The Stari Most bridge in Mostar was the main reason I wanted to visit Bosnia. After seeing many photos of it online, the old town was just too picturesque to miss. There, I couchsurfed with M, a Turkish guy who had just moved there a few months ago because, YOLO. He kicked me up with his friend at the bus station, and immediately drove us to a hill where we had a great view of the city.
The immediate feeling I got of Mostar was that it was hit more badly by the war than Sarajevo. More bullet ridden buildings stood everywhere and there seemed to be more tourists than locals living there.
M had a cozy bachelor’s pad just outside of the old town, and just as I was getting comfortable, he came to me looking very anxious, saying that his girlfriend was suddenly getting jealous of me staying at his place, despite not having seen me at all, and that I had to get out. PRONTO. So he offered to put me up at a hostel nearby, and said that he would pick me up later to go to a club at night. I was more amused than anything, but couldn’t complain. That night was quite a fun one at the start, cheap local beer at a bar, but when we got to the club, I realised that people weren’t dancing and just standing around talking and sipping beer. To make matters worse, M had to go back to his girlfriend for a bit (it turned out to be for the rest of the night), leaving me with said friend of his who only spoke Turkish, and somehow, we ended up making out to fill the silence. It was a very strange experience I wouldn’t want to repeat.
The next day, I decided to explore the old town on my own early in the morning. Caught a beautiful sunrise, and as I was about to go to one of the most graffiti filled buildings I had ever seen, which happened to be the remains of a hotel were snipers used to hide at during the war, I just couldn’t enter the building. As I stood at the foot of it, looking at the exposed staircases and rooms, a strange buzzing sound/feeling kept ringing in my ears, as though some supernatural force was warning me not to enter. I left as quickly as I could.
Near Mostar, there was a little village, Blagaj, which boasted a famous monastery next to a karst cave and horseshoe-shaped waterfall. I somehow managed to get on the right bus there, and had a great time chilling by the crazy blue waters. As the bus back to town wouldn’t come for quite a while, I decided to walk a little and try to hitch a ride back. A few camping sites and orthodox churches lined the road back, providing a very scenic walk. Luckily for me, I didn’t have to walk far, when a van with a gruff local guy and his elderly mum picked me up and dropped me just a few km away from the old city. We couldn’t communicate due to the language barrier, but some times, words aren’t necessary.