This is a blog about my trip from London to Bosnia and Herzegovina complete with photos, some practical information and some humorous tales.
My trip started in the early hours of the morning on an unassuming Monday in May at St. Pancras International Departures, a curious mix between an airport and a train station, bustling with a curious mix of business people and backpackers. After being transported to the platform level on a futuristic travelator, I boarded the 6:16 am eurostar train to Amsterdam. For most of the journey I saw the insides of my eyelids, but the flickers of Belgian and Dutch scenery were quite exciting. Time whizzed by and in just 3 hours and 16 minutes, I got off the train in the Netherlands' second largest city, Rotterdam.
I was travelling with 3 days left on an interrail pass and whilst the Eurostar and night trains require seat reservations, which I had booked in advance, everything in between was flexible. Europe's train networks were my oyster! Rotterdam is an interesting city and I had been a few years ago to look at some of the architectural highlights and harbour but was hoping to see the city in some sunshine. Instead, it was a pretty bleak day weatherwise and the city itself (not just the people) looked completely hungover following a celebration of a momentous win for Feyenoord Rotterdam football club the night before. I soon tired of trapsing around the city with my bag so I headed back to Rotterdam Centraal Station and got on the next train to Gouda, a small city on the way to Amsterdam. Gouda was like being inside a postcard; everything in the small old centre was picturesque and quaint, and reminiscent of the romanticised portrayals of the Netherlands in children's books. The canals and town houses were quiet and pretty and the Molen De Roode Leeuw windmill looked particularly glorious among the spring flowers. Then it was time for me, my bag and a pack of Gouda cheese to board train number 3 of the day to Amsterdam.
All aboard the nightjet!
I find sleeper trains ridiculously exciting, so the fourth train of the trip from Amsterdam to Vienna was a real joy. Apart from the sheer excitement of them, sleeper trains are a good way to maximise travel with an interrail pass as the journey only counts on the day you start - I got from London to Vienna in 1 'travel day'. The cheapest option is to travel in a pretty well-equipped seating cabin with air con, curtains and ample space for luggage on the racks above the seats. The 6 fairly spacious seats are comfortable and reclinable, and if you're lucky you can lay claim to two parallel seats and make a nearly horizontal sleeping zone (photo below). There was just one other passenger in my cabin, who I had a nice chat with, which meant we both had a fair amount of space and quite a cosy set-up. I'll admit that my love of night trains does not extend to their toilets, but go equipped with tissues and antibac gel and you'll be just fine. You can pay more to travel in a bit more luxury in a couchette coach or a sleeper cabin, but for 14,29€ extra (the supplement needed for interrail pass holders), the seating carriage is a brilliant way to travel over 1,000 kilometres, save money on a hostel and have the fun of waking up in a new city.
As I had been to Vienna before, I just had a quick sit down by the station before heading to Graz. I didn't know much about Austria's second largest city but it was en route and looked interesting. After leaving my bag in a locker (most Austrian and German train stations have locker storage facilities), I wandered into the old town over the Mur river, past the Kunsthaus Graz, an impressive out-of-this-world building, to the castle complex (Schlossberg). Across the road from the Murinsel, a curious metal and glass structure which appears to float on the river and holds a cafe and some art, I found an entrance to the castle. But not just any entrance. A cave-like walkway where you can ascend to the castle in a glass lift and then descend in the world's longest underground slide. The views from the clocktower on top of the hill are great and you can see across Graz to the mountains, and there are other interesting sights around the castle area too. But like a toddler, I was more preoccupied with the slide, which was hands down the highlight of my day! After sliding ridiculously fast down a small metal tube that twisted and turned around the inside of the hill, I was full of adrenaline and smiling to myself as I walked around Graz's picturesque main square before taking the tram back to the train station. I'd like to go back to Graz to look inside the many galleries and museums, explore more of the old town and just maybe go down the slide again.
