‘You’re going where?‘ someone had said to me before we set off. ‘Why would anyone want to go to Bosnia?’ they continued… well, why not? Mostar is about an hour and a half from Dubrovnik by bus, so it’s not as if we have to travel hours and hours…

We caught an early bus out of Dubrovnik, and were in Mostar by about 10.30am, having made unnecessary stops for coffee/toilet breaks for just a 90 minute journey, but we were getting used to this – the stop is clearly a bus drivers hangout where the staff already know their order and having it almost waiting for them when they arrive. The drivers plonk themselves at a table; wolf down whatever they have been given by the restaurant staff, and the bus leaves when they are finished, and not after any kind of regular allotted time. The trick (I’ve discovered), is to sit near the drivers, and watch them like a hawk for signs of movement.

I had expected the border crossing to be difficult and lengthy. As it was, after about 5 minutes, the bus was simply waved through – no checks of passports, and no stamps either. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting, but something perhaps a little more rigorous at least.

After the border, there was a distinct change in the countryside. Not only did it seem to become more ruggedly beautiful, but the buildings lining the road more ramshackle and in many cases ruins. At regular intervals along the road there would be a handful of graves, with pictures of the deceased in military uniform. Sobering reminders (if the buildings were not enough) of recent conflict and a troubled nation.

Mostar’s bus station is behind the Cathedral and at the foot of half a dozen or so blocks of flats which bore scars of war. The flats were clearly occupied, and in no way falling down or derelict or anything, but had clear and obvious bullet holes giving more reminders of the events of 15 years ago.

As we walked from the bus station to the town, those reminders because more and more pronounced and vivid. Like Belgrade, not all war damaged buildings have been cleared – in one case, facing a busy road was the shell of a house – without it’s roof – riddled with bullet holes that from a distance had made it look as if it was pained white with black polka-dots. The reality up close was grim, and I wonder why it’s been left standing. People were walking by and not seeing what was there. Do you become desensitised to it when you’ve lived it?

There are few buildings leading up to the old town which have escaped damage. Most are pockmarked with holes which hold a morbid fascination which you don’t want to look at, but can’t help yourself.

The old town was beautiful, and the people exceptionally welcoming. This is a country that recognises the value of a fledgling tourist trade which will help to bring prosperity back to it’s regions and raise awareness of its struggles.

Perhaps the most pointless act of the war, the destruction of the Old Bridge built in the 1500’s by the Ottomans, has been made good by the building of a new bridge to the same design and the regeneration of its surrounding area between 1999 and 2004, with money donated by the USA, Spain, Turkey, Croatia, Italy and the Netherlands. The new bridge stands proud over the river Neretva, and is a remarkable testament to what’s both good and bad about the coming together of nations.

We had a short walking tour of Mostar, given by a guide who was 8 when the war started, and was evacuated to Croatia with her family and housed in a sports stadium with hundreds of other people. After 9 months or so, when the money ran out to feed them, all the evacuees were sent back to war torn Bosnia to fend for themselves in the remaining half of the conflict. She bares no malice, has both Muslim and Christian friends, and told the stories of that troubled time with dispassionate fact. Meeting people like Katya makes you wonder how you would deal with the trauma of living through war.

We wished by the end of the day that we were staying the night here. It would have been so easy to get the bus straight to Split from Mostar, but we still had the hostel booked in Dubrovnik. I’m again frustrated by having to preplan because we aren’t free to travel where the mood takes us.

Mostar and Bosnia & Herzegovina has been a revelation. Beautiful, scarred, welcoming, and emerging. I’ll never forget this place for what it has taught me about my own life and how lucky we are to be unburdened by such tragedy.