Two girls in hijabs with tan skin and almond-shaped eyes hold a selfie stick. They snap several photos on the apex of the iconic Mostar Bridge. They giggle uncontrollably, then run back to a large tour group, where they show the photos to their significant others. After they take more pictures, their tour guide hurries them across the bridge.
Today is Easter Sunday in Mostar, Bosnia. The historic Old Town teems with Muslim tourists. Yet most of them have Asiatic features and dark skin. The language they speak is sing-song, without the harsh, guttural tones of Arabic languages.
I can only guess from this that most of these tourists come from Indonesia, which has the largest Muslim population in the world.
Welcome To The Catholic Ghost Town
When The Russian and I got off the bus from Sarajevo, Mostar was dead silent. The bus station is in the city’s Catholic part, so we figured Easter Sunday was the reason for the emptiness. We wanted to eat; no restaurants were open. We couldn’t snack anywhere; no shops were open. Outside of the renovated, tourist-friendly Old Town, bullet holes, structural damage and neglect from the 1990s wars still marred the city. An overcast sky and light drizzle complemented the gloominess.
We quickly labeled it “The Catholic Ghost Town.”
First, I insisted we go to the tallest building in Mostar. This seven-story structure was meant to be a corporate bank, and was completed right when war broke out. Consequently, it received massive shelling, and all that remains now is its hollow concrete frame. Due to its unfortunate history, it has been dubbed “The Titanic.” It is a tragic shipwreck, but it has the best views of the city.
I had learned this on my first trip to Mostar seven years ago. Some Bosnians and I had enjoyed rakija and many hours taking in a slow sunset from atop The Titanic. Now, I assured The Russian that she could take a thousand pictures on top of the building. Since she enjoyed photos of urban decay, the wrecked shell itself would also make an interesting subject.
The Titanic Gets Cement Life Jackets
As it turned out, this part of town did get one significant renovation. The Titanic’s first floor was completely walled off. Every access point which lead to the stairs had a stack of cement blocks plastered over it to prevent entry. Morbidly, I wondered how many people had to die falling off of The Titanic to warrant them building these cement life jackets.
In an aesthetic attempt to plaster over the plastered-over walls, the entire first floor became an improvised Peace Memorial. Murals depicted peaceful objects such as doves, rainbows and (surprise) peace signs. Various rather cliched tags, like, “We are all living under the same sky,” “Love Over Hate,” and, “One Love, One Heart,” surrounded the murals.
It was a good motive, but there was no explanation. It was too noble and organized of a project to be the work of random taggers. Was this the work of the city? Revolutionary students? Foreign NGOs?
We left The Titanic and continued walking through the empty streets.
Finding the Old Town was difficult. Literally, there was no one around who we could ask for directions. At one point, we realized we were returning to the bus station. We were lost. And still alone.
Eventually, we came across one man walking his dog. He looked as pleased as we were to find life in this urban graveyard. His energetic dog was even happier to see us. The man explained that on Easter Sunday, in addition to family obligations, many pious Catholics had left on pilgrimage to the nearby holy site of Medjugorije. We idly chatted while he guided us to the Old Town.
When we reached a small bridge, which crossed into the Old Town, he bid us a (maybe too fond) farewell.
Muslim Easter Sunday In Mostar, Bosnia Is Better In Old Town
Ahead, we could hear the hum of crowds and see tourists milling about, snapping pictures. It was a welcome sight after the past few hours in the vacant Catholic Ghost Town. For the Muslim tourists and locals, this Easter Sunday was just another ordinary day. For me, I felt a touch of sadness knowing that I was missing an Easter with my family on the other side of the world.
Here, everything was open. We broke our long fast at a restaurant overlooking the arch of the Mostar Bridge. The food was standard Balkan cuisine, and we enjoyed the people-watching more. Most of the tourists were Muslim, but Asian. They had the same proclivities as many Asian tourists: carrying excessively large cameras, snapping excessive numbers of pictures and getting excessively excited at the most mundane things.
With her massive telescope camera, the irony was not lost on The Russian, who commented that she is from Eastern Russia.
The best photos of Mostar Bridge are at the riverbank, from below the bridge. After lunch, we took some wide haphazard stairs down to the gravel shores. I recalled my last time here, seven years ago: a wild night of guitar playing, singing and drinking with a group of American student volunteers. It ended with my guitar broken on the Mostar Bridge, and shot me on the trajectory which resulted in me living in The Balkans.
For another time. We’re dog tired and need a beer break.
Craft Beer In Mostar At Black Dog Pub
Mostar is not without craft beer. When we finished snapping pictures, we went to The Black Dog Pub. The Black Dog Pub, owned by a Bosnian repatriated from the USA, is down a stone path by a small, peaceful creek which flows into the Old Town’s Neretva River. In addition to an extensive list of Bosnian craft beer bottles, they have live music, and it’s a principle venue for touring bands.
Once in the bar, I immediately inquired for their local craft, OldBridz, which I had drank at a festival in Serbia and enjoyed. Unfortunately, it was not available. A handful of unfamiliar beers were chalked on the wall menu.
Another Belgrade friend, a bartender from Cigla I Krigla, was in Mostar. He and his friends joined The Russian and I at Black Dog Pub. While they all spoke in Serbian, I struggled to understand. It didn’t help that the beers I drank were all mediocre.
First, there was a local brewery, Mostarsko Pivo, which makes a decent, sweet Amber Ale. There were also two Herzegovinian regional breweries: Lovac Pivovara and Livijansko Pivo. Later, I tried a Lovac Porter, whose only resemblance to porter was its color. No other good beer was had on that most Holy Easter Sunday in Mostar, Bosnia.
I spent that Easter evening trying to understand my Serbian friends and praying that, if Jesus truly had risen from the dead today, then could he maybe turn my watery beer into (barley)wine?
For a guide to craft beer in Sarajevo and Mostar click: here
