As we鈥檝e had to postpone our travels because of the pandemic, I believe a weekly dose of travel dreaming can be good medicine. Here鈥檚 a reminder of the fun that awaits us in Europe at the other end of this crisis.
Looking for a change of pace from Croatia鈥檚 touristic Dalmatian Coast, I鈥檓 driving east from Dubrovnik to the city of Mostar, in Bosnia-Herzegovina. Almost everyone making this trip takes the scenic coastal route. But with a spirit of adventure, I take the back road instead: inland first, then looping north through the Serbian part of Herzegovina.
Bosnia-Herzegovina鈥檚 three main ethnic groups 鈥� Serbs, Croats, and Bosniaks 鈥� are descended from the same ancestors and speak closely related languages. The key distinction is that they practice different religions: Orthodox Christianity (Serbs), Roman Catholicism (Croats), and Islam (Bosniaks). For the most part, there鈥檚 no way that a casual visitor could determine the religion or loyalties of the people just by looking at them. Studying the complex demographics of the former Yugoslavia, I gain a grudging respect for the communist-era dictator Tito 鈥� the one man who was able to hold this 鈥渦nion of the South Slavs鈥� together peacefully.
Bosnia-Herzegovina is one nation, historically divided into two regions: Bosnia and Herzegovina. But the 1995 Dayton Peace Accords gerrymandered the country along sectarian lines, giving a degree of autonomy to the area where Orthodox Serbs predominate. This 鈥淩epublika Srpska鈥� rings the core of Bosnia on three sides. When asked for driving tips, Croats 鈥� who, because of ongoing tensions with the Serbs, avoid this territory 鈥� insist that the road I want to take through their country doesn鈥檛 even exist. From the main Croatian coastal road just south of Dubrovnik, directional signs would send me to a tiny Croatian border town 鈥� but ignore the large Serbian city of Trebinje just beyond.
And yet, Trebinje more than exists鈥t is bustling and prosperous. As I enter the city, police with ping-pong-paddle stop signs pull me over. I learn that you must drive with your headlights on at all hours. My 鈥渄umb tourist鈥� routine gets me off the hook. Parking the car, I head to an outdoor market to get cash at an ATM to buy some produce.
Bosnia-Herzegovina鈥檚 money is called the 鈥渃onvertible mark.鈥� Some bills have Cyrillic lettering and Serbian historical figures, while others use the English alphabet and show Muslims or Croats. Like everything else in Bosnia-Herzegovina, the currency is a careful balancing act.
Later, after a two-hour drive on deserted roads through a rugged landscape, I arrive at the humble crossroads village of Nevesinje. Towns in this region all have a 鈥渃af茅 row,鈥� and Nevesinje is no exception. It鈥檚 lunchtime, but as I walk through town, I don鈥檛 see a soul with any food on their plate 鈥� just drinks. Apparently, locals eat economically at home, then enjoy an affordable coffee or drink at a caf茅.
A cluttered little grocery is my solution for a quick meal. The old man behind the counter seems happy to make me a sandwich. Salami, which looks like Spam, is the only option. I take my sandwich to an adjacent caf茅 and pay the equivalent of a US quarter for a cup of strong Turkish (or 鈥淏osnian鈥�) coffee, with highly caffeinated mud at the bottom. Then I munch, drink, and watch the street scene. It鈥檚 like seeing a play.
Big men drive by in little beater cars. High-school kids crowd around the window of the photography shop, which has just posted their class graduation photos. The flirtatious girls and boys on this cruising drag prove you don鈥檛 need money to have style. Through a shop window, I see a young couple picking out a simple engagement ring. One moment I think that Nevesinje is very different from my hometown鈥ut the next, it seems just the same.
Looking at the curiously overgrown ruined building across the street, I notice its bricked-up, pointed Islamic arches and realize it was once a mosque. Its backyard is a no-man鈥檚-land of bombed-out concrete and glass, where a single, turban-topped tombstone still manages to stand. The prayer niche inside, where no one prays anymore, faces east鈥o another empty restaurant.
After an hour鈥檚 drive over a twisty mountain road, I leave the Republika Srpska and arrive at the city of Mostar. Pulling into town, I鈥檓 exhausted yet exhilarated with the experience I gained by taking the road much less traveled.
鈥� This article was adapted from Rick鈥檚 new book, For the Love of Europe.
Rick Steves () writes European guidebooks, hosts travel shows on public TV and radio, and organizes European tours. You can email Rick at [email protected] and follow his blog on Facebook.
