The Dalmatian Coast. The land of endless beauty. Or so says the very well put together brochure from the tourist office. One might expect a little less than endless beauty from an area that was at war only twenty years ago. But in all actuality, the brochure isn't all that far off.
I guess I'm not sure what I expected before I came to the Balkans. I had a vague recollection of it being a war-torn region at some point in my life, but really couldn't place when or why that was. I remembered hearing stories on the news or from my parents about Croatia, Bosnia and Serbia. About Sarajevo and how it was a dangerous place. I remember seeing the fronts of magazines displaying emaciated bodies and teenage soldiers carrying weapons that looked comically large to be in their hands. I was half-expecting a third-world country, maybe some under-appreciated world-heritage sites and definitely some slightly under-staffed and under-funded tourist resources.
In Croatia at least, this assumption was wrong. On all counts. We took the train into Zagreb from Vienna - a quick 6-hour ride that was slightly interrupted by track construction where we had to get off the train and take a bus for about half an hour. I only mention this because in all of the confusion of transfers Steph forgot her hiking boots on the bus. It may or may not be the second pair of shoes she's lost in as many months. I will not be storing my shoes in her bag at any point. Arrival into Zagreb was easy, we picked up our rental car, and found a hostel that we thought would be quite empty, but it turned out to be a backpacker's party hostel...our roommates (two 20-year-old guys from the US) didn't even arrive until after midnight, at which point they showered and went back out. Seriously, it made me feel so very old.
I guess I'm not sure what I expected before I came to the Balkans. I had a vague recollection of it being a war-torn region at some point in my life, but really couldn't place when or why that was. I remembered hearing stories on the news or from my parents about Croatia, Bosnia and Serbia. About Sarajevo and how it was a dangerous place. I remember seeing the fronts of magazines displaying emaciated bodies and teenage soldiers carrying weapons that looked comically large to be in their hands. I was half-expecting a third-world country, maybe some under-appreciated world-heritage sites and definitely some slightly under-staffed and under-funded tourist resources.
In Croatia at least, this assumption was wrong. On all counts. We took the train into Zagreb from Vienna - a quick 6-hour ride that was slightly interrupted by track construction where we had to get off the train and take a bus for about half an hour. I only mention this because in all of the confusion of transfers Steph forgot her hiking boots on the bus. It may or may not be the second pair of shoes she's lost in as many months. I will not be storing my shoes in her bag at any point. Arrival into Zagreb was easy, we picked up our rental car, and found a hostel that we thought would be quite empty, but it turned out to be a backpacker's party hostel...our roommates (two 20-year-old guys from the US) didn't even arrive until after midnight, at which point they showered and went back out. Seriously, it made me feel so very old.
Zagreb was beautiful, though we only stayed for a half a day. Early the next morning (by early I mean 10. Our roommates made sure we got very little sleep) we jumped in our car (yet to be named, less personality than Whinny) and headed for the hinterland. I had read about a series of waterfalls on the Bosnian border that were supposed to be absolutely amazing. This is absolutely true. There is a series of small lakes each slightly higher than the other with waterfalls connecting them. Some of the waterfalls are three feet high, some are 50 feet high. All around the pools are paths with wooden walkways set up to observe the waterfalls. The water in the lakes is so blue and so clear it almost seems unnatural. We spent nearly six hours hiking around the lakes, looking at all the waterfalls, trying to resist jumping into the clear waters (strictly forbidden) and being amazing by their beauty.
After the falls we headed straight for the Adriatic Coast. As if we hadn't seen enough water. We made it to Zadar, home of Maraschino Liquor (apparently a favorite of Napoleon) and where Alfred Hitchcock claimed had the most beautiful sunset in the world. After getting in a bit late we parked in a possibly illegal (read: police parking) spot, and basically ran to the shore to see the sunset. It was pretty amazing - turning every warm color in the rainbow, from a light yellow to a deep deep red. After Zadar we stopped in Split. The town was nice, but overrun with tourists. I found myself bumping into people everywhere I went, and after about half a day was ready to leave.
After Split, on south to Dubrovnik. If there is one city to go to on the Adriatic, it's probably Dubrovnik. The city itself and its immediate area was an independent nation until the 1800's, and the city still has a very strong patriotic and independent streak. There are thick walls surrounding the old city, with a tourist path on the top of them that you can use to walk the entire circumference of the town. We decided to do this, and because there wasn't a brochure to go with it, we shared an audio guide to get some extra information. The audio guide was peppered with absolute proclamations about how Dubrovnik was the most beautiful city in the world, it had the strongest navy, the most important port, the most interesting culture. The narrator making these proclamations, was a native English speaker, presumably not from Dubrovnik. We had fun picturing her during the taping of the guide occasionally putting her hand over the microphone to say, "…are you kidding me with this right now? (uncover mic)…Dubrovnik has the most interesting culture in all the…"
After the falls we headed straight for the Adriatic Coast. As if we hadn't seen enough water. We made it to Zadar, home of Maraschino Liquor (apparently a favorite of Napoleon) and where Alfred Hitchcock claimed had the most beautiful sunset in the world. After getting in a bit late we parked in a possibly illegal (read: police parking) spot, and basically ran to the shore to see the sunset. It was pretty amazing - turning every warm color in the rainbow, from a light yellow to a deep deep red. After Zadar we stopped in Split. The town was nice, but overrun with tourists. I found myself bumping into people everywhere I went, and after about half a day was ready to leave.
