And Then There Were Two

This morning, Kelly and Judy's last in Sarajevo (who knows for Ron), we got up and packed all of our things, including a go-bag for Ron to have at the hospital and the rest of Ron's luggage that Kelly and Judy will have to sherpa around until Ron meets us.  We headed up to the Klinika Ortopedija (we strongly believe our taxi driver was intoxicated due to the familiar pungent odour coming from him.  We couldn't tell from his driving, they all drive like that).  Ron was in good spirits but was bored as hell and a little sore as they had yet to give him pain killers, but had made friends with a poor twenty something guy with a broken leg and his friend.  Drina and Ahsood's English is about as good as our Bosnian, but they still managed to bond through cell phone photos and wild gesticulations.  Drina had been riding his motorcycle when he was hit by a car.

After a good 20 minutes, we got the boot from the nursing staff - "wisiting over" - and Ron went in for surgery at 1600hrs (we'll update you all as soon as we hear how it went).

With heavy hearts Kelly and Judy said goodbye to Ron as well as to Sarajevo - we caught a cab to the bus depot and bought our tickets to Mostar.

Driving south out of Sarajevo we saw some of the seedier side of the city.  It looked as though there had been a great economic boom in the 1980s, but the money dried up and no one bothered to finish anything.  Further out of Sarajevo the scenery became much prettier.  Lush green hills rolled along beside us, but that omnipresence of wars past still hung around, as there were many shelled houses on the way.  The hills became mountains, and soon it seemed as though we were driving in a chasm, flanked by rock and shrubbery on both sides.  Just like that, the chasm opens up as we entered a broad valley, with the jade-green Neretva river ambling through.  After two and a half hours of driving, we pulled in to the Mostar bus depot, and we can already tell the vibe is quite different from Sarajevo.  If Sarajevo is the big serious city, Mostar is its fun resort cousin.

We stood baking in the hot sun waiting for a cab at the taxi stand, and after a quick 5 minute drive, we were dropped off at the polished cobblestones of the old town, and at the feet of our hostess here in Mostar, Suzana.  Suzana greeted us with a lemonde and Turkish delight, and gave us a free map of the city. We got settled in our room and enjoyed the view from our window.

We then decided to hit the town.  It's probably a good thing that Ron didn't join us in Mostar because if the cobblestones in Sarajevo hadn't got him, these ones would have.  For you cobblestone afficianados out there, there aren't your standard interlocking bricks that are slightly wobbly - these are random rocks set in cement and polished to a high shine.  I wonder how many cobblestone-related concussions they have every year.

So here's the deal with Mostar.  Back in the 1500, the Turks rolled in and took over, bringing the teachings of Islam with them.  Many of the Slavs who already lived there decided to convert to Islam, because apparently that would give them a hefty tax break.

In 1557, Sultan Souleyman the Magnificent had the a stone bridge commissioned as the rickety old suspension bridge would no longer cut it.  The bridge architecture and design was way ahead of its time and was soon embraced by Muslims and Slavs alike.  In fact, the bridge was so sturdy that it withstood the tanks of a Nazi occupation during WWII.  Muslims and Catholics coexisted peacefully for quite a while, although the Catholics purposely built their cathedral spires taller than the minarets of the many mosques, in some sort of religious cock show.

Unfortunately, Mostar wasn't immune to the Balkan War of the 1990s and saw heavy shell fire from not only the Bosnian Serbs, but also the Croats.  To make another long and sad story short, Croat forces shelled the city from the hill and bombed the bridge into the river.  Fortunately funds were pulled together and in 2004 the bridge was rebuilt, using the same techniques used to build the original.

The old town of Mostar is beautiful - winding cobblestone paths, restaurants perched on the rocky banks of the river, and small waterfalls and tributaries snake and amble through the city.

Despite the beauty and significance of the city, the shops all seem like tacky reproductions of the goods sold in Sarajevo and the town is overrun by tourist groups, all taking up large amounts of space wearing their matching scarves and look silly by trying to get great shots by holding up their iPads.

We got hungry, so we turned in to the relaxed and beautiful patio of Hindin Han and ate vegetables for the first time in what felt like a year while overlooking the beautiful river.  After a scoop of apple ice cream, we turned in for the night, thinking of Ron and listening to the Imam's call to prayer and church bells signalling night vespers.