Friday, October 26, 2018

The Classic Georgia Tour 2019: The Food, Wine and Culture of Georgia

Our 2020 itinerary is nearly ready! If you would like to join us, please send me a quick email at and I will make sure that you get the invitation / itinerary.


This will be the fourth time that we have offered this program, and we look forward to having you join us in September. Our groups are small and our aim is to take you away from the major tourist destinations to meet and experience the unique culture of this wonderful country located in the heart of The Caucasus. We will concentrate on introducing you to Georgia’s unique and passionate culture, and to visiting some of the most remarkable countryside in Europe.

Old Tbilisi
October 07:  Arrival in Tbilisi, and transfer to our accommodation. Arrival times in the Georgian capital may appear slightly eccentric, with many flights arriving between 0200 and 0300. Your rooms will be available from the afternoon of October 6th, and you will be met and transferred to the hotel regardless of the arrival time.

October 08:  There will be an optional walking tour at 10.00am for those who are up and ready that will explore the quirky center of Old Tbilisi; we will see the city from each side of the River and have an introduction to the remarkable stories of the early days of this strategically important town. Lunch will be at iconic wine bar, Vino Underground, for our first introduction to the glories of Georgian wine.  

October 09:  The morning will be free to rest and adjust to the time zone, or explore the surrounding areas on your own. In the afternoon we will head out to Tbilisi to explore the Old Capital of Mtskheta and Svetitskhoveli Cathedral. This cathedral, founded in 1010, is one of the most sacred places in the country and is a fine introduction to the importance of the Georgian Orthodox church in the Georgian soul. Lunch at restaurant Dzveli Armazi in Mtskheta. Free time. Dinner at Café Literra, the home of the well-known chef Tekuna Gachechiladze.

Mtskheta, Georgia's old capital city 

October 10:  Today we will leave the capital behind and head west. First to the unremarkable town of Gori, made famous only because of its native son, Stalin. We shall visit the extraordinary, and rather chilling museum to his life before continuing over the Likhi mountains to Kutaisi, with one stop in the Kvaliti village to meet and taste the wines of Archil Guniava and finally arrive to Tskaltubo, our overnight stop. This resort was built in the 1970s as a resort exclusively for high-ranking Soviet Naval offices, and is makes a delightful and unique place to stay.

October 11:  Today we climb the mountains. After a coffee stop in Zugdidi, we will drive up the Svaneti Valley to Mestia. This region is special, even by Georgian standards! The communities that populate this valley are distinct and historically fiercely independent. We will see some dramatic scenery, gorgeous mountains and villages that have been here since the dawn of time. Finally, we will reach Mestia, the regional capital and now a center for hiking, skiing and a variety of other mountain-based activities.

October 12:  Ushguli is a UNESCO World Heritage Site; it is extremely remote and life here is redolent of the middle ages. It has a collection of dramatic medieval towers, and lying as it does at 2,300m, it is the highest populated community in Europe. We will have time to explore the village in some detail, and if the weather is clear, have a dramatic view of Georgia’s highest mountain, Shkhara which towers some 5,100m over the landscape.

Svaneti - an ancient part of an ancient nation

October 13:       Today we head back down the mountain to Kutaisi, Georgia’s second city, and an important provincial capital. It is blessed with a two UNESCO sites, and we will visit one, the Gelati Monastery, built in the early 1100s by King David. It is not only an architectural masterpiece, but also an important center of learning for centuries, and one of the first schools in the region.

October 14:       Today is a “Driving Day”; we shall start the morning in the local market before driving east. We will stop for lunch at Iago’s Winery, a charming family wine producer in the Kartli region. Iago’s wine is remarkable, and his was the first winery in the country to receive a bio-certificate for his vineyard and production.

Skirting Tbilisi, we will enjoy the three-hour drive toward the Azeri border, and our next stop, this time for three nights, at Sighnaghi,

October 15:       There are many opportunities for sightseeing in this quirky town; we will spend time in the morning exploring the town itself before driving a few kilometers away to visit the 9th century monastery of Bodbe. It now functions as a nunnery, and is one of the major pilgrimage sites in Georgia.

