The rages of Mr. O'Connell
Trip Start
Jun 24, 2011
1
12
21
Trip End
Jul 14, 2011
Where I stayed
Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
With the map and the guidebook at the ready and Robot sure of our destination it was time to go. I was eagerly on the lookout for any monuments or sites of significance, though it is quite a challenge as the signage is poor (or non-existent) and often in cryillic. Spotting a landmark sign (brown backing with the name and an icon of the feature) I swerved off the main road, down into the valley and across a low bridge, and back up the hillside to the town of Ravno. I had been in the hunt for the St Paul and Peter's Monastery - alas this national treasure would elude me but fortunately I stumbled upon something just as spectacular.
Driving down a hazardous path I came across a vehicle I had spotted earlier in Ravno sitting outside a small hut on the side of the mountain. I was greeted by two guides (one of whom was an English teacher and translator for the other) who informed me that I was at the Vjetrenica Caves and that a tour was expected to take off at 11am. After a time it became apparent the busload of Serbian geriatrics would not arrive and so donning a helmet I headed off for my own private tour.
The Vjetrenica Caves are an incredible geological and ecological marvel; considered the richest cave in the world in terms of biological diversity, it is a massive complex that has been explored for up to 7km in length and is expected to end on an island off the coast of Croatia some 20 kilometers away! The entrance to the cave is marked with some medieval cave drawings; a rich man used to summer in the cave entrance because of its natural air-conditioning system - Vjetrenica means 'wind cave' and a gust of wind blows constantly out of the mouth of the cave. Walking through, I was witness to some fascinating geological features created by the leeching of minerals and the carving of a river that once flowed through the area. The real experience, however, was witnessed right near the end of the tourist walk (some 350 metres into the earth). A long, thin, blind type of axolotl is endemic to this cave system and is known as the 'human fish' and I was fortunate enough to watch one swimming in a shallow pool. Its extremely protected status meant no photos but it was still an amazing experience to observe an incredibly rare creature in its natural environment. My two guides were more interested in the tiny colourless shrimp (all creatures in the cave are either colourless or black) sharing the pond as they had never seen one before in all their years. Walking back out I was treated to a song in the chamber known as the 'Amphitheater' becuase of its acoustic excellence.
After that overwhelming experience I was pointed in the direction of the Zavala Monastery on the top of the cliff, so I bade my guides a fond farewell and headed up to take a peek. I was greeted by an elderly monk at the gates who was quite surprised to find out I was an Australian ("Sydney!") and scurried off to find a younger English-speaking monk to show me around. The monastery had a quaint, ancient church that had similar decorations on the interior to the temple on the peak in Trebinje, though they were much more worn with the busy use of the residents. The monastery also had a small prayer area in a shallow cave in the cliff, as well as some stone bells that would ring a chorus throughout the surrounding ranges. After taking the time to experience the views and collect my thoughts, I found the younger monk again and we sat drinking some juice and conversing for half an hour; he not only gave me a brief explanation of the monastery's history and the patron Saint who visited the monastery is his youth (I didn't have my notepad to record his name), he also told me what he knew of the experiences of one of the gardener's cousins who escaped to Australia as a refugee during the war.
With some directions to the following town and advice on some sites worth seeing, I waved goodbye to my gracious host and returned to the road to Mostar. After a quick lunch of meat at a 'restoran' (restaurant) it was off towards Stolac, which would be the last significant city before my destination. Just outside of Stolac I got my first glimpse of a sign indicating the presence of BiH's most well known landmark - a minefield. The hills around the town are littered with them and upon reaching the city it was sobering to see the clear evidence of war written across the abandoned buildings; bullet gouges, artillery holes and decaying homes and buildings spoke of an unimaginably violent experience. Overlooking the city is a decaying ruined fortress, and on the outskirts I found a magnificent collection of stecci made in bright, white stone and covered in intricte patterns and motifs of hunters (For my tomb I want a giant slab of stone painstakingly hand-carved with the image of a warrior-poet slaying a bear with an epitaph that reads "Died Tragically Rescuing His Family From The Wreckage Of A Destroyed Sinking Battleship" {they are my expressed legal wishes - don't question them, just follow to the letter}).