The trains from Graz to Maribor were very uneventful. The rain and clouds concealed what is probably spectacular scenery on the route through South Eastern Austria into North Eastern Slovenia. This photo is from Spielfeld-Strass, close to the Slovenian border, where I disembarked the very snazzy, spotless, red and white striped ÖBB train to hop on an equally smart and comfortable Slovenian train complete with white, blue and black stripes.
Maribor feels more like a small town than the second largest city of a European nation, but considering that Slovenia's population isn't much over 2 million, I suppose it's not a huge surprise. The red-topped roofs and historic sites across the city are set on the lovely Drava river and amongst rolling vineyards and hills. The city itself has a lot to offer too; there are a number of museums, religious buildings, galleries and a very, very old vine tree. I thoroughly enjoyed the small exhibition in the not-so-creatively named 'Old Vine House' and reading about the niche tradition of Slovenia's wine queens. Just along the river and in the cobbled old town is Maribor's old Synagogue which holds information on the symbolic history of the building, harrowing stories of the city's Jewish population over the centuries and an exhibition about women in the holocaust. Whilst not an easy read, the tragic and troubling sides of history are important layers in order to understand a place. The Maribor Regional Museum, which is housed in the city's castle, added to my understanding of the city and nation but it deals with history up until the early 20th century and felt a bit cherry-picked and glossy (think oil paintings of aristocrats, a plaster cast of Liszt's hand and lacquered furniture). There is definitely a grittier side to Maribor and its history, as documented in the nearby Museum of National Liberation and evident in the Pekarna Cultural Centre, an area which was taken over by the Yugoslav People's Army and upon their departure, squatted by various groups. If you're staying for a few days in Maribor, you could easily alternate gritty history with hiking, going on a wine tour and checking out the array of outdoor activities.
Dobova. Dobova, Dobova.
Despite my earlier outburst of unequivocal love for sleeper trains, I can't deny that sometimes they don't quite go to plan. Although I find sleeper trains ridiculously exciting, they can also sometimes be ridiculously tiring - and just downright ridiculous. All of which was the case for my journey from Maribor. In case you didn't know, Dobova is a small town on the border of Slovenia and Croatia. It would have been useful to know this myself before being directed there by a man who reminded me of the fat controller from Thomas the Tank Engine at 11.30pm at night - an hour and a half after my supposedly direct night train to Split was due to arrive in Maribor. For the best part of half an hour, I had sat tight and wondered when the elusive night train would pick me up and whisk me away on a comfy reclined seat. When the train's tardiness was starting to make me twitch, I asked the man in a train conductor's uniform on the platform if he spoke any English and knew what was going on with the train. His reply was a mixture of Slovenian, English and sighs, and included the words 'Dobova, change, Split' - the first (and certainly not last) time I heard of this small border town. It was still unclear what was actually happening, but I assumed the night train would arrive and then we would transfer to another train at the border. So I was very confused when one of the local blue, white and black striped trains arrived and the fat controller whistled at me to get on. "Dobova", he said. "Dobova, to Split?" I asked. "Dobova" he said.
After that thrilling and unenlightening conversation, I started planning some back-up scenarios should I end up in Dobova and my sleeper train not appear. When Jack, an Australian lad with a backpack almost as tall as him, joined me in the carriage with a face that looked like it had just been told to get on a train with a splattering of the word "Dobova", I was very relieved. At least I have company and won't be alone if the sleeper train doesn't show up, I thought. As more backpackers joined the train, we all morphed from independent humans to a herd of pack animals, sticking together and muttering the same place name - Dobova.
When we arrived at Dobova, our collective sigh of relief lasted a split second before remembering that our destination was in fact Split - many many kilometres away. And the sleeper train was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately, Dobova has a charming white clinical waiting room with a few benches, toilets and a vending machine enclosed in a metal cage-like contraption. When filled with sleep-deprived backpackers from over 5 different countries, this bleak room livened up somewhat. A couple of hours, many conversations, snacks, and strolls along the platform later, the train to Split eventually came. The room returned to its bleak state in a matter of minutes as an each-for-their-own survival instinct kicked in and the pack of backpackers quickly dispersed and bobbed along the platform to the train's doors.