Following a short rest, we will have our dinner, a traditional Georgian Supra, at Pheasants’ Tears. This restaurant and winery is one of the most vibrant in the country, and an exciting place to meet some of the finest Georgian wine, cuisine and be introduced to the unique polyphonic music.

Pheasants' Tears Dinner
October 16:       We will spend today exploring the region of Kakheti; we will see the main town of Telavi, and later visit the unusual and quite remarkable winery of Alaverdi. Visit the monastery, and we will continue towards Alazani where we will visit the family of young and enthusiastic wine maker Shota. He is from the mountains of Tusheti, and will cook Tushetian cuisine paired with the natural wines from the grower. Drive back to Sighnaghi, and enjoy dinner at a local restaurant. Overnight in Sighnaghi

October 17:       We will drive back to Tbilisi today and have time in the afternoon for some independent sightseeing before our farewell dinner at Azarpesha, a unique cultural restaurant in the center of Tbilisi’s Old City.

October 18:       Your departure from Georgia. Once again your flight may have an early departure time, but your room will be available to rest in prior to your airport transfer.

The Price:

US$2,940 per person, based on sharing a double room. The supplement for a single room is US$745. 

The price includes:

·       Four nights in Tbilisi at the Iota Hotel
·       Three nights in Sighnaghi at the Hotel Kabadoni
·       One night in Tskaltubo
·       Two nights in Mestia and the Hotel Tetnuldi
·       One night at the Hotel Argo in Kutaisi
·       Daily breakfast and lunch and ten dinners
·       Five wine tastings and two folkloric performances
·       All entrance fees and excursions as detailed on the itinerary
·       Transportation by coach throughout, with 4WD vehicles for the day excursion to Ushguli
·       Fully escorted by a local Georgian guide and “MaxGlobetrotter”
·       Airport transfers
·       All local taxes

The price excludes:

·       Items not specified in the itinerary
·       Items of a personal nature
·       Optional gratuities

·       Credit card processing fees

To Book:

Reservations are handled by Top of the World Travel in Yellowknife, Canada. A non-refundable deposit of US$750 per person is required to confirm your reservation with the balance due no later than August 15, 2019. 

To request a booking form please email me at

All payments, once made, are non-refundable, and we recommend that you consider travel insurance to cover any losses incurred by cancellation for unforeseen reasons. Full details are available from the agency.

The tour will be strictly limited to twenty participants, and early confirmation is highly recommended.

Additional nights’ accommodation in Tbilisi is available for US$75/person in a double room, and US$120 for a single room should you wish to arrive early or to extend your stay.

Extension programs, on an individual basis to Armenia and/or Azerbaijan are also available upon request.

The Bishop in Kutaisi sharing his altar wine

Sunday, September 23, 2018

Buying a second home: issues and benefits!

Buying a second property is always a difficult decision; home, after all, is home, and duplicating the issues, responsibilities and care required to maintain a house can be both distracting and daunting.
However, as many have asked me both why and how I did it, here are some answers.

I come from Europe, and although I have lived in Canada for forty years and more, I have never “left”, and wanted a foothold here as I grew older and had more time on my hands. France seemed to be a logical place, as I still had a smattering of French grammar pounded into me at my Dickensian boarding school five decades earlier, and in the south, the climate is clement. I had no idea where, but my father, ever a wise man, indicated that I should look at the Languedoc. “It is a fine place”, he said, “very beautiful, good weather, interesting history and they make a nice drop of wine.” 

8, rue Victor Hugo Before ..

... and after 
And he was right. Within thirty-six hours of my first visit to Esperaza in 2007, I had bought an old butcher’s shop, on an old street in an old town. No glistening whitewash overlooking a glittering seascape; this was working France, and I fell in love immediately. With the town, but not the bureaucracy.

