Charles goes to Bosnia

[Originally posted Sept 19, 2014]

This is our first post that has received its own special title.  But I think the deviation from normal is merited.  I mean honestly, what five year old vacations in Bosnia?  I think today little Charles joins a very elite group of young travelers.

From 2009-2011 Katy and I lived in Lake Village, Arkansas in conjunction with our time as Teach For America corps members in the Mississippi Delta.  We decided to teach in the Delta for primarily one reason - when else would we have the opportunity to live in the fertile delta of the Mighty Mississippi as well as meet its amazing people?  It's a small corner of our country that often goes forgotten - we have the Pacific Northwest, California, the Rocky Mountains, the Midwest, the South, New England - all places often visited and well known.  They are each somewhat unique in their own right.  But they don't stand up to the feeling you get when you return home to the Delta.  The Delta is real.  And the Delta is gritty.  (Only those who have been can really understand).

Bosnia is the same way.

First stop - Kravica Falls.

Kravica Falls

Were such a beautiful place to be found in almost any other country, it would surely be jammed pack with tourists and everything else that follows.  But it was just a 2€ fee to park for the day and a walk down an empty trail.  Upon reaching the falls a lone changing station (which consisted of just a curtain or two) and an empty restaurant.  (The infrastructure here at best feels tired and worn out and at worst feels as though the civil war wasn't 20 years ago, but 2 years ago.)  The only other "warm welcome" we got was the sign that read: Prohibited From Performing Religious Rites (written in Bosnian, English and Cyrillic) - damn, I thought.  Now what will I do??  The water was freeeeezing, but that didn't stop Elizabeth and I from a nice swim.  Post-swim I was requested to take some glamour photos with an old lady and her granddaughter.  Apparently they couldn't get enough of me, but can you blame them??  (In fact, after the necessary hand gestures were exchanged and it was apparent that she wanted to take a photo with me, she then pointed to her ring finger, and then at me and her granddaughter, which was a little awkward).

Next stop - Mostar.

The other Mostar.

The Stari Most really is incredible.  Built in 1556 by the Ottomans, destroyed in 1993 by the Croats during the Civil War, rebuilt in 2004.  It's a sight to behold.  Charles really flourished in Mostar.  He was given a sword to keep him occupied and everywhere we went he was always about 20 or so strides behind the four adults, making it appear that a rather small kid in his boxers was wandering Mostar alone, swinging his sword at make believe bad guys.  It was rather comical.  He always acts like a tough guy until a stray cat appears and he quickly becomes a little bit shy. 

Charlie, pizza, cat, garbage: Bosnia.

Jessica cashed in on the low prices of Bosnian shopping and purchased a painting from a small shop.  The 20 something year old working at the shop was the daughter/niece of the artists.  She was very happy to have Jessica buying an item and so insisted that we all sit down and have a coffee/tea while we wait.  Charles and I wandered off in search of cotton candy while Jessica had a coffee, Katy had tea and Elizabeth opted out (can you guess where these three stand on their Word of Wisdom attitudes?)

Then a nice country drive back through the Republika Srpska back to Dubrovnik, Croatia.

The Republika Srpska

Charles

The drive was memorable.  Although we passed many signs with town names, it felt as though we saw nobody.  Small towns appeared vacant, a significant number of buildings were either abandoned, not finished or covered in artillery shellings.  A yard right on the main road was covered in bee boxes where an old lady covered from head to toe in protective clothing was selling honey.

After purchasing a jar of honey we joked that Charlie will be sitting in Kindergarten in a week talking to his friend Nathan and the topic of food will inevitably come up: "Nathan, I'm having a peanut butter and honey sandwich for lunch.  My mom gets the peanut butter from Harmon's but the honey is from Bosnia.  It's my favorite type of honey."  It wasn't a moment later until an old man was waltzing up the highway with his herd of sheep.  It's these very brief interactions with others that really opens your eyes to the monumentally different type of life other people on this planet surely have.

Teaching Charlie why bees aren't so bad (they make honey) but mosquitoes are a complete waste.

Just keep it steady.

Last stop - Trebinje.  When we got out of the car and started out walk through Old Town it was apparent that this was Bosnia unfiltered.  Unlit alleyways, a Pizzeria Mexico, a city wall with rusted cannons sticking through the peep holes, a plentiful number of stray cats and the highlight of the night: a пѐкара sign in bright lights above a corner shop doorway.  пѐкара is the cyrillic spelling of pekara, which is the Bosnian word for bakery.  As we round the corner their is a que of people coming out the door.  I jump in line.  If I've learned anything on this trip - eat where the locals eat, they know best.  We started off with two Baklava (it's important to put the accent on the klava, as in ba KLAVA because if you ask for BAK lava they have no idea what you are talking about).  The first 2 baklava were quickly devoured between the 4 of us.

Baklava - round three.

Jessica went in for refills.  (By this time every time we reach into our pockets we pull out coins that are either Euros, Croatian kuna or the Bosnian convertible mark.  Keeping these things straight has become difficult, so as Jessica pulls out a handful of change she just holds up her coins to the lady and allows the lady to carefully select which coins belong to her country.  It's a strange experience, to say the least.)  Two more baklava down.  After a quick walk around town I felt that rumbling inside of me and so grabbed a chocolate milk and headed back to the bakery.  As I fumbled for my change I realized I came up short by 20 cents or so, to which the lady responds, no worries, no worries.  (It feels great to mingle with these laid back country folk. I like it a lot.)  Plus who doesn't love spending all the rest of the money from a country in a bakery--we won't be back in Bosnia for a bit.