At 3am, sleep-deprived and perhaps a little too optimistic, I expected my seat to be empty and smiling at me, finally ready to embrace me and whisk me away to Split. Instead, the carriage I had my seat booked in had luggage and limbs strewn all over the place and six snoozing and salivating open mouths taking up the six seats. Although I was at the end of my tether, I didn't dare wake anyone up deliberately in case they barked at me like I bark at people who wake me up at ridiculous hours of the morning. Fortuitously, a very kind and admirable teacher who had travelled from Germany with a group of teenage school-children, started to round up his group in preparation for their departure in Zagreb. I took the first seat going and after a few hours and some decent snoozing, I woke up to be greeted by the Adriatic sea and rolling green hills. It was all worth it and despite the Dobova drama, lack of sleep and slight chaos, I would do it again. It has by no means tarnished my love of night trains, but has made me realise that travelling from the starting station to the end destination of a night train route has its benefits.
Practical information: In theory, this train runs from Bratislava to Split, stopping at Vienna, Graz, Maribor and Zagreb on the way. It only runs from mid-June to mid-September on Tuesday and Friday evenings. I believe the diversions and changes on my journey were a result of a landslide in Austria, and were only a temporary issue, so you should be fine at other times! If traveling with an interrail pass, you are required to book a seat reservation in advance (these trains do sell out!). I booked mine with ÖBB, the Austrian national train handler, who had notified me on the day of travel that the train was running late but failed to share any information about the change of service from Maribor and route via Dobova. I have since made them aware of that (and my feelings about it) in a lengthy email and got some compensation. This is sometimes just the nature of travelling and part of the adventure, but it highlights the importance of being somewhat clued up on the area you're visiting and local travel options so that you could safely fend for yourself if needed.
Split
Split is the most touristy place I visited, but it is understandable why hoards of people flock to this coastal town every summer. The impressive mix of architecture from different eras is a feast for the eyes. You can get lost in the picturesque cobbled streets of the Veli Varos neighbourhood, where my homely hostel 'Wonderful World' was located, then emerge in Diocletian's palace before going through an archway and seeing the sparkly blue sea. Along the promenade there is a scenic and easy-to-walk route to Marjan hill, which offers a welcome forested and green area as well as paths leading down to secluded beaches. I set up camp on Kasjuni beach for a couple of hours, swam in the clear Adriatic sea, sat on the beach and took in the scenery. As I meandered back to the centre of Split over Marjan Hill, the sun was setting and the sky descended into an array of pastel colours. The only interruption to this peaceful view were the party boats in the bay blurting out club music and sending ripples across the otherwise still water. But as I watched the ripples of the sea behind one of the party boats heading back to the port, I spotted a pod of dolphins jumping through the water as if to wave goodbye to the party and reclaim what is theirs.
Whilst I would definitely go back to Split and would like to explore some of the nearby islands, I think Croatia has too much of the tourism limelight in comparison to other former Yugoslavian nations. Popular Croatian destinations are undeniably beautiful, but I'm still not convinced that their beauty is worth the crowds and expense compared to lesser-known locations in neighbouring countries.
The long ride to Sarajevo
I had many things to be thankful for on this coach trip. I was very thankful I had bought a giant pizza slice at Split bus station before I left, which somewhat kept me going for the 7 hour ride. I was thankful I can speak German and could converse with the Bosnian lady sat next to me, who bestowed upon me her opinions about post-Yugoslavian nations and borders, gambling, parenthood, work, religion and philosophy. I was thankful I don't speak Bosnian when she (not very subtly) talked about me to the girls opposite. I was verbally thankful to her when she repeatedly offered me vodka from 2pm (even after I had declined) and offered me a rakija shot at the break at the service station (which didn't happen in the end - thankfully). I was genuinely thankful that she looked out for me at the service station and didn't let the bus leave without her new freckled friend (although I was not so thankful that she had told me the break was half an hour, when it was actually just shy of 10 minutes). I was artificially thankful to her after declining her offer of marrying her son and moving to Croatia. And I was wholeheartedly thankful when she mistook me wanting to look at the view and not talk as me needing a nap. So she moved seats to 'let me sleep' - and have a nap herself.