French bureaucracy is unimaginably tedious and wearying. It is designed for activity rather than purpose or outcome, and cannot be beaten. Documents, in a precise order with a precise number of initials in precisely the correct place, are required by the kilo, and are many and repetitive. Documents sent by registered mail that failed to secure a signature upon receipt (even though the questions within were addressed) cause havoc, and notarised documents noting the lack of signature, although a poor replacement, are needed to complete the package. Taxes are levied, fees are charged, more photographs of elderly relatives and each pet’s birth certificate (unless born in Guadeloupe or Guyane (after January 2003)) are demanded.

The wait is worth is ... "The Neighbourhood"
But this is France, and secure in the knowledge that the country’s legal system is not actually stacked against an innocuous purchase in an innocuous village, one eventually smiles and lets the system grind along. And, after a couple of months or so, one is summoned to the Notaire, money is paid and the keys are exchanged.

And then the fun starts.

Having a new home reverts one to a quivering teenager purchasing the first bean bags for the first bedsit. How does one get electricity? Water? Heating? Insurance …. The list of endless requirements, completed at home in a blink of an eye, loom like demons of frustration. There is always help, however, and somehow, all of these issues fall into place. Do you buy a bed before a table, a beer fridge before a lamp? Where do you find cutlery and bath grout?

After sourcing the furniture (IKEA is good), life emerges

And then the real fun starts.

Culturally interesting, especially the hats
The true beauty of having a second home is the opportunity to immerse oneself in another culture in a way that travellers and tourists simply cannot. One returns frequently, each time to discover a new road, a new village, new people, new music and a new thread to the fabric that holds the community together. It is an exciting process and one that draws newcomers into the fold of the village. It is, as is so often said, about “the people”, and this is true. Different communities have different characters, and it is these subtle differences, perhaps, that subconsciously attract different people to different places.

It was Espéraza, the town of 2,500 in the Aude Valley that chose us, and it is fascinating. In its industrial heyday it was the global centre for hat production; it is said that not an actress from Moscow to Los Angeles was without a hat from Espéraza. The industry also served military contracts and the population had swelled to over 20,000 in the 1930s. But alas, a change in fashion, and the invention of other material that armies favoured for their headwear changed the industry, and it has been in decline since the 1950s. It is a town that has been coloured by refugees: over 250,000 fled Spain during Franco’s regime, and many settled in this town on the far side of the Pyrenees.

Today incomers from many other places, from Africa and from Yorkshire, from Amsterdam and even Winnipeg are moving here and adding their own threads to the fabric of the Aude Valley.

I do believe that if Peter Mayle had written a book called “A Year in the Languedoc” instead of Provence, the social geography of France would be quite different. This is a quiet, contemplative region, and the Aude Valley, a succession of small towns and villages that rise with the land from Carcassonne until one is in the foothills of the Pyrenees, is a gem. It is an indescribably beautiful region, and one that will, I am sure, quietly and steadily grow over the next ten years as more people steer away from the “brands” and seek the soul of the destination that they are visiting.

And, over the ten years that I have had the house here, I have come to love the region so much that two weeks ago I bought a new, and bigger property, and moved. I spend my life travelling, as so many readers have pointed out to me, but of all of the places that I have travelled, for reasons that are impossible to explain, Espéraza and the Aude Valley draw me back.

And it is only three hours from Tossa de Mar!

The new house, and the view over the Pyrenees

Saturday, September 15, 2018

Tossa de Mar: a Mediterranean gem

Toss de Mar, Costa Brava

Tossa de Mar rekindled my faith in the Mediterranean. For many years I had been despairing as the towns and villages around this tremendous sea were gradually being consumed by blandness. That gradual but powerful neutering that overwhelms individuality and turns each beach resort into an identikit duplication of each other.

Towns that had character now morphed indistinguishably into one another; travel brochures highlight the same attractions of sandy beaches, vibrant nightlife and endless sunshine. One resort becomes another.

There are, of course, exceptions, after all, the Mediterranean is a large sea. However, they become harder to find, and more difficult to reach. And then there is Tossa. I don’t usually try to write “puff pieces”, but having spent a little time in the town, I can’t really resist.

