For some time now, I have had the pleasure of becoming intimated with a small country I never expected to find myself in; that being Bosnia and Herzegovina. A chimera state, comprising two, in most senses, different countries; the Serb-dominated Republika Srpska, and the Bosniak-dominated, and confusingly named, Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina. All governed by a body of three presidents, a foreign appointed High Representative, with the powers to pass laws, and dismiss officials. All bound together in the treaties that ended the long and bloody wars of Yugoslavian disunification. Though this certainly makes for interesting conversation when your parents ask where you’ve been these past weeks, it can feel overwhelming for those not inclined to learn about, what seems to many, the history of one of many states and wars in the Balkans. The history and very existence of Bosnia stands at the cross section of nationalities, ethnicities, religions, and ideologies, such that even a casual examination of its recent history is no easy feat.
And yet, I’d argue that even a casual understanding of the admittedly complicated subject of Bosnia is not strictly necessary to get a sense of it and its people. To my mind, a fair appraisal of the place can be made simply by walking around Sarajevo, hiking through Sutjeska Park, or, as I have spent a few weeks of my past summers, floating down the Drina. Itself a beautiful, if not a tad frigid river, the Drina is most impressive for the beautiful landscapes it passes though. From a country not lacking in vistas, I struggle to think of a place more pretty or peaceful than floating by the banks of its rivers. Despite some Moroccan heritage, I have never been particularly fond of heat, and though I can’t promise that Bosnia is exempt from the summer heatwaves of southern Europe, I have yet found great solace in the cool air brought forth by the Drina.
Though I don’t deny that I have a strong affinity for the aforementioned river, and in particular, the Foča area, it is an admittedly small piece of the rich tapestry of peoples and places that comprise Bosnia. Influence from Turkey (or rather that of the sublime port), Austria and Communism, converge in architecture, art and food, Ćevapi being a personal favourite. Yogurt, typically of the Greek style, is eaten with basically everything, so those with lactose intolerance be warned. Sarajevo’s Austrian halls contrast nicely with its Ottoman quarter, such that it’s possible to get temporal whiplash simply by walking through the city. Though the odd bullet hole in buildings’ facades serve as a gentle reminder that recent history and violence cannot be entirely ignored.
On some level, I find it difficult to speak prosaically of Bosnia, for the simple reason that, for me, the peace and tranquility of its gentle countryside are what speak the strongest to me. My experience is inexorably influenced by being a foreigner, visiting for the sake of exploration, and of being a lifelong city-dweller; the latter of which typically leading to some level of romanization of the countryside, and of the rustic lifestyle so alien to those who’ve only ever lived urbanely. That notwithstanding, I cannot stress enough how fondly I feel towards the terrific people and landscapes of that little quasi-landlocked Balkan country. And if you ever find yourself in Foça, wanting something to do, there’s a little camp right on the Drina, where you can float any worries away.
I was born in New York, but moved to Europe as a teenager. I am currently a second year BEMACS Student. I enjoy writing as a means by which to record and disseminate the things I find interesting such as politics, history and culture.
