03.25.2024

The scent of fresh water wafts up to the rocky crag under my feet. Clouds fleece the sky, and a March sun warms my arms. White houses with brown tile roofs dot the mountainsides. Only two barking dogs break the reverie.

Far below, a pure green river flows through the broken mountains under a bridge both famous and infamous. Ivo Andric, in his novel The Bridge on the Drina, made this bridge famous. Serbian military and paramilitary troops made it infamous. In the 1990s, they lined Muslim Bosniaks up on the bridge, shot them or cut their throats, and threw their bodies into the river. Hundreds of women and children were victims of their violence.  

  The previous night, my travel partner drove our rental car across the border from Serbia. Suddenly, a rock appeared on the road, and we didn’t have time to stop, so my friend straddled it. The rock clunked the bottom of the car. 

We stopped, turned on our hazard flashers, and assessed the damages. My friend watched the road for approaching vehicles, and I peered under the car. The damages looked only cosmetic, but I opened the hood to double-check.  

A car passed us and stopped. A man and a woman got out and communicated with us using Google Translate. Both were middle-aged, tall, and light-skinned, and the man had a graying beard. He checked the car while she called the owners of the apartment we had booked to inform them of the accident. Meanwhile, a large truck stopped behind us, blocking any traffic from hitting us, and two men got out to make sure we were okay. While we were stopped, I noticed a unmarked car pass us with what looked like uniformed officers inside. 

The man and women asked us to follow them, and they escorted us to our apartment. Once we safely arrived and met the owner of the apartment, they left. Maybe they were angels in disguise. Likely, they were regular humans that had seen more suffering than anyone should. Both of them carried themselves with a bearing of urgency that said they would have done anything to protect us. 

The owners of the apartment didn’t speak English, but they showed us around. Then they brought us something to drink and sat down to a Google Translate conversation. After a good night of rest, they drove me to the ATM to get local cash, and showed me the location of the main tourist location. 

Beauty, mystery, and pain possess the conflicted land of Bosnia and Herzegovina. Christians, Muslims, Serbs, Croatians, Bosniaks, war criminals, and humanitarian heroes live within its borders. Mountains and rivers that once soaked up vast amounts of innocent blood now refresh tourists with their beauty. Big-hearted humans bless strangers with incredible hospitality. The country now lies under a shaky peace, awaiting the eternal peace of the new earth and the restoration of all things. 

~Re-post from this blog: Mountain Reflections