We arrived at the bus stop on the outskirts of Mostar. It had been raining, and it was a long and misserable walk to our hostel. We attracted several looks as we made our way through the damp streets. Without the security of accomodation, and with no knowledge of the local language or surroundings, it is at times like this that, as a backpacker, you can feel quite vulnerable. The countless bullet holes and ruined buildings did little to ease our fears. Lonely Planet in hand, I led Danny and Catz through a down trodden housing estate, eventually stopping in front of a large grey residential block. Danny suddenly became very animated and began questioning my navigational skills. He seemed very unsure of his surroundings and was soon lagging some way behind me and catz. This could have been due to the size of his backpack, but the worried expression on his face suggested otherwise. We climbed the stair case to the second floor. A small hand written sign on the door reading "Majdas Rooms" confirmed we were at the right place. We knocked gently on the door.
A middle aged woman with red hair answered. She smiled warmly and welcomed us to her home. A small selection of leaflets was the only real indication that this was anything more than somebodies home. It was hard not to smirk as we took off our shoes and were shown to our room. Looking at the state of Catz's feet, I recon Majda wishes he had kept his shoes on. His blisters were horrific. The room was clean and neatly furnished. We squeezed onto a sofa and spoke politely to our host as she offered us home made lemonade and Spinach Burek. The unfamiliarity of the situation was causing some stifled hilarity. I was pretty confident that Danny wasn't a Spinach fan and the look on his face as he took a bite of his Burek confirmed this suspicion.
Majda and Majda's Mum
Danny hands me his Spinach Burek
I restrained myself from laughing until Majda left the room. Danny compensated for his dislike of Burek by making the most of his lemonade, which consisted of still water, freshly squeezed lemon juice and a bowl of sugar. Majda left us a menu for a local restaurant, which we perused over as we ate our Burek. We noticed several brain dishes on offer. There was no mention of which poor animal the brain originated from. As I finished the last mouthful of Danny's Burek, Majda reappeared and offered us a bowl of homemade soup. Having not made the most of his Burek, Danny was keen for some nourishment and tucked into his soup. Me and Catz followed suit. I looked over at Danny and saw the same look on his face as when he had been eating the Burek and I instantly realised why. I felt a soft, slimy texture in my mouth. We all looked over at the menu. "Brains". Danny and I ate as much of the soup as we could stomach, trying to skim off the upper levels of broth. Catz meanwhile was already on his second portion, and eagerly eyeing the address on the back of the menu.
Our room for the night
Catz has already finished his brain soup
We left Majdas rooms to explore the city. With spinach in our teeth and the taste of brain in our mouths, we chose to stop at a little shop and purchase some water. We were served by a small, elderly lady. Danny and Catz negotiated their purchase without any difficulties. I made the mistake of adding a couple of bananas to my basket. This seemed to cause all manner of complications. I handed the old lady the correct change which she gave straight back to me, mumbling away to herself. So I handed her a note. She looked at me as if I was deranged. There was now a queue building up behind me and Danny had come back in the shop to see what the fuss was about. The customer behind me then had a lengthy conversation with the cashier which resulted in him and I swapping money. I had no idea what was going on. Danny was then drawn into the scenario and was soon taking money from my hand and putting it in the other customers hand. Danny then called Catz back into the shop. Catz was now swapping change with the cashier. Things were now really out of hand. Bananas were being swapped for Chipsies, and rolls of Menthos were being thrust into the equation. Eventually, the little old lady seemed satisfied, and I left the shop with my bananas.
We hastily made our way through the estate, emerging on a main road. The Bosnian war ended in 1995, but evidence of the conflict was still visible to a startling degree. Most of the buildings are still littered with bullet holes; some buildings being little more then hollow shells. Perhaps the saddest reminder of the conflict is the thousands of land mines that remain buried beneath the Bosnian soil. The Croat and Bosnian ethnic communities each claim one side of the Neretva River and even support for the local football clubs, Zrinjski and Velez, is divided along ethnic lines. Spanning the river is one of the most beautiful, historic and poignant bridges in the world, the Stari Most (Old Bridge). The bridge was destroyed by Croatian Defence Council units during the Bosnian War, but has now been restored to its former glory. Tourists pay young Bosnian men to take the 21-metre plunge into the icy waters of the Neretva.
Crossing the Stari Most we spent the afternoon exploring the old Turkish quarter, Kujundziluk. With its narrow cobbled streets lining both sides of the emerald Neretva River, it's a haven of small shops, artists' studios and cafes. As is usual, we were on the look out for anything tall we could climb and we soon found the Koski Mehmed Pasa Mosque. The minaret is open to visitors, so we clambered up uncountable winding steps to stand on a narrow parapet for the best view in Mostar. Within the grounds of the mosque we found a fountain which Danny assumed was drinking water. He took a few gulps before exclaiming "that doesn't taste right". Catz took the opportunity to bathe his feet, before we strolled back to the comfort of Majdas rooms.
Bullet holes: A typical sight in Mostar
The old Turkish quarter, Kujundziluk
Young men jump from the Old Bridge for money
View from the minaret of Koski Mehmed Pasa Mosque
Despite Catz' recently found fondness for brains, we decided to order pizza. A quick word to Majdas brother, Bata, and he was on the phone to the local pizza company. As we were checking our emails in the hallway, an Asian man came through the door. He introduced himself. "I am Mr Wong". Majda welcomed him to her home and asked him if he had any bags. He explained to her that he had left them at the station. Majda offered to drive him to the station to collect them, but he refused her offer. This day was only getting weirder.
As we waited for our pizza to arrive, Catz went in search of some beers. Danny and I took this opportunity to shower and get some rest. Half an hour went by, and there was no sign of Catz. Just then the door burst open and in came a red faced and flustered looking Catz. "That bloody woman". Danny and I burst out laughing. He had gone to the same shop as before and had encountered the same problem as before. After a lengthy money swapping ordeal, Catz had just walked out of the shop, not knowing if he had paid for the beers or not.
Bata had kindly laid out the table for us and we were to dine with four other backpackers, including our friend Mr Wong. The pizza was huge and each slice had a generous portion of mayonnaise on top. Danny and Catz struggled to come to terms with the mayonnaise. I had no such qualms with it and devoured my three cheese and tomato slices with some relish. I washed up our cutlery and we retired to our room for the night, reflecting on the day's events. We played a few hands of cheat before falling asleep, waking bright and early the next morning.
Anyone for Mayonnaise ?
The Koski Mehmed Pasa Mosque
Majda kindly gave us a lift to the bus station at an unearthly early hour. It was raining once more, and the windscreen wipers were struggling to do there job, making the noise "kaz-ak-stan" with every futile wipe. Once again, we had to stifle our laughter as we drove through the streets of Mostar. We reached the bus station, and Danny scampered across the road to buy a bag of chipsies and three rolls of menthos. As we waited for the bus, Catz was approached by a group of kids who were begging. Catz told them he had no money to give them. This was true. He had given the last of his money to the corner shop woman. As Catz explained this to them, they started doing the fingers across the neck gesture as if they were going to slit his throat. This shook Catz up and he was first on board the bus back to Croatia and the city of Dubrovnik. Next (Croatia - Dubrovnik)
