Twenty-eight years ago, this city was under siege.
Mostar, situated in the rugged hills of Bosnia- Herzegovina, still bears the scars of the bloody Bosnian War, part of the wider Yugoslavian conflict which raged through the 90s. Gashes and scars in concrete and construction are one thing, scars on hearts and psyches, quiet another. And yet, this city of just over one hundred thousand inhabitants teems with life. We visited for a day in April, driving in from neighbouring Croatia, and wandering Mostar's quiet streets and slightly ghostly boulevards, I was overcome with a distinct euphoria. The sort of charm that gently appears in the aftermath of a storm.
Life in the murals of street art illustrating Soviet-style concrete jungles. Life in church spires intermingled with mosque minarets. Life breaking through in the oddest of places. In the local delicacies and flavours, hearty chargrilled meats, marinated vegetables, and cabbage galore. Life in the smoky haze of the indoor multi-storey mall, heavy with tobacco (smoking is permitted in indoor public spaces in Bosnia, unlike in most of Europe). Life in the puzzled looks of locals, life in the tack and glitz adorned shops fronts. Life in the green grass peeking through harsh tarmac and breeze block. Life after death.
Some thoughts from an enchanting day in Bosnia-Herzegovina.