After Split, on south to Dubrovnik. If there is one city to go to on the Adriatic, it's probably Dubrovnik. The city itself and its immediate area was an independent nation until the 1800's, and the city still has a very strong patriotic and independent streak. There are thick walls surrounding the old city, with a tourist path on the top of them that you can use to walk the entire circumference of the town. We decided to do this, and because there wasn't a brochure to go with it, we shared an audio guide to get some extra information. The audio guide was peppered with absolute proclamations about how Dubrovnik was the most beautiful city in the world, it had the strongest navy, the most important port, the most interesting culture. The narrator making these proclamations, was a native English speaker, presumably not from Dubrovnik. We had fun picturing her during the taping of the guide occasionally putting her hand over the microphone to say, "…are you kidding me with this right now? (uncover mic)…Dubrovnik has the most interesting culture in all the…"
Intent on seeing more of the Balkans than Croatia, after Dubrovnik we headed South for Montenegro. Montenegro didn't fair as well after the war as Croatia, which was apparent as soon as we crossed the border. Road got a little rougher, people were a little less friendly. We went first to Kotor, which is listed as a UNESCO world-heritage site. Deservedly so. Kotor sits inland about two kilometers, at the end of the Bay of Kotor (aptly named, I think). The bay is large and deep enough for giant cruise ships to do 180's in it, and clear enough to easily see at least ten feet down. The city itself is billed as 'medieval' and also has giant walls surrounding it, although these walls stretch to the top of the mountain that the city is built under. We decided to climb these walls as well. The map at the base pointed out the three sections we would walk through to get to the top. They were labeled, 'reasonably safe', 'increasing danger', and 'very risky'. Eeh. At least they warned us.
Having only a few days left until our car was due back, we decided to check out a little bit of Bosnia. Bosnia, it seems, has been the slowest to recover from the Yugoslavian war (that we saw). Infrastructure was not so great, and things like tourist information booths (that we have been relying on for help throughout the trip) were basically non-existent. After an overnight stay in Mostar, where there is an old world-heritage bridge, destroyed in the war and triumphantly rebuilt in a joint project by several nations afterwards. Next on our journey through this still recovering country was Sarajevo. Sarajevo was the reality that I had expected elsewhere. Buildings still pockmarked from shell explosions. Trash strewn streets in serious need of repair. Stray dogs wandering the streets, aggressively barking at pedestrians. Cemeteries dotting the city, filling nearly every corner of open space. We visited the Sarajevo history museum, intent on learning more about the war that we both were embarrassingly ignorant about and we learned about the history of Bosnia and its people. Bosnia is again one of those places in the unfortunate geographic position that lends itself to outside aggression - first from the Ottomans and then from the Austrians - then after WWII, lumped together in the Yugoslavian block. The three groups of people in this area of Yugoslavia, the Croats, the Serbs and the Bosnians all felt independent of each other and that the country was meant for them. Some more willing to share than others.
The rest of the museum was entirely about the war, specifically the Serbian siege on the city of Sarajevo. There were interesting things, like stoves that people built out of scrap metal and a model of a market stand during the siege (frighteningly bare). There were intimidating things, like guns of all shapes and sizes, factory made and homemade. There were horrifying things, like a photo of a gun toting soldier kicking an elderly woman in the head as she cowered in front of him or a photo of a baby with an amputated leg. There were accounts of some of the atrocious crimes the Serbians committed in their quest to terrorize and eventually break the Bosnians - stories of children thrown off bridges and rape camps set up for the purpose of creating more Serbian children.
Having only a few days left until our car was due back, we decided to check out a little bit of Bosnia. Bosnia, it seems, has been the slowest to recover from the Yugoslavian war (that we saw). Infrastructure was not so great, and things like tourist information booths (that we have been relying on for help throughout the trip) were basically non-existent. After an overnight stay in Mostar, where there is an old world-heritage bridge, destroyed in the war and triumphantly rebuilt in a joint project by several nations afterwards. Next on our journey through this still recovering country was Sarajevo. Sarajevo was the reality that I had expected elsewhere. Buildings still pockmarked from shell explosions. Trash strewn streets in serious need of repair. Stray dogs wandering the streets, aggressively barking at pedestrians. Cemeteries dotting the city, filling nearly every corner of open space. We visited the Sarajevo history museum, intent on learning more about the war that we both were embarrassingly ignorant about and we learned about the history of Bosnia and its people. Bosnia is again one of those places in the unfortunate geographic position that lends itself to outside aggression - first from the Ottomans and then from the Austrians - then after WWII, lumped together in the Yugoslavian block. The three groups of people in this area of Yugoslavia, the Croats, the Serbs and the Bosnians all felt independent of each other and that the country was meant for them. Some more willing to share than others.