Tossa de Mar is a small Catalan community lying in the middle of the Costa Brava some 100 kms to the north of Barcelona. It is, in short, accessible and lying within one of the most popular tourist regions in Europe. It has, however, retained its soul. Its growth has been obstructed by geography, tradition and the strength of the local community to direct the town’s future.

Tossa's 12th century castle
Tossa is old. There are Roman ruins, and ample evidence of an active community here some 2,000 years ago, but the dominant and irresistible historical authority comes from the picturesque and poised castle that overlooks the town. Built in the 12th century, this magnificent castle grew to encompass a medieval town, now sympathetically restored to its 14th century appearance. As the local population grew in the 15th and 16th century, houses popped up outside the castle, and the community of Tossa emerged into the pattern it shows today. Small winding streets creep around the bay and offer tourists a glimpse into the soul of the past.

The front street has, of course, restaurants, but the buildings, including the hotels date back to the 1950s and beyond; the temptation to knock them down and replace them with a shiny new hotel or “tourist complex” has been resisted, and Tossa is all the better off for it.

Tossa de Mar - Street scenes

There are many places to stay; mostly small, family hotels, and the Hotel Tarull is a fabulous example. The property, built in the 1950s is run by Lluis Soler Capdevila and his delightful wife Meri. Lluis is a third-generation hotelier, and it shows. His attention to detail and to the whims, needs and interests of his guests is remarkable. New guests are presented with a map of the town with his restaurant suggestions already hand written, along with notes of supermarkets and other interesting spots. His choices of places to eat were formidable, and the variety and quality of food available in this small community is surprising.

Too often beach-resort restaurants offset a fine view with mediocre food; menus that offer identical choice, often frozen and served with little enthusiasm but great expense. To be sure, these types of mountebanks exist in Tossa as well, but there are gems. Casa Igor, run by a Michelin star chef, Simó Tomàs Vallvé who retired from the pressure of Barcelona to run a small, twenty cover restaurant here, is simply fabulous. The combination of local ingredients, a small menu and an enormous imagination is an extraordinary find.

Another Tossa institution is the Restaurant Bahia; located on the front, and at first indistinguishable from it less memorable neighbours, this third-generation family restaurant is quite simply a wonderful place to eat. Their food is well cooked, well presented, most agreeably served and quite imaginative. The stream of regulars is a testament to their place in Tossa, and any visitor eating there finds a sense of what Tossa means to its people.

And there are about 6,000 of them; fewer in the winter months and more in the summer, but about 6,000 overall. Proud Catalans with the sense of confidence and dignity that a millennia of history will cultivate. It is a community of ancient traditions like the annual forty-kilometer pilgrimage el Vot del Poble undertaken each year since the 1400s to give thanks for delivering Tossa from the scourges of the Bubonic Plague.

Tossa de Mar is a town that knows its history and can see its future. It is a town that seems to have managed to find the elusive balance of tourism today, that point between the needs and interests of the local community and the desires and expectations of their visitors. It is a community that has earned the respect of its tourists, and one that will certainly delight new visitors for many years to come.

I love Tossa!

Monday, July 2, 2018

The Viking Islands; Faroe, Shetland and Orkney

The Viking Islands lie in the north Atlantic between Iceland and Scotland; recently, I spent ten days exploring these fascinating places with four friends.

One of whom, Erik Brown, is a fine writer, and before I put my piece about the trip on the blog, here is his.

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Travelling through The West Balkans - Yugoslavia revisited!

The West Balkans, former Yugoslavia, is a fascinating place to travel and I have spent a fabulous couple of weeks travelling there. I was delighted to see so many people visit my blog to read my observations.

Here is an overview of the region, published in the fine adventure travel journal GoNomad.

Travel the West Balkans by Train, Bus and Ship.

It was a fascinating trip, and one that I need to repeat. Next time, I plan on renting a vehicle and getting off the beaten track a little more; not that much of the region is a well-beaten path, but I would love to get into the mountains, and visit some of the secondary cities that offer their visitors so much.

I loved the region, and would encourage anyone to visit.

