Herzegovina and the Challenges of Frontier

Bidding a sad farewell to Hvar (and the Dalmatian coast, but only temporarily), we take the ferry back to Split to meet up with Jelena’s sister Svjetlana and her husband and child. We’ll be staying the night in Split in an apartment owned by one of Jelena’s cousins. The visit to Split is brief, however, as the real migration that we’re beginning is an inland trek to Herzegovina. Jelena’s mother, father, and much of her extended family still live in Mostar, Herzegovina’s biggest city.

Briefly on Split – it’s an interesting city. I’m not charmed in the same fashion as Hvar, or even Trogir. However, Split has a lot going on. The bustling metropolis has a sophisticated populous, a developed infrastructure with better roads than other Croatian cities I’ve seen, and a large "old town" that’s steeped in a deep history all its own. The towering communist-era housing structures and the highways have misled me, Split is deceptively ancient. Jelena and I take part of the evening to walk the old town, getting a good view of the city by climbing the chapel bell tower.

The museum by the chapel was unfortunately closed, so I had to “wiki-dive” to learn about the city history when I had an Internet connection later on. I’m just going to summarize, as Split’s history is too rich to go into in a log that’s supposed to be about Herzegovina. The gist that I got is that Split has been inhabited for ages, but really exploded with the decline of the Roman influence in the region (capped by a neighboring ancient city, this time “Salona,” falling to outside invasion). There’s a pattern with other Balkan cities like this – a Roman city falls, and another city springs up to fill the space. In the case of Split, Romans and others fleeing an invasion of Northern barbarians (Slavs!) grow Split, almost overnight, from a retirement palace for the departed emperor Diocletian into the most influential city on the Dalmatian coast.

The next morning we are on the road to Mostar. Crossing the border into Bosnia & Herzegovina, I’m struck by an almost instant decline in the condition of the towns and infrastructure. Croatia is just better off. Of course, we’re also leaving the awesome Adriatic behind. I miss it right away. Herzegovina has a beautiful landscape, however, and I’m pleased to see farms and a lot more greenery in general. I’m also seeing mosques, and the first one pops up almost immediately after crossing the border. A Croatian flag is conspicuously draped over a power line right by the mosque, the first indicator of a semi-cold war between Muslims and Croatians in Herzegovina. It’s almost tit for tat – if there’s a mosque, the Catholics are going to make sure you can see a cross or Croatian emblem somewhere close by without even turning your head (and vice-versa).

Herzegovina is sustained by a series of rivers, and the major sights are located next to them. We decide to stop for a quick break in one of them, an old Turkish-built town called Pocitelj. I’m really glad we did, as this ends up being a really interesting visit. Pocitelj has a fortress, mosque, and Turkish bath. Its origins are probably military, and I think it served mostly as a fortification during the Ottoman dominance of the region. The town has been hit hard by the war, but the damage almost makes it more interesting. They’ve repaired the mosque, but other parts of the town are a lens for what happened to the historical parts of the Balkans during the civil war.

Mostar sprawls compared to the other Herzegovina towns we’ve gone through. The outskirts give way to the downtown, situated on Neretva River. The distinguishing feature of Mostar is the “Stari Most,’ or the old bridge that connects the two sides of the town – Muslim and Croatian (Catholic). I think a bridge has been there since the town was originally founded, but the version that made it famous was built by master engineers during Ottoman rule of the region. This makes it an ethnically-charged monument, and the bridge was definitely destroyed by Croatian forces during the war – Jelena has told me this. I know that it’s a huge point of historical contention in terms of recounting the Bosnian wars, but I definitely get the sense that the Croatians destroyed the bridge for reasons beyond mere strategic initiative. The ancient bridge was an emblem of Turkish (Muslim) influence in shaping Herzegovina, becoming the defining feature of the city (it’s even named after the bridge). I should probably stay out of it.

Anyway, the bridge is back. It’s been totally rebuilt, but Jelena can tell the difference when we get really close. It makes her sad. I can glean from her and others that a lot has been done to rebuild the city in the past 10-odd years. Still, it’s a shadow of what it was before the war. This saddens Jelena, and I can’t really relate. I try to think of what it would be like to return to Portland (or Hillsboro) after a civil war that shatters or burns most of the landscape. That puts things in perspective. Still, there is proof that the rebuilding effort is ongoing – Jelena’s old high school is being rebuilt while we’re visiting.

