Into Bosnia, and Down to Sarajevo

Into Bosnia
After crossing into that part of Bosnia referred to as Republika Srpska we stopped by the river for a bath. As it turned out we were in a man's backyard, and when he arrived, rather than asking us to leave, he bought us pizza. Željko's family lived on the Croatian side of the river before the war, but had to move to the 'Serbian' side when the war started.
A few nights later we camped in a meadow, and the farmers who owned the meadow watched us from a distance. After dark we were approached by police with flashlights, while the local farmers came towards us through the woods, one of them shouting. An old man with one hand held an axe in the other. After seeing my sign and checking our passports, the police and the farmers left us alone without another word.

Novi Grad
In Novi Grad we shopped for food. We were preparing to leave the city to find a campsite before dark when a man named Dejan invited us to stay with him. We stayed with him for two days, enjoying the hospitality he provided and receiving many gifts from him. I now have a headlamp and a light jacket (among other things) thanks to Dejan.
We also went to a bar with Dejan where my petitions were passed around. Most of the comments were supportive of this walk, but one supported Serbian nationalism while another wished us bad luck.

Prijedor
In Prijedor, where ethnic cleansing took place during the war, we visited the Local Democracy Agency which works for local development and inter-ethnic dialogue and reconciliation. we met with Dragan Došen and two volunteers, Aleksandar Pavlović and Halida Selimović, who are working hard to promote peace and harmony in a place where healing has been slow.
Afterwards a man named Fikret treated us to lodging at the Hotel Prijador where we were able to relax and get cleaned up.
The night we left Prijador we found ourselves in an area where there was no 'wilderness' to camp in, so we asked a farming family for a place to put our tent. They put us in a clean and roomy storage shed instead, bringing in a table and milking stools to sit on while we were treated to a hearty dinner of eggs and sausage.
After Prijador we walked through Tropolje and Omarska, also sites of ethnic cleansing during the war. We found nothing in these places to remind anyone of what had happened other than the ruins of the concentration camp in Tropolje.

Banja Luka
In the capital of 'Republika Srpska' we again met our very good friend, Dejan, who treated us to coffee and introduced us to two of his friends. One of them, Branko, had walked with his father from Novi Grad to Prijador in 12 hours carrying all the household goods they could carry, while mortar rounds fell around them after the war started. (The same walk took us two and a half days). The city that had been a nightmare for so many was a sanctuary for Brank and his father.

Another of Dejan's friends, a very idealistic student named Marco, managed to find us a hostel to stay in at no charge.
Earlier in the day I'd met a Muslim man named Ževad who told me how Banja Luka had been before the war; a mixed population that could live together in peace. He lamented that Banja Luka was now primarily a monocultural population.
Just outside of Banja Luka two cyclists stopped to talk to us; Berengere from France, and Daniel from the Netherlands. They treated us to coffee and found us a safe place to camp along the river.

Travnik

Upon entering the ancient Muslim capital, I saw graffitti in large block letters: NEVER FORGET SREBRENICA. We stopped at a large mosque to ask for a place to sleep, and were directed to the Medresa, where the homeless can find a place to stay. I mentioned that we were not Muslims. 'No problem,' they told us with a smile.
While looking for the Medresa, as we were a bit lost, we passed by a Catholic church to ask for the same. The church had been shot up during the war. The priest wanted nothing to do with us, it seemed, and I asked him whether he had Christ on his lips but not in his heart, as we had just needed a place to put our tent. Other Croatian Catholics noticed what had happened; two of them offered us a little money, and two others had a long chat with us and offered us encouragement. We were also offered a place to stay by an elderly woman, but after she had been to mass we couldn't find her or her address, so we looked again for the Medresa. When we arrived it was getting late, and the Medresa was filled up. We found an inexpensive hotel to stay in, going over our budget.

Ahmići

While passing this village we were invited to have lunch with a Muslim family by a man named Semin and his sister, Sadbera. As we walked through the village towards his house he explained that Ahmići had been destroyed during the war, and that there had been a massacre of Muslims there. As people had fled the village, snipers had shot them, men, women and children. Semin's grandparents had been killed in the attack, and his father, Enes, had later lost a leg in a minefield only 3 kilometers away while serving in the Bosnian army. He'd spent 6 years recuperating in Belgium, where Semin's brother, Hadis, was born.
 I was surprised to hear that it had been Croatians that had murdered the people of Ahmići; until that point the stories I'd heard had been of Croatians and Bosnian Muslims suffereing at the hands of Serbians.

I was unable to eat much of the big lunch put in front of us by their mother, Mersa, because of the stories the family told us about Ahmići.
As we were leaving the village, Semin escorted us, telling us we were examples to the world because of this walk for peace. All I could think about in the meantime was tearing down the Croatian flag a neighbor was flying from his house and having a few strong words with him. It is obviously Semin and his family who are the examples; they have managed to return to a normal life, co-existing in peace with nationalistic Croatian neighbors.

Bajram

As we worked our way towards Sarajevo, passing shot up homes, schools and other buildings, and camping along the river bank or in meadows not marked as minefields, the Muslim festival of Bajram began to celebrate the pilgrimage to Mecca. A local man had just walked for ten months to get to Mecca, walking as well through war-torn Syria (where I will probably not be walking).
Many people could be seen carrying baskets, visiting neighbors either to deliver or receive gifts of food or money. Many streams ran red with the blood of sheep or cattle butchered for the feast. We were also given the occasional gift of baklava or candy.

The night before we reached Sarajevo we were again in a situation where no 'wilderness camping' was to be found; I asked a man named Asim if we could camp on his property and he gave us permission. After dark we were visited by concerned neighbors who thought we were up to no good, but once we'd mentioned Asim's name, all was well. That night Asim and his wife visited to bring us food and water