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Published: October 26th 2008
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Stari Most
The famous rebuilt Stari Most bridge "Look at the silly tourists wandering around confused with their big backpacks, let's go and scam the fuck out of them" was what went through a taxi driver's mind as he pulled up next to us as we contemplated the long walk from Mostar train station to the Hostel Nina. After we agreed a five euro ride, he first asked if we were Swedish (must be my flowing blonde locks), before dropping us at a place with Pansion Pulzic emblazed on an illuminated sign above. "This, Hostel Nina", he triumphantly assured us despite the evidence to the contrary, and shouted up to an old man, who didn't look like a Nina, on the balcony above. This chap took us in hastily and showed us to a double bedroom. Alarm bells were ringing and sure enough, a phone call to the real hostel Nina revealed that these two old timers had a little deal going with each other. Nice try, but shit. We made off quickly and asked some lads at a nearby bakery if they knew the way and, after answering in the affirmative, kindly took us the 200m or so to our base. It seems to be the case in
Graveyard
A poignant new graveyard - the majority of deaths occurred in 1993. Eastern Europe that people are either out to scam you or are incredibly friendly.
Our actual hostel was run by a young, extremely pretty Bosnian girl unsurprisingly called Nina, and was sparklingly clean and smelt lovely. We seemed to be the only people staying there, and our room was spacious but a little bare. This became an issue during the night because Si's incredibly loud snoring actually made the walls vibrate, which was both amusing and annoying in equal measure.
The first stop to any trip to this town of 100,000 people tends to be the Stari Most bridge. Arcing gracefully over the green Neratva river, the white structure is another monument to triumph over adversity. In November 1993, the 16th Century bridge finally succumbed to heavy pressure from Bosnian Croat artillery, and collapsed into the river below. It was the symbol of the city, and to the devastated people of war-torn Mostar it was like a bereavement.
In 1997, restoration work began, and over seven years the bridge was painstaking and artfully restored in its exact original form and dimensions. Today, tourists flock to see it and the charming Ottoman quarter which winds around it. An
Former front line
A ruined building along the former front line. original stone fished out of the river by scuba divers stands at the western entrance and reads "Never Forget 1993".
We had glanced briefly at the bridge from inside our taxi of ill-repute the previous evening, but we set out in the blazing sunshine to make it our first port of call. Even in October, stalls were out on either side of the narrow cobbled alleys selling everything from hand-crafted purses to pens in cases made from bullets (rather in bad taste I thought). Restaurants and shops were dotted around, and the whole scene was like something off a postcard. The river flows through the middle of Mostar with hills either side, and the icing on the cake was the white stone bridge, 21m above the river. It has been used for years by the local diving club, and young men frequently jump or dive from it into the river below. Despite one lad wandering around in his Speedos, nobody jumped today, presumably because there weren't enough tourists to watch them (and pay for it). It can't have been anything to do with the temperature - it was in the mid-20s celcius.
The first thing we did was
Warning sign
Some of the ruined buildings are still unsafe. walk across the Stari Most from the east to the west side. Before the pan-Balkan conflict in the 1990s, people of all ethnicities lived togther, but now the Bosniaks are concentrated on the eastern side of the bridge with the Bosnian Croats on the west as a result of the infamous ethnic cleansing which took place here.
The city of Mostar was one of the war's biggest victims. Not far from the old town, running parallel to the river on the western side, is the old front line. We walked along it, noticing the number of brand new buildings next to burnt out and heavily shelled dwellings. The scars were more obvious than in Sarajevo - bullet holes were everywhere and signs warned people to stay out of ruined buildings - many are still unsafe.
At the start of the war, the damage was caused by Bosnian Serb forces based up on the steep hills to the east, who bombarded the city. But the Croats, who had helped force the Serbs out, then turned on the Bosniaks soon after, driving Muslims out of the western side and shelling the city from the hills on that side of the
Never Forget
A stone from the original bridge stands at the western entrance. river. Mostar was reduced to rubble, thousands were killed and many more displaced.
Like Sarajevo, the way in which the place has recovered is heart-warming. On a late Monday morning, cafes were full and the streets packed with people. Surely some should be at work, we thought. We stopped for a drink in amongst the cafe-dwellers before walking back round to the east side of the old town. Si bought a few souvenirs, and we stopped in a little museum which showed a film about Mostar in recent history, mostly concentrating on footage from the war. Within this film was the exact moment the Stari Most came crashing down under fire from Bosnian Croat forces. The old town was basically destroyed, but to see it now you would never believe it. The museum is housed in the old home of former Yugoslav government leader Dzemal Bijedic, who died in 1978. An old, bearded man showed us around a small exhibition on the history of Hercegovina as well as putting on the film in a theatre that ambitiously seated about 50 (we were the only people in there). Just outside the museum was a telling graveyard, where almost all of
Cross upon the western hill
A cross on the hills from where Bosnian Croats shelled the city in 1993. the headstones had the same year of death, 1993.
In the evening we went for an alfresco meal in the western part of the old town, where three stray cats took a keen interest in our food. Si having a soft spot for our feling friends, fed the smallest some pieces of his hamburger, which resulted in a bit of a ruck with the other two. The kitten was feisty though, and got his food, although I was a bit put out that he refused the piece of bread I had offered him.
We had to be up early to undertake the mammoth 13 hour train journey to Zagreb, so I reluctantly left Nina and her fragrant hostel behind. More than a day would have been pushing it, but for all its lying taxi drivers and pikey cats, Mostar was another fascinating and beautiful place where people have overcome unimaginable adversity.
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