When my new friend was napping, I was thankful to take in the beautiful, rolling countryside in peace as we travelled further into Bosnia and Herzegovina. And after 7 long hours, I was extraordinarily thankful when we arrived in Sarajevo.
Practical information: There are a number of buses running from Split to Sarajevo, and given it is quite a popular route both for tourists and locals, I'd recommend buying a ticket in advance. It's easy enough to buy from the bus station or 'centrotrans' office at Split's central bus station. The ticket costs 25-30 euros, plus a euro or two for luggage. The bus stops off in numerous towns on the way to Sarajevo, some of which looked worth a visit, such as Travnik. From Travnik, it is an easy journey to Sarajevo in one direction, or Jajce and Banja Luka in the other. Whichever route you do, don't rely on a Balkan bus arriving on time and make sure to leave time between connections, if you're planning any.
Sarajevo
Sarajevo is hard to put into words, and words will never be able to do justice to its history, sights, beauty, people, food and atmosphere. It is a unique city where 'East meets West', where past and present are side by side, and where a mosque, church and synagogue all proudly stand in the same neighbourhood. There is something about the city which is truly enchanting.
The Old Town is an endearing maze of little streets with shops and stalls selling their wares, keeping the long history of craftsmanship in the city very much alive. There are also plenty of eateries and I had a fine feast of Burek in Sač, a small buregdžinica (an eatery with Burek), where staff work next to a charcoal fire and weigh every portion of Burek you order on proper scales before handing you your serving on a round metal plate. As well as crafts and food, the Old Town is full of museums, galleries, historical sites and religious buildings. The Gazi Husrev-beg Mosque is one the most significant Islamic building in the country, and it is definitely worth a visit to marvel at the Ottoman Islamic architecture and surround yourself with the sense of tranquillity inside.
Away from the Old Town, I ascended Mount Trebević by cable car to visit the abandoned site of the bobsled track from the 1984 Winter Olympics. The cable car itself is an exciting ride and a great way to see the city from above and be reminded that Sarajevo is surrounded by lush hills. From the top, you can enjoy a coffee in the snack bar with panoramic views of the city and wander to the slightly eery graffiti-covered bobsled track which winds through the woods.
Another beautiful spot to see Sarajevo from above is the Yellow Fortress, which is a popular place to watch the sunset. Although I didn't stay for the sunset, the city was illuminated in glorious golden shades as the clock ticked into the late afternoon. As I walked back to the Old Town from the Yellow Fortress, I paid a visit to the Martyrs Memorial Cemetry Kovači, the main cemetery for soldiers from the Bosnian army who died during the Bosnian war, victims of the siege of Sarajevo (the longest siege of a capital city in the history of modern warfare), and Alija Izetbegovic, the first President of an independent Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina. To read the names of so many people, many of whom were younger than 40 years old, really brought home just how horrific the war was. The War Childhood Museum does an excellent job of conveying some of the realities of the war and Siege of Sarajevo, through first hand stories and personal objects related to childhood. Some of the stories were heart-wrenching and unimaginable to someone whose childhood was worlds away from a warzone. And others highlighted our shared humanity and the commonalities between children around the world.
There is so much more to say about Sarajevo, but this section definitely wouldn't be complete without mentioning the friendliness of everyone I met. Whether it was staff in the bus station or a museum who were friendly and helpful, traders who were not pushy in the slightest, the receptionist at the brilliant gem of a hostel 'Hostel Kucha', or the waiter who helped me understand a menu, everyone I met in Sarajevo was genuinely kind. Whilst I would have happily stayed for a few more nights, I was eager to see some other places in Bosnia and Herzegovina so I bid farewell to this city knowing that one day I'll be back again.