Monday, April 2, 2018

Visiting Kosovo; A different kind of tourism

Travelling in Kosovo is an odd experience, and perhaps for this reason, it was the ideal location to finish my two-week tour of the West Balkans.

“Countries”, are interesting phenomena. While we feel comfortable referring to France, Bolivia or Canada as “Countries”, and feel pretty sure about what we mean, there are other territorial definitions that are far less inflexible or rational. Lines drawn on maps by bewhiskered Victorian gentlemen cause problems to this day throughout Africa, and other parts of the world are deviled by similar historical arrogances. The West Balkans are a contemporary exercise in political cartography, and have willingly overlooked ancient historical grievances in the name of accord. Accord, however, does not inevitably lead to harmony.

Kosovo is an ancient land. In 1389 the Serbian rulers were defeated by the Turks and finally overran in 1459 battles that were triggers for the mass migrations that have blighted the region. Thousands of Serbs flowing north, Turks and Albanians flowing south and east, centuries of conflict; famines and plagues that sent large populations scurrying for security and leaving tens of thousands dead. Kosovo, so central to the Serbian and thus the Balkan story, is an important place to understand.

Roadside instructions for tanks are a
stark reminder of the local situation.
Myth-makers and other historians have written and discussed these ancient events from every point of the compass; it is a region that seems to have yet to find its secure spiritual or civic home. Neither dream of Greater Serbia or Greater Albania has ever emerged fully as a dominant cultural ambit to which its people could belong. So, even in the 21st century, Kosovans can do little more than try to build the vital political institutions that underpin any country, and to develop an economy that will keep the people together.

For travellers to the region, it is economic development that is impossible to ignore. Driving through Kosovo’s countryside is quite gorgeous. Light shines on the endless ridges of the southern hills and glints off the minaret spires and proud roofs of orthodox churches; it is a captivating landscape and redolent of ages past and the passions of history. It is, however, the roadside economy that is so absorbing.

Wedding Venues and unfinished buildings punctuate the Kosovan landscape

Gambling, weddings, construction and eating seem to be the four pillars of the Kosovan economy. Casinos are everywhere; some offering the hope of a better life, formerly the exclusive domain of religion but now a touch more secular, and some offering the wherewithal to wash the endless supply of Funny Money that sluices through this part of the world, attached to the drugs and weaponry that are another major economic driver in these parts.

Not all buildings are unfinished, there
are some fine developments that look
comfortable and nearing completion.
Buildings, some half-finished and abandoned, some shiny, bright and purposeless, and some with an apparent use spring up wildly. Emigrés seeking to show their wealth and build a monument in their home villages construct glistening wedding centres, great structures of glass and glitz at the edge of the town waiting for a periodic coupling of villagers to bring it to life. Everywhere, breeze blocks, reinforcing rods and bewilderment; there must be a logic, but in the manner of a wild and natural forest, buildings sprout up with little apparent reference to any other. It offers a mildly eccentric picture, one that might have a pattern, but one that is not immediately obvious.

The towns bustle; there is activity and commerce, the buying and selling of buttons, flags, mattresses, bricks, insulation and roof tiles evident by the huge pile of inventory spilling out onto the streets. Nothing looks finished and somehow everything looks slightly unfamiliar and out of place. The destruction of war, ethnic cleansing and centuries of conflict has left little physical signs of historical value, and the countryside, as pretty as it is, is covered with this new-growth of ragged housing.

It is an important stop for any visitor to the region, and I decided to base in Prizren, some sixty miles south of the capital, Pristina, and close to both the Albanian and Macedonian borders. It was, in some ways, an inspired choice. The town is certainly pivotal, and a centre for the Albanian culture of Kosovo, and as a border region, a town that developed a unique cultural perspective, sandwiched as it was between the Serbian-dominated Yugoslavia and the Stalinist regime of Enver Hoxha in Albania.

Prizren's bridge of promises, and in the evening, the lights in the bars and cafes 
bring the town together in their soft, warm glow.

