I was hoping I could take Basil Fawlty's advice. I thought that perhaps I could wax lyrical only about how beautiful Bosnia is, how kind the people, how interesting the cities. But that would leave a rather large elephant sitting in the room. I'm a tourist - I see first what is dramatically different when compared with home. The subtleties, if they come, come later.
I have to mention the war.
We approach Bosnia through Croatia. Our first few Croatian days are relaxing ones. First, a visit to what feels like the Croatian Hotel California. A spa resort with thermal pools and 'Croatia's biggest sauna complex', it seems like the perfect way to relax tired muscles. In the height of summer it might be teeming, but on the cusp of autumn, we have the run of the place to ourselves. We spend an evening floating alone in glamourous swimming pools beneath what looks like the roof of a school gymnasium, Bon Jovi's greatest hits blasting.
Then, a couple of days relaxing in a campground by a river at Duga Resa with a young German couple. Matt swims. I read. We all adopt a haunted looking black dog who slinks around the edges of the campsite. He is the first of many stray dogs to come.
From Duga Resa we cycle to Bihac in Bosnia, which we have been told is beautiful. The approach towards the Bosnian border is through rolling fields and tiny villages. At first, they look like places where people are comfortable. Chickens in the yards. Apple trees. Gardens. As we ride on, however, more and more of the houses are deserted and riddled with bullet holes. For some reason, I had expected more of this once we crossed the orange line on our map into Bosnia, but it starts far earlier. For some reason, I expect it to worsen when we do pass through the border crossing, queuing up on our bicycles behind cars and tractors. But it isn't. We cross the border into Velika Kladusa, and the streets are bursting with school children on their lunch breaks. There are fruit stalls, bakeries that smell fabulous, and the call to prayer cutting through it all. This lively city is not what I had expected.
Bihac, too, feels busy. A pretty town on the Una River, which is a popular rafting destination. Although it looks like people are doing o.k, there are still burnt out buildings between houses on otherwise normal suburban streets. We go out for dinner. Even before we have ordered, our waiter has already told us about his ambition to get away from Bihac and work on cruise ships. He is about 23 and looks like Hercules. He tells us that even though he has just finished university and is a qualified rafting guide, there is nothing for him in Bosnia.
'The rich have too much. The poor have not. It doesn't matter if you are a good person. There is nothing for me here.'
He asks where we are off to next. We tell him about our travels. He laughs. 'God bless you. You're crazy.'
From Bihac, we go to Sanski Most, and then on to historic Jajce, which has fortifications still standing that were used (unsuccessfully) to fight off the Ottoman's in the 1400's. On the way we stop for some pretty good coffee at little coffee shops where you can have coffee or rakia or beer. That's it. Food is definitely not on the menu. At one, we are talked at by an elderly man with a face like a walnut. His companion explains several times that we can't understand. We look apologetic, but he carries on, waving his arms wildly, until suddenly his face lights up with realisation.
'Ah - they're Slovenian!'
Yes. That would be it.
Riding in Bosnia is different to the riding we have done so far. While we would normally look for the smallest roads because they are quiet, here we are better off on the freeways because they're sealed. When Matt looks at the map and comments that he thinks we might struggle to find somewhere for a coffee and a break, I point out a cluster of houses on a nearby hill and suggest confidently that we must be able to get a coffee there. Here, houses do not necessarily equal people. There is no-one here, and trees push their way through the floors of the buildings which no longer have roofs.
Despite all this, Bosnia is genuinely beautiful. The ride along the River Una is stunning (just don't step off the asphalt...) Autumn is coming, and the hills are turning red. The coffee is good. The beer is good. The people we speak to are friendly, and while we get stared at alot, a wave and smile gets one back.