Sarajevo to Jajce
I was the only obviously foreign tourist on the bus to Jajce from Sarajevo, which was a total contrast to the bus next to me at the station heading to Mostar (the famous town with the big bridge). It seems that most tourists who travel to Jajce do so on an organised tour which, although has its advantages, is far more expensive than the local bus and constrains the time you can spend in this magical place. The local buses provide a good service, leaving multiple times a day to transverse an important route connecting the capital with Travnik, Jajce and Banja Luka (the country's second largest city). It also happens to traverse some spectacular scenery and interesting sights. Given the popularity of the route, buses do sell out, so if you need a bus at a particular time it's worth heading to Sarajevo bus station in advance to book a ticket. If you end up needing to wait at the station for a few hours (as I did), head over to the restaurant just across from the station gently emitting smoke from its charcoal grill, for all the tender meat you could dream of.
Jajce
Jajce is a magical and unique town in the Pliva River Region in the North Central part of Bosnia and Herzegovina. The Pliva river spectacularly meets the Vrbas river at the foot of Jajce waterfall, which is a splash away from the old town. You can view the waterfall from a small road lined with little wooden huts selling souvenirs and other goodies and from a viewing platform which is worth the 4KM entry fee. The ticket for the viewing platform can be bought in combination with tickets to see other sites in the town too. Jajce is steeped in history and the curious cobbled-stone paths of the old town lead you to notable mosques, churches, catacombs and a medieval fortress. There is a peaceful and humble nature to Jajce's sights of interest, some of which - like the Esma Sultana mosque, which was demolished in 1993- are still undergoing renovations. A few cobbled streets away from this beautiful mosque, the remains of St Mary's church emerge among from a hill that also holds the foundations of semi-collapsed buildings wounded with bullet holes. If walls could talk, the fortress walls high above Jajce would have endless tales to tell but just stand peacefully among overgrown grass. The fortress offers incredible views of the town below and surrounding countryside, valley and river.
Along the Pliva river, by Pliva lakes, are the intriguing Ottoman watermills which at first appear like little wooden houses for fairytale woodland creatures. In fact, they were - and some still are - functioning watermills. This unique place is included in some organised day trips to Jajce from Sarajevo, but by driving to the watermills you miss out on the charming walk. From Jajce youth hostel (which I highly recommend), I set off on the road along the Pliva river for 5km with enthusiasm to reach the watermills and lakes. What I hadn't anticipated was that along the way, there are numerous little waterfalls, enchanted forests and picnic spots to stop at where you can take in the scenery and sit peacefully. Along the route, there is an area for swimming, a restaurant (Konoba Slapovi) for eating traditional Bosnian food, a wooden bridge through a magical woodland with a small waterfall, a small kiosk with seats and swings outside, and vivid greens and blues everywhere you look. The walk itself was a such a highlight! Bosnia and Herzegovina is a real gem, and Jajce is one of the facets that gives it a special twinkle.
Jajce to Banja Luka
The ride from Jajce to Banja Luka took under an hour and a half and cost under 10 euros. There is a regular service as it is along the Sarajevo - Travnik - Jajce - Banja Luka service. The route along the Vrbas canyon was beautiful and just added to my new found admiration for this area of the country. Although I couldn't take it all in as there's something very snooze-inducing about the light movement of a mini bus on a sunny day and the faint sound of a Balkan radio station.
Banja Luka
The city itself didn't have raving reviews from the couple of people I spoke to who had been there (mostly to arrive in the airport), but I am very glad I visited. It was a contrast to Jajce and added to my understanding and appreciation of the diversity of Bosnia and Herzegovina. The streets and roads feel more like in Western Europe, probably due to its years under Austro-Hungarian rule, but there are influences from many eras, cultures and religions across the city. I was expecting it to be a bit more touristy but only spotted one other obvious foreign tourist (map out and sun hat on), and the tourist office turned out to be not much more than a 4-sided billboard the size of a telephone box. The city is on the Vrbas river, a hotspot for water sports, and is home to an old fortress and posh riverside restaurant. The Cathedral of Christ the Saviour and the Ferhat Pasha mosque are some of the most-photographed sites of the city, both of which have been brutally destroyed in their lifetimes. Apart from seeing these sights, the main streets and the fortress, I didn't see a huge amount of the city. What I did see was very pleasant, but the day went quickly after passing the time chatting to people.
