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Published: November 17th 2013
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The hope that it would stop raining during the bus journey from Sarajevo was misplaced. It did cease for a while, but it was only temporary. We had a bit more luck with these bus tickets. After our last experience, we had the benefit of knowing which window would dispense the Mostar domestic tickets.
Mostar is in Hercogovina - literally Duke's Land. The scenery was quite stunning as we made our westwards. Sadly, the Bosnian countryside does not offer the opportunity to explore it as fully as you might wish. There are still plenty of suspicious little signs, that indicate you might receive more than you bargain for in the shape of a landmine should you go off the beaten track. The journey took 2 1/2 hours and was once again littered with impromptu stops to pick up random passengers in random places.
Mostar is a city of at least a 100,000, but feels quite small. The war damaged buildings are quite evident even on the approach to the eastern outskirts. The modern city is split along ethnic lines, with largely Croats on one side and the Muslim suburbs on the other. The division is very evident to football
fans. The name Mostar is synonomous with the word Velez in the memory - dubious pictures on Sportsnight from the 1970's, when Velez taught Derby County a lesson over 2 legs in the 1975 UEFA Cup. The scene of their triumph was the Stadium Bijeli Brijeg, which they have had to relinquish since the war as it is in the wrong part of town.
The ground is the hands of Zrinjski, a Bosnian Croat club, who have taken a 100 year lease on it. Zrinjski are an older club than Velez and were allegedly once banned by Tito for being too nationalistic. There was some sinister looking graffiti in the immediate vicinity that suggested the mood has not completely gone away. The success of the football club seems to have lagged behind that of Velez and the trophies in the cabinet in the bar were more a testament to their fortunes since the war. A Croatian "angel" stands outside, which presumably is a recent incarnation. The ground is very one sided - a huge bank of seats and terrace rise above the valley and the shallow terrace on the river side is now closed. The health and safety crew
in the UK would make sure that the whole ground was closed, as one corner of the bigger bank of seats now looks like it is about to slide on to the pitch. It is unlikely that the capacity is stretched these days, but a climb to the top makes a good vantage point to see over the whole of Mostar - a kind of Avaz Tower of Mostar if you like.
The weather began to take a turn for the worse, as I surveyed the view. The Man in the Middle suggested we take refuge in the bar. There is no mistake, regarding the loyalties of the club in there and we settled for some very acceptable Croatian beer. The rain continued to pelt down. A few players appeared, who seemed to have abandoned training for the day. There were no pleasantries or interest in two passing football enthusiasts. We attempted to see if there was any merchandise stocked within the clubhouse, but nothing materialised. The rain continued, so we had another beer.
The rain did not ease off, so we opted to get wet and headed towards the Old Town. The old frontline seemed to be
evident as we walked, with bomb damaged and bullet ridden building a plenty. There was some refuge in the international school before were ushered out by the security guard. A coffee was our only option with the obligatory passive smoking session. The rain finally stopped as we reached the Old Town and the Old Bridge.
The bridge is world famous and a UNESCO listed structure. Alas the current bridge only dates from 2004. Croat artillery was responsible for using the original as a spot of target practice. The stall holders looked on hopefully as two potential customers approached. There was very little other source of custom - we seemed to be the only people around. The light on the bridge for photos was not encouraging, but at least it was devoid of other people. However, a Japanese bus tour soon arrived from their tour group lunch to ruin the tranquillity. We had an original plan of staying a few more hours, but a combination of the weather and the limited size of the Old Town caused us to head back to the Bus Station and the 1500 hours back to Sarajevo.
We spent the evening trapped in another
Bosnian Croat bar in Sarajevo. It was not by choice. The weather did not relent and by morning the river that had been a trickle the previous day was a raging torrent. The tally reached 4 beers. The rest of the bar channel hopped the Champions League games in search of Bosnian player success in the evening games, smoked a packet of fags each and eat their way through a picnic of cheese and other food that they had brought along from home. The barman seemed unfazed by the importation of food.
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