Ex-Yu 4 You -- Part Three: Bosnia and Herzegovina

So, I was in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Since I went by car, with my Mum, I wanted to stop by the cities of Mostar and Sarajevo – in that case there would have been more to write about – but in the end it just didn’t work out. Well, you’ll have less to find out about, but will also be spared from my unstoppable word flow.
Therefore, I will write about my Bosnia and Herzegovina. And when I say “my”, I mean my very own. Namely, I am to inherit my Grandpa’s house and land – so now you know, I am a land-owner :-).

The afore-mentioned house and land are in a tiny village of about 30 houses called Duge. It is quite high up in the mountains and close to Mostar. As we drove there, the first thing we noticed as we entered B&H are the ridiculous road signs.
Ok, now perhaps I should explain something about the country’s current ridiculous situation – as some of you might remember, there was an awful war there, which ended some ten years ago. The problem was that all three major ethnicities (who all lived there and made Bosnia a very exciting and interesting place, and who all traditionally practice different religions) fought each other – the Muslim Bosnians, the Orthodox Serbs and the Catholic Croats. As the fighting escalated, eventually the international community stepped in and tailored a very fragile solution – they divided the country in two parts: the Republika Srpska (where mostly Serbs live, also thanks to ethnic cleansing during the war) and the Federation (where Bosnians and Croats somehow manage to live together, but also often in ethnic-clean towns). It is uncertain how this will turn out, as the people do their best to stay apart and differentiate from each other. Only time will tell, and hopefully it will heal at least some wounds.
Current example of stupid stubbornness: in Republika Srpska all road signs are in the Serbian Cyrillic writing. Sure, we can read them (in the schools of Ex-Yugoslavia everyone learned Latin and Cyrillic writing simultaneously), but in case any one of you, or any other foreigner, happened to stumble in this part of the world, they would be totally lost, not knowing where they are or where they’re going.
Ok, after this short politically-historical digression, let’s move on. Geographically, the country’s gorgeous. The road curves by a wonderfully clean and green river Vrbas, through impressive mountains. Duge itself is a steep village, of the type where houses and stables are on one heap, and the fields are a bit away, on a plateau between the mountains. To our piece of land even belongs a beautiful waterfall, which one can admire sitting in the orchard. People grow various fruits and vegetables and own cows, sheep, chickens, geese etc. The air is beautiful, and one can see all possible stars at night. It is a great place to come and relax, or study. As the development was halted, and even regressed during the war, not all houses have a phone line, the Internet is a foreign term and until last year even mobiles had a horrible connection. It feels strange at first, but actually allows for a perfect rest.
The village is Muslim and it’s really cool to explore a different culture – the clothes, the customs, the call for prayer from the village mosque. However, some things are never different. One of my childhood friends (as a kid, I used to spend every summer at my grandparents’) has always been very religious and as she grew up, she chose to wear the traditional clothes: the scarf over her head and the long sleeves and skirts – to show her devotion. As we’ve managed to retain our friendship, in spite of the years apart, I spent quite some time walking around the hills with her, talking. She confided that she’s hoping to meet a nice man soon and get married. Since I expressed some surprise to hear this from a 23 year old, she explained it’s not the marriage itself she desires – it’s the… “other thing”. Namely, because of her devotion expressed in clothing, she is not allowed to hold hands with boys, let alone anything else. I was dumbfounded, it felt like talking to a nun – about sex! But a girl is a girl is a girl, with or without scarves.
All in all, it was really nice, I got to know some members of my extended family and see my childhood friends, some of them already married and with children. And the highlight was a small kitten, snugly and playful, that my Grandpa found and decided to adopt, and that we fell in love with immediately.

The photos of the scenery and the kitten are, as usual, here.

And that was it, my friends. End of series. No more epic posts (at least not for now). It’s time for me to enjoy the (hopefully) last few months of being a student – i.e., it’s time to be responsible, stop running around and start studying.

The return to Vienna was especially nice because I could meet Sylvia and her boyfriend, who were visiting. But that’s a different story.