The rest of the museum was entirely about the war, specifically the Serbian siege on the city of Sarajevo. There were interesting things, like stoves that people built out of scrap metal and a model of a market stand during the siege (frighteningly bare). There were intimidating things, like guns of all shapes and sizes, factory made and homemade. There were horrifying things, like a photo of a gun toting soldier kicking an elderly woman in the head as she cowered in front of him or a photo of a baby with an amputated leg. There were accounts of some of the atrocious crimes the Serbians committed in their quest to terrorize and eventually break the Bosnians - stories of children thrown off bridges and rape camps set up for the purpose of creating more Serbian children.
Steph and I sat on the museum stairs afterwards, numbly discussing what we had seen. This wasn't something that had happened in the middle ages when torture and misery seemed somewhat commonplace. This wasn't something that happened during one of the World Wars, soldiers fighting against soldiers, doing the jobs they signed up for. This was much different. What made this so horrible was that this was a war against civilians, with the sole objective being to break the spirit of the people. Shells hitting schools and churches full of people, snipers firing on people walking across the street, bombs going off near the line for water. This form of warfare is the worst mankind has to offer.
Two separate thoughts struck me as we sat there discussing all that we had just seen. First, I often find myself in the more conservative camp when it comes to intervening in foreign countries. We have a lot of our own problems in the United States, and I hate to see resources diverted from our children or our poor so that we can get involved in yet another war. But seeing the conditions that the people of Sarajevo were facing, it seems unethical to not attempt to intervene. I wouldn't wish those conditions on my worst enemy. And second, this war was fought (in its most basic sense) because one people considered their culture to be superior to another, and used force to push that culture onto the other. Is this how people in Iraq think of Americans? I realize it's not exactly the same, but similar enough that it gave me pause.
Our last night in Sarajevo we walked to the top of a hill in our neighborhood to watch the sunset over the city. We took a path winding through one of the many cemeteries, stopping frequently to look at the inscriptions on the identical small white headstones, reading aloud the dates of death. "'92, '92, '93, '92, '94….", then the ages, "24, 30, 22, 33, 19…" So many people my age or my sister's age. Young people who only six years before had marveled in the hosting of the winter olympics in their city. Gone before they had the chance to have their own family, take their kids on vacation, save for retirement or anticipate growing old with their husbands or wives.
That evening, while sitting on the hill littered with broken bottles, food wrappers and an assortment of wadded pieces of paper, we remarked on how Sarajevo didn't seem quite ready for tourism yet. I imagine it will take a while before they are. With the wounds inflicted on its citizens longer lasting and more intense than any physical injury could ever be, i doubt if Sarajevo will ever really be ready to share that pain.
We're off to Germany for the next three weeks. Thanks for reading, lots of love.
-EC
Two separate thoughts struck me as we sat there discussing all that we had just seen. First, I often find myself in the more conservative camp when it comes to intervening in foreign countries. We have a lot of our own problems in the United States, and I hate to see resources diverted from our children or our poor so that we can get involved in yet another war. But seeing the conditions that the people of Sarajevo were facing, it seems unethical to not attempt to intervene. I wouldn't wish those conditions on my worst enemy. And second, this war was fought (in its most basic sense) because one people considered their culture to be superior to another, and used force to push that culture onto the other. Is this how people in Iraq think of Americans? I realize it's not exactly the same, but similar enough that it gave me pause.
Our last night in Sarajevo we walked to the top of a hill in our neighborhood to watch the sunset over the city. We took a path winding through one of the many cemeteries, stopping frequently to look at the inscriptions on the identical small white headstones, reading aloud the dates of death. "'92, '92, '93, '92, '94….", then the ages, "24, 30, 22, 33, 19…" So many people my age or my sister's age. Young people who only six years before had marveled in the hosting of the winter olympics in their city. Gone before they had the chance to have their own family, take their kids on vacation, save for retirement or anticipate growing old with their husbands or wives.
That evening, while sitting on the hill littered with broken bottles, food wrappers and an assortment of wadded pieces of paper, we remarked on how Sarajevo didn't seem quite ready for tourism yet. I imagine it will take a while before they are. With the wounds inflicted on its citizens longer lasting and more intense than any physical injury could ever be, i doubt if Sarajevo will ever really be ready to share that pain.
We're off to Germany for the next three weeks. Thanks for reading, lots of love.
-EC
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