Prizren is an attractive town in a two-night sort of way. It is a Muslim city of Albanians, Roma, Bosniaks (ethnically Muslim Bosnians) and Turks; the flag of the Turkish government is evident on reconstructed buildings and new projects. The bustle of completion is everywhere, but in the evening, as the lights come on in the bars, cafes and restaurants in the Old City, one has a fleeting glimpse of a cosmopolitan community. It is attractive in a Restored-And-Shiny way, and a pleasant enough place to wander, but there is little enough to keep a visitor’s attention for long.

The attraction of Kosovo is to drive, explore and think. In villages and through the countryside Albanian and Serbian flags fly defiantly or hopefully, and from time to time one sees a Kosovan Flag fluttering optimistically; it is a muddled place. For hikers, there are spectacular trails in the mountains, mountains whose very ruggedness that now attracts visitors have caused such a fractured past to endure through the centuries.

A collection of graves lying in a quiet
copse is a vivid reminder of Kosovo's
very recent history.
Yet, as everywhere else I have visitors in the region, there are people, friendly, warm and welcoming people.

People who can only wonder how the lottery of life has left their small region so bereft of opportunity. It is a region of extreme beauty, deep cultural roots and strong family and regional bonds. It is a region of some strategic importance, and, curiously, a region that still reveals “community” is its strongest sense. A sense of common purpose that has been lost in so many rapid and binary western societies. Kosovo is a good place to visit; if one of the purposes of tourism is to understand and be understood, visiting fractured yet hopeful countries is important. When one can add the people, scenery, history and fascination of Kosovo, then it rises fast in any list of countries to visit.

Kosovo is hopeful; it needs help and one can only wish that its proud and generous emigrés may one day decide to give their village a new school hall instead of another shiny House of Weddings.

Sunday, March 25, 2018

Visiting Sarajevo; Bosnia's delightful capital

The Central River in Sarajevo
"What can I do in Sarajevo?", is a question posed by many travellers heading to the Balkans and the answer is that it is a very curious and interesting experience.When there, one is permanently mindful of Narnia, and each time a new looking-glass presents it self, and one clambers ungainly through it, the perspective changes, and with it reality.

There is, of course, no such thing as “reality”, and here as much as any other region in conflict, perspective and perception are the guides to understanding. “The West Balkans”, as Yugoslavia is now considered, are an exercise in perspective.

Sarajevo is a marvellous little city; it is a three-day town, at best, and this dependent on the weather. Previously known in the West as the venue for a long-forgotten Olympic Games in 1984, the capital of Bosnia became the capital of the region’s most intractable country.

Sarajevo's old town, with the copper and silversmiths alley

It is a fine city to visit; a city of contrast and beauty, and a city that boasts centuries of cultural heritage, scholarship and governance. It is a city to wander; a place of huge historical significance yet overlooked by so many travellers. The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand and the consequential destruction of Europe by the First World War is a local event marked by a small plaque by a small bridge; and this was certainly not its first brush with large-scale war. Sarajevo has been pushed and pulled by both religious and territorial attention for centuries, and the resulting architecture and
cultural undercurrents form an engaging backdrop for any casual visitor.

I like Sarajevo; although the central Old Town could be, one imagines, an imitation of a manic Christmas Market during the summer, in the slow season one can still marvel at the streets of jewellers, metal craftsmen and souvenir shops plying for trade in the city’s centre. It is really quite lovely, and the melodic call to prayer, punctuating the day’s routine, only adds to Sarajevo’s mystique and charm.

It is, perhaps, a place to visit rather than live. The comprehensive restoration, the new buildings, roads and rebuilt bridges that have followed the brutal combat of the 1990s belie the underlying culture of Sarajevo. It is a city that is ten miles wide, and an inch deep; it seems to present itself as a veneer. Like much of Bosnia, Sarajevo is suffering from its lost youth. In two senses; both the young lost in the war, and the vanished adolescent years that a post-Communist country needed before diving into the cowboy-capitalism of the early 2000s. From these losses, both in the war and from subsequent migration, the city struggles to keep up.