Mostar is truly where East meets West. There’s probably another town that serves as a boundary marker in this way, but I can’t think of one off hand. If there is, I would be surprised if it can delineate the separation as sharply as Mostar has come to since the wars in Bosnia. The afore-mentioned “pseudo-cold war” is being waged in earnest between the two sides of the city. Mosques face off with chapels with big crosses on them. Croatian flags fly. As far as I can tell, the score is pretty even. Well, the Catholics have managed to plant a big cross up on the hillside above the town, and I couldn’t pick out an answer from the Muslim side for that one just yet… You can stand in the middle of one of the other bridges in the town and look at the two sides, Muslim and Catholic, reaching across the Neretva river. It’s best if you look at the Stari Most (old bridge)– and I’m struck that the destruction and subsequent rebuilding of the bridge make it a symbol of the city in a transcendent way that it would not if the bridge had never been destroyed. Ties were broken. Damage was done, perhaps irreparable, but the city is trying.

Navigating Mostar is an amazing experience if you’ve never witnessed the aftermath of war (especially a civil war). It seems like half of the buildings have visible war damage still. You can turn on any one spot and find a building with bullet holes or grenade damage. Perhaps the most shocking, all of the inner city parks are now full-on graveyards. They just didn't have enough places to put those who were dying in the war. People are bustling about, carrying on with their lives. Red-tagged buildings that look ready to fall down have cars parked right in front of them. Too busy, need to get to work. Many of the buildings were stone, so they still stand even after suffering fire and ammunition. Burnt-out hulls, some of them with trees growing out of windows and open wounds to the sky. Jelena tells me that they’d like to repair all of the damage, but people just don’t have the time or money to do it quickly. We’re both amazed at how many cars are jamming up the narrow streets of the town. Jelena tells me that it wasn’t that way before the war. The city seems poorer and slightly shell-shocked still, but more people have cars. We’re not sure that’s good…

There’s another reason that the town is in poor repair, one that can be summed up on the principal of the “tragedy of the commons.” Like a lot of cities that are newly out of Communism I bet, Mostar is struggling with public works projects, cooperative ownership, and a general lack of wealth to begin with. Jelena’s mother lives in one of the condo buildings built during Communism (by the look, I’m guessing during the 60’s or 70’s). Jelena tells me that party members were given these homes or condos after staying in the party for a time. This was the sort of deal struck by the government – join the party, you get a free place of your own, or maybe a job – different perks. Party membership was incentive driven, but the administration of government and law was an absolute dictatorship (Tito). The rejuvenation of these housing structures in the aftermath of the war is a perfect illustration of the tragedy of the commons. That is to say, they aren’t getting fixed up much at all. You can see “stripes” on some buildings where a frustrated but motivated owner has fixed “their part” of the building. Nearly nothing gets done in concert by the collective owners. There’s little in the way of co-ops, home-owners dues, etc. Jelena’s mother tells me some stories later in the trip of her frustrations trying to get improvements done to her building. She says she’s given up, but I think things are moving (just way too slow for her and other motivated owners).

We visit Jelena’s father in the town’s “suburbs” (less than 10 minutes walk from the urban center where her mother lives). To me, this part of the town is more pleasant. Since the homes are all single-owned, they’re in a lot better shape. It could also be that the people in this part of the town have more resources to make repairs. Her father lives in a house here, but he really lives in his garden. His backyard is a fascinating community all on its own. With chickens, bees, fruits and vegetables on hand – his home is completely self-sustaining. Jelena says that he really only needs to go to the store to buy milk when it really comes down to it.

Mostar is family time on our trip, and during the visits I get to see a good portion of the countryside of Herzegovina around the city. Again, everything is situated along the rivers. We take a trip to the waterfalls at Kravica, which are pretty impressive for their breadth and number if not for their height. Touring around the city is a quick lesson in defensive driving on single-lane roads. People take serious risks when passing, and the winding switch-backs that climb the hills offer little visibility. Jelena does a really good job, and she still gets stressed out by people who bully her from behind and surprise us with passing maneuvers that come uncomfortably close (at least, for us) to head-on collisions. We both notice that the real assholes are driving nice cars. Mercedes, Audis and BMW’s. I imagine them muttering, “I’ve got air-bags bitch, side-airbags. You better get out of the way, because you’ll be the one dying while I shop for a newer model of this baby.” It’s really, really annoying.

I don’t know how to sum up a visit to Mostar for a visitor like myself who’s new to the region and hasn’t lived through war. I suppose that there was a good dose of culture shock, in retrospect. The funny thing is, I never felt threatened. The town is completely safe. People are really friendly (except on the roads). It’s the striking images of shattered buildings, bullet holes, and converted graveyards that shock the system for someone like me. I can only try to understand how it feels for Jelena, and others who have returned to the city after the war. Like other locations that astonish and challenge, Mostar made me slightly uncomfortable in the moment, but you keep thinking about the experience long afterwards.