Banja Luka is the de facto capital of the Republika Srpska entity of Bosnia and Herzegovina, and you could almost be forgiven for wondering whether you had crossed the border into Serbia given the noticeable display of blue, red and white flags and signs with Cyrillic alphabet on. I say 'almost forgiven' because I think that foreign tourists have a responsibility to engage somewhat with the history and politics of the countries we visit. The existence of the entity of Republika Srpska is intrinsically linked with the politics and history of this beautiful country with a fractured past, and sometimes present. I wouldn't contemplate trying to summarise some of the complex history and politics here, but will just share a meaningful quote that a Bosniak guy said to me after talking about his childhood during the war: "everyone has their own history".
This quote rang true on my day in Banja Luka when I ended up getting into two very long and interesting conversations with locals. After trying to avoid her excitable puppy in the fortress, I got talking to Nora, a middle aged lady who was originally from Sarajevo but moved during the war and had since lived in Russia, the UK and Croatia, before moving back to Bosnia and Herzegovina. She reminisced fondly about Yugoslavia and getting married in Dubrovnik when her and her husband could easily travel there from Sarajevo. She clearly still holds wounds from the war and the changes over the last few decades, and said "I don't know why the war happened." Her eyes, buried in the wrinkles across her face from smoking 40 cigarettes a day, withered when she told me about all her family members scattered across the former nation, and beyond. And lit up when she spoke of her daughter who was coming to visit from the Netherlands on the weekend.
When I visited the Ferhat Pasha mosque, a few questions turned into a long conversation with a lovely guy who had been to the mosque as a child and remembered the day it was blown up in the war. He pointed out where some of the original stonework, still damaged from the brutal destruction, was incorporated into the new building. When I asked him how he felt when the mosque had been restored and re-opened in 2016, he said it was like pieces of his heart were coming back together. The mosque is beautiful and has an exquisite interior. But the inclusion of the old stones and display of original, damaged stonework outside, is a reminder that buildings, as well as people, across the nation have their own histories.
In many ways, this felt like the perfect ending to the trip to Bosnia and Herzegovina. I saw some beautiful scenery and buildings, spoke to friendly people and had some good food. As I strolled back to the bus station eating an ice cream, I had an instinct that this wouldn't be the last time I set foot in this country which knocks any previous expectations and preconceptions out of the gloriously turquoise water.
Banja Luka to Zagreb
I was not thankful for many things on this journey. I hadn't bought enough food or water with me. The bus had no air conditioning and in 30 degree heat it became a sweat-mobile. When we stopped for a short break, I was underwhelmed by Europe's number one border shop and the neighbouring café whose marquee was a fog of second hand smoke. I was just thankful that the scenery was relatively interesting and we arrived in Zagreb early, not adding any further delays to satisfying my increasingly urgent need for fresh air.
Zagreb and back to London
I had never slept overnight in an airport before and I agonised for a while about whether to do it or not. My plane left at 6am so I had two options: stay in a hostel in the centre of Zagreb and travel by taxi or bus at 3am, or head to the airport and stay there. I went with the option that felt most safe (and saved me 60 euros). I didn't know what the centre of Zagreb was like and didn't like the idea of navigating it at dusk when my brain was fried from hours on the sweat-mobile. The bus station, even during the daytime, seemed to have some dubious-looking people wandering around and wasn't somewhere I wanted to go alone at 3am, and waking up and leaving in hostels in the middle of the night can sometimes be a right faff. So, I figured that the airport, with its 24/7 security, clean facilities, fellow travellers and positive reviews on the site 'sleeping in airports', was my best option. And it was by far the best decision. I lay my travel towel down on the cold metal bench (which didn't have arm rests so was basically a bed), covered myself in my scarf, whipped out my travel pillow and eye mask and hours later, woke up and strolled to the security gate with time to spare. It was a 5-star airport stay, but let's just say that I didn't look like a 5-star traveller the morning after when I arrived in London in my jogging bottoms, disorientated by the onslaught of yellow numberplates on the left hand side of the roads...