retiredmartin

October 2023. Sarajevo. Bosnia & Herzegovina.

The penultimate Bosnia post, which is a relief for me as much as you as I keep forgetting whether it’s Bosnia Herzegovina, or “&” or “and”. Wars start over these things; on Discourse anyway.

These days I prefer overseas tours to be less than a week as by the 7th day I’m worrying about Mum and Dad running out of lemon curd or losing WiFi or worse, and Sunday in Sarajevo was a final day we didn’t really need.

But we did take a more leisurely stroll round the bazaar, bought some baklava (imported from Turkey) to take home to Waterbeach (and then steal),

and admired the art in the newer part of town.

That art continues into our lunch stop Vucko (yeah, all we did was eat).

We didn’t do as much craft as crafty Duncan when he visited in 2018, but then Duncan is the trailblazer, and Vucko is certainly more mainstream,

with a hefty burger and Carlsberg trade.

The menu commemorates the winter Olympics of 1984 aka the Bolero Olympics, which dominates Sarajevo culture as fully as memories of the 1984 Garden Festival still holds Liverpool in thrall.

Rumours that Mrs RM and I will be attempting this routine on our 32nd wedding anniversary are just that.

We were running out of Bosnian currency by now and needed to save a few notes for an emergency beer at the airport, and I’d read the Vucko was cash only (the norm here), so we just had a couple if bottles whose prices implied they’d be the strongest.

Yes ! The Double IPA ! We seemed to be the only people drinking the local craft beers, possibly because at £3.50 for a 33cl bottle they’re relatively expensive when the German beers were £3 a half litre.

But all good, and the soundtrack was authentically local.

Mrs RM got in a strop that we couldn’t stay for another and some food just because of cash, and a chat with the server revealed they DID have a card machine, probably locked in the cellar.

“But I’m going off shift in 10 minutes, can you order quickly ?“. We could.

No idea whether that urgency was due to him getting commission on food sales, or some other bureaucratic issue, but we appreciated a proper meal (kebabs again) and smoked beer before our ascent to the ski slope.

I never did find out what that white stuff was on the pot plant,

and I don’t need to find out now, thanks.