In which we mistake a private residence for a pub, with disastrous consequences.

October 2023. Tuzla. Bosnia Herzegovina.

Only just gone 6pm, and we seemed to have exhausted the joys of Bosnia’s third biggest city, bar the mosques.

But just beyond the central square lay one last chance at craft beer redemption for Tuzla.

The Jazz Caffe (crazy name) promised local bottles in a cosy and charming outdoor area.

To be honest I was past it, but as usual Mrs RM insisted, perhaps eyeing up the views for her own imminent blog.

The main square, just past the bars and graffiti, was packed with families eating pizza and ice cream.

I felt we should have had something unpronounceable for £3.50 in the square as well, but no.

The Jazz Caffe is tucked away behind the tower blocks and quaint wooden houses,

and looked exactly like you’d expect from that description, quirky and homely, bit like that Belgrade bar.

Is that a Cuban flag ?

A young chap drinking a beer at the table saw us taking a photo and waved us in.

Ooh, is that a swing. It’s like that trendy bar in Skopje. Mrs RM made a mental calculation about whether I would take an incriminating photo if she sat on that seat.

I looked for a bar.

“Can I help you ?” said the man.

“Do you have Bosnian craft beer” I said, pathetically, unsure even whether I was in Bosnia.

“This is a private house” he said, completely bemused.

“Oh, not the Jazz Caffe then ?“

He pointed across the road, and we ran. He didn’t call the police.

The Jazz Caffe, set back from the little lane, was unexpectedly closed, and in the absence of a What Pub for the Balkans I couldn’t even deduce the wrong opening hours.

We called it a night, admiring the sunset.

It really did look a bit special.

But I wish we’d bought that huge bag of crisps in the minimarket.

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Published by retiredmartin

Retired NHS, doing long walks around UK and the world to record the great bits. Focused on Good Beer Guide pubs and live music.

7 thoughts on “In which we mistake a private residence for a pub, with disastrous consequences.”

    2. Paul, my then companion and I were once invited to a party in deepest Yorkshire, in a terrace of cottages. We burst in through the nearest door to the window through which we could see the revelry, wine bottles waving in hands.

      “How lovely of you to drop in”, said the couple relaxing before their TV. “Pour one for us too, will you?”

      We were beginning to have a very civilised evening before they explained that the party was next door.

      That was almost next door to the Standard Of Freedom too, a pub exactly as you describe.

      (I always think of that disastrous ferry with that name)

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      1. Etu,
        I’ve looked it up and that pub boasts a “Return tray” and is “Cask Marque Accredited” so maybe I’ll get to Halifax in the spring.
        I best knew pubs exactly as I described in Uttoxeter but that’s because I made the serious mistake of going there in my thirties and forties. In my sixties I’m made very welcome throughout the town.

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  3. On Stockport and South Manchester CAMRA’s Mild Magic promotion a few years back the address of Reasons to be Cheerful in Burnage was misprinted as that of a private house about half a mile away. Most people realised the mistake when they got there and just asked a passing local for directions to the pub, but apparently a couple did actually knock to check.

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