The drive on to Mostar was again an easy one (I literally have non idea what the speed limit is; I'm either speeding like everyone else or sticking to the speed limit, so I just sporadically change between going incredibly fast and frustratingly slow to help the odds of beating the traffic police) and the entrance to the famed city surprisingly underwhelming - as I was entering from the opposite direction to usual tourists I figures it was the industrial drive and decided to reserve judgment until later.
The following period of time, about two hours, has been titled "The Drama Of Finding The Hostel: or, Screaming at Robot". Upon following the aural directions of the navigator to the (apparent) location of the hostel I ended up in a short street in a residential area. A quick search of the area was quite sufficient to determine the hostel was not in the vicinity; widening my search parameters I wandered a few blocks in every direction and stopped the occasional resident but still did not have any luck. Another quick drive around the area did not reveal this mysterious abode (with a sailor's worth of expletives being hurled at Robot, who was out of arm's reach and infuriatingly insistent that I forever "take next left... take next left... take next left...") and so I once more deposited the car and headed to the location of the Bus Station (also a blasted mission to locate) to attempt finding the lodgings using the Internet directions supplied. Winding up vaguely in the same spot and seeing the Salmon did not exactly elicit excitement, but after a time I managed to get enough of an explanation from neighbours that the supposed address referred to one of the housing blocks. After another detailed search I managed to find a sign that indicated my painstakingly searched-for destination - a piece of A4 paper on which the name of the hostel was blandly printed. It turns out that the place is secreted in a regular housing estate and is but a modified large apartment. After a period of ringing the bell and waiting, and repeating, I was greeted by a bewildered Korean who - with minimal English skills - informed me the hostel owner was not home. Happy in the knowledge I had at least found the damnable place, I wandered to the closest pub to sink a few much-needed beers to calm the rage. End scene.
Spirits on the mend, I took the opportunity to wander towards the Old Town and discover why this place was one of the most famous the country had to offer. As expected, it was postcard perfect; the cobbled streets and tightly woven stone houses were picturesque and Stari Most, the most famous bridge in the country and perhaps BiH's national icon, was spectacular. A 27 metre drop into the deep waters below, the Old Bridge was reconstructed identically after being destroyed in the war and now is a heritage listed site. I began to walk the streets some more when Thunder cracked overhead and I came to realise the once-perfect skies had turned a turbulent grey. The dash was on but the weather won out. After giving it some time the clouds did not relent, so a showering walk home was in order. Waiting at a set of traffic lights, my failure to spot the gigantic pool of water beside the curb left me comically soaked head-to-toe after a van passed by; the problem with storing paper currency in one's pockets is that it has a habit of getting quite flimsy when wet.
Returning to the hostel I was greeted by the manager and the hospitably warm greeting more than made up for my reservations with the difficulty of finding the joint earlier in the day. A delicious cappuccino and a name tag for my bed made, I met my roommates (two guys from Holland) and enjoyed the company of relatively good English speakers for the first time in a number of days. With the rain bucketing down the opportunity was made to kill some time and plug out a significant journal entry for the day.
Showers eased and, after borrowing a small umbrella, I returned to the Old Town to find a place to eat recommended by the hostel manager. The search proved difficult as the map was utterly incorrect; a fact confirmed when, after ages spent walking in every direction, I stumbled upon the eatery at the same time my two new mates from Holland did (they had also had a nightmare of a time following the supplied directions). We ate and chatted, and eventually moved to a little pub right on the river looking up towards Stari Most. The more confident of the two told me his plans with the hostel manager to jump off there the following day; up until now I had not thought it possible for tourists and the idea now burned as an obsessive spark in my brain. After thinking on the subject for the briefest of times I shook hands with my offsider and vowed to join him in this most exciting (and dangerous - there are so many news articles about tourists dying from the fall, the strong currents or incorrect technique) of activities for the following day.
Heading home and crashing out was an easy task after a full day, especially with the promise of glory (or tragedy) awaiting me the following day. Here's hoping it all works out safely!
Comments
certainly a significant journal entry today-ease up on the level of risk taking as we do not want to have to follow your explicit instructions re your desires for a tomb.
What's the beer like? Jumping from bridges is not wise!!