Adriatic and other parts of the city are magnificent. Go after 4pm to avoid sweating off in the shade-less heat.

I was much entertained while buying the entry ticket to the city walls. By some unexplained phenomenon, the language database inside my head gave a false signal, and, instead of a proper Croatian “jednu kartu, molim”, I said “jednu kartu, prosim”. “Slovenka!” screamed the ticket seller. I insisted that I wasn’t actually from Slovenia. “Znamo, znamo, odakle ste” (“We know where you are from”) was the answer. Whatever. I had been accused of many things in my eventful life, but being called a Slovenian was something new. Sometimes it just helps being flexible with things.

Panoramic Dubrovnik

Sisters on Luža Square

On top of the city walls, I was lucky enough to bump into a Spanish guy who, armed with the most professional camera I had ever seen, was taking pictures of his girlfriend. I quickly mobilised him into taking pictures of myself on my very own Nikon. The exercise resulted in a few proper photos of myself, which otherwise take a role secondary to landscapes, random people and city views.

Also recommended is sitting on the Luža Square just observing people. Food in Dubrovnik might be good, but, being in town pretty much alone, I skipped that part. I was already crossing the border with Bosnia & Herzegovina (BiH) in my mind... to Mostar, my next destination.

To be continued.