The thing about most foreign holidays is that they are not particularly foreign. In most European locations, there’s not much of a sense of strangeness. You might not get a pot of tea, or you may have to ask for milk with the cup of tea you do get. Restaurants might offer slightly exotic local dishes, but there will also be pizza and spaghetti Bolognese. And there are few parts of our continent where you won’t be within rock-throwing distance of a Lidl.
Lovely as it is, Croatia is very much in this mould. Yet it is one of the few European holiday destinations where tumultuous events are within living memory: the war following the break-up of Yugoslavia.
Over the border – in Bosnia and Herzegovina – the reverberations of that recent history are still playing out. Nowadays, you might hear the country being mentioned only when they do the votes in the Eurovision. But during the 1990s it was Bosnia that gave the world a more widespread awareness of ethnic cleansing.
Myself, Herself and Daughter Number Four took a day trip from Croatia to the Bosnian city of Mostar: because we wanted Daughter Number Four to experience something a bit more foreign than she is used to, but also because it’s dramatically beautiful. Mostar is ringed by mountains, while the centre is full of winding lanes too narrow for vehicles. It’s a 15-minute city, built in the medieval era.
We wanted Daughter Number Four to experience something a bit more foreign. We got more than we bargained for
Kids’ lives are being constrained by their parents’ fears
Why is everyone lugging huge water bottles about? Perhaps I’m gifted with an astonishing ability to resist thirst
Misogyny is not wired into our DNA – it is something to be overcome
When we arrived, the old town was crammed and blisteringly hot, so we retreated to a cafe for cokes and air conditioning. The drive was supposed to have been two hours, but because of the curling roads and delays at the border, it was more like four. So we decided to stay the night.
It was easy to find a hotel with a swimming pool – prices in Bosnia are about half of the EU – and we were delighted with ourselves for taking a bold and spontaneous decision – while unaware of Mostar’s invisible divisions.
Tourists are essentially funnelled towards Mostar’s most famous landmark, the Stari Most, or Old Bridge. It was destroyed during the war, but rebuilt in the early years of this century. Tourists take selfies there and watch men jump into the Neretva River below. But that river is also a border. The west side of the city is Croat and Catholic, while the east side is Bosniak and Muslim. And they don’t mix much.
Oblivious to any of this, the hotel we arrived into was beside the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity. But we didn’t know it was a Serbian Orthodox Church. It still hasn’t been fully rebuilt since the war, partially because it’s been repeatedly vandalised. Not many Serbs live in Mostar.
Although it wasn’t what I anticipated, this was the foreign experience I’d wanted her to have
What we also didn’t realise was that we were in east Mostar, and were the only non-Muslims in the hotel. Daughter Number Four and I promptly went to the pool: where it was all men and boys, just hanging out in the water.
It felt distinctly odd: like we’d crashed a private party. Daughter Number Four repeatedly said: this is weird, though she couldn’t explain why. It took me a few minutes to cop on: Islam doesn’t do mixed bathing.
No one said anything about bringing a girl into the pool. No one glared disapprovingly. Any looks we got were kindly, but perhaps tinged with: you didn’t know?
Although it wasn’t what I anticipated, this was the foreign experience I’d wanted her to have, and did lead to a Q&A in the car the following morning about various religions and why the women have their heads covered.
Perhaps, when she’s an adult, she may go back there: though the chances are that, by then, it will have taken on more of that pan-European feel. When we decided to stay the night, we had to go shopping for a few bits. Mostar already has a Zara.