Amna Turkovic is exactly sort of person that Sarajevo needs to keep. She is, in her mid-twenties, wondering about her home, its future and her own. She is educated, passionately international, passionately Bosnian and deeply proud of her Islamic heritage. She is a musician, a journalist and a thoughtful woman interested in the future. She understands and is profoundly concerned with intolerance and is dismissive of the intensification of religion as Faith transforms into Religion in today’s culture. "It can do no good", she says, "and can only increase intolerance."

She speaks of education. She is saddened by how standards are dropping, perhaps a necessary result of losing 150,000 young people to opportunity in the West. She speaks of the importance of the Affricate consonants (the letters c, s, z and d that in Slavic languages can, like a kaleidoscope, change their sounds subtly with only a delicate nudge), the vitality of the “ij” diphthong and other fascinating minutiae of the language. And, while at first it seemed a touch obtuse, her passion for the correct way of communicating spoke volumes, and the importance of accurate interaction in this region was not lost on me.

This is a troubled land. While many of the West Balkan countries have settled into a reverie, Bosnia remains tense. A “nation” of three components that rarely agree on anything is not a stable basis for the future. Yet it needs to become so; Bosnia is a central, and thus critical point of interaction between the peoples, nations, religions and identities of the region. It is a country whose current balance needs to progress and conclude an agreement that will allow some decades of stability and will encourage its young to stay at home and help rebuild the nation.

Not all is restored; here, in a central
street one sees the bullet holes in the
walls of the building  
Because, it is all about the young.

I liked Sarajevo a lot. It is a rather lovely city, I think; my hesitation is only drawn from the weather and my inability to see the spectacular surroundings that drew the Winter Olympics here. It is a city of conversation and of food; it is a place to gaze and think, it is a place of contradiction and hope, and a destination that offers visitors a most remarkable opportunity to see centuries of history and dispute compacted into a passion that I have not met anywhere else on my travels.

It is a city that needs to keep Amna and the thousands of other thoughtful young people who are any community’s future.

Above all, it is a city that must remember to forget, and to forget to remember.

Thursday, March 22, 2018

Travelling in Bosnia and Herzegovina: Mostar, a curious place

The road from Sarajevo
Travelling in Bosnia and Hercegovina (B&H) is interesting; very interesting. Suffice it to say, that of the many conundrums that combine to make the former Yugoslavia, B&H is the most tongue twisting. It is a fascinating place, a country of wars, peace, religions, exodus, mountains, genocide and more. It even has a football team (The Dragons), who are reasonable, and often qualify for European (and World) tournaments.

It also has people, 3.5 million of them, although the loss of over 150,000 young and educated Bosnians over the past decade or so has left an indelible mark on the demography country. It is a country accustomed to change; it has swung between the Ottomans and Hapsburgs, the Yugoslavs (both the Kingdom and the Socialist Republic) and ceded to the Nazis during the second World War, it saw intensive resistance action as the birthplace of Joseph Tito’s partisans.

And then, of course, came the civil war in the 1990s; an inevitable conclusion, perhaps, of centuries of unfinished ethnic discord and the separation from the Yugoslav Federation of Slovenia and Croatia and the subsequent power realignment. It was a war of extreme brutality, and the cessation of hostilities and the ensuing twenty years of peace has allowed tensions to simmer down and the country re-establish a sense of normalcy.

Or as normal as Bosnia can be. It is a fine place for visitors. Its people are welcoming and warm, the countryside spectacular, its history deep and evident and the undying culture of hospitality that marks the Balkan countries is unmistakable.

Mostar's Old Town 

Mostar, a jewel of the country, is a larger city that I had thought. Knowing only of its Old City, and iconic bridge, and having been too lazy to look anything up in a book before I arrived, I became hopelessly lost in the city’s eccentric one-way system that today is punctuated by dozens of major road construction sites and an almost complete lack of road signs. I had a map, but being of Central Europe it was too small to be of any further use than simply reaching the city; I had some directions to the hotel I was using that failed to take the road construction into account and finding myself passing the same statue three times, I decided to do the unmanly and ask for directions.

It is a good thing that I did, because I was miles away from the hotel, and suitably redirected, I made it on the third pass.

It was at dinner that night (Podrum’s Restaurant in the OldTown) that I first talked about B&H with a local. Seno Hadžiosmaxioxić is a delightful and interesting man. He has lived in the UK, Germany and Portugal and now returned to the family business and Mostar mainly because of the exodus of young people, including his son. “How can we rebuild a country without our young people?”, he asked, only partly rhetorically. “They are all going.” The lack of an agreement with the EU, Canada or the USA for migrants did not seem to be a problem to emigration, and indeed, not for the first time, I wondered about the immigration policies of the wealthy countries that seemed to both encourage bright, young migrants, and simultaneously stymie their own efforts at economic development in those same countries.

Mostar. From The Old Bridge
I spoke later to a young man who worked in a small bar. I asked why he was still there when so many of his friends had gone, and he said that he was only waiting until he had finished his school year before heading off. I asked where the most popular country was for his generation to go to, and was only mildly surprised when he said “Ireland; now England has left the EU, there is no point is going there.”

And so, as I wandered through this old and serially abused town, I admired the reconstruction, wondered what the original Ottoman builders would have thought of so many restaurants and shops competing to sell fridge magnets and copper teapots, and decided that I liked the pictures much more than the reality, and decided to leave early.

The Tekija Blagaj - The Dervish House

Seno had advised that I visit two sites before heading to Sarajevo. The first, Blagaj was the home of sect of whirling dervishes, a group that has always puzzled me. Both their obscure form of sermon, splendidly called The Tasawwuf, and their almost maniacal, repetitive whirls. Many years ago I witnessed Dervishes whirling in Istanbul, and lost for a moment in tangential thought, found myself assigning day jobs to these rotating believers. Dervishes come from all walks of life, of course, as do adherents of all faiths, but “why the whirl?”, I wondered. “Are you still dizzy when you go to the office or drive your bus in the morning?”. Here, they practice three times each week.

This is, of course, only an aside to the very beautiful and spiritually important Dervish House at Blagaj. It is stunning, and reflects the overriding belief that the natural environment within which the house is built is an integral part of the relationship with God, and this house, the Tekija, is a wonderful example. Nestled at the foot of an imposing cliff of quite magical geologic patterns, it lies by a river flow that rushes from under the cliff itself. It is quite beautiful, and quite serene. The Dervishes have a very fine place of worship.

Pocatelij as seen from thh road
Twenty kilometers further along, lies the Ottoman town of Počitelj. It actually comes as a bit of a surprise after the usual roadside scruff; a partly built house here, a small tire dump there, a concrete bus-stop here and a cluster of peculiar shops there. The road has broadened out as the mountainous terrain heads toward the Adriatic, and the hills, while still commanding, lie a little farther from the road. Yet coming around a corner, one is immediately struck by this quaint, ancient and entirely improbable community lying by the side of the road. Seemingly untouched by the centuries.

Dating back to the 15th century, it was a fortified town that housed a Hungarian garrison between 1463 and 1471. Following a brief siege, the Ottomans captured Počitelj, and from then on it lost its strategic significance and its moment in the sun had set. It has remained dozy for five hundred years, pausing periodically to mend a step, change a light bulb and slowly toddle its way through the centuries. The slow passage of time, or more precisely the lack of any apparent need for it to hustle, has left the town as a marvellous and most picturesque example of the Ottoman Empire. I am assuming that it is picturesque, because the sleet that was drifting down on the day that I visited thwarted my photographic ambitions somewhat.

It is quite lovely. For the fit and able, the fortress lies a hundred metres or so above the town; for others, simply wandering through the ancient streets gives a distinct sensation of time travel. Perhaps the grey weather helped; the stairways were empty and uneven, the roofs bare and uneven, the mosques spiny and confident, and the entire blend of life and spirituality was completely absorbing.

And so, after a coffee, I turned my car around from the illegal position in which I had left it, and drove back to Sarajevo, the capital of this enigmatic country, and the next piece of the puzzle.

The road back to Sarajevo