From the coast to the mountains

by Cecilia Burgos Cuevas (Mexico)

A leap into the unknown Bosnia & Herzegovina

I had spent one week in the Dalmatian Coast. One week of the bluest sea and the whitest rocks. A week surrounded by other thousands of tourists fascinated by the sun, the parties, the Game of Thrones sets. It was beautiful, but I've have had enough. I had a book on my mind: TheBridge on the Drina, by Ivo Andric. I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I wanted to leave the paradise Adriatic Coast, as much as I had enjoyed it. So I hopped in a bus heading to Mostar, in Bosnia-Herzegovina. After a couple of hours and two long check points in the borderlands (because no matter how many years have passed, Croatians and Bosnians still don't trust each other), I started breathing a fresh aire. It smelled like mountains with hidden rivers flowing through them. The bus entered in to a small city that somehow seemed familiar. The sun was starting to hide behind the small ceilings and chimneys. I had no idea where was I to spend the night and, to be honest, I wasn't worried, I wanted to take a walk and breath the Bosnian air. But as soon as the bus stopped and we get off, a guy started asking to all passengers if we knew where to sleep that day. "You should go to Lena's hostel", he said. There are available beds and Lena is a nice Bosnian woman who's always smiling, you can meet her first if you want. I doubted. Should I trust the first person who spoke to me in a country I'd just arrived? "Here comes Lena". And she actually had a nice and trustable smile. The hostel was actually her house, but the ground floor rooms had been adapted to lodge travelers. "Would you fancy some tea?" asked Tom, a young english man who became my friend in Mostar and with whom I could talk to about everything because, after all, we knew we wouldn't judge each other. Mostar was stunning, but I was still thinking about that bridge that crossed the Drina river. Once again I hopped in a bus, not sure about how many hours will it take me to get to Visegrad, where "my" bridge was. At first, I did not care at all, and when I asked the driver he got pissed of because I didn't speak the language and he did not understand english. I confess I was nervous but also excited, with lots of adrenalin making me smile. I started chatting with a woman sitting behind me, her name was Anna. She was a teacher who spoke a little english and helped me found out the we will be arriving at Visegrad at 1 am. "What is a Mexican girl doing in the Balkans, heading to Visegrad?" All the bus found out about me and asked exactly the same question. "I read Ivo Andric's book, and I want to see the bridge". It seemed to be an answer nobody expected but everybody was satisfied with it. Then, a policeman took the bus, and Anna was kindly enough to tell him about me, my desire to go to Visegrad, and that I had no idea where to spend the night there, specially because we would get there in the middle of the night. The policeman made a phone call to Visegrad's police station and arranged a solution: I hopped off the bus at exactly 1 am, next to the Drina, I took a glimpse of the bridge, crossed the highway and entered the police station. "Oh! The Mexican". They were waiting for me, and the seemed very happy to have me there. They closed the station and drove me to a small hotel in the side of the road where they left me after explaining the situation to the manager. I was just a few meters away from the bridge that still crosses the Drina and I couldn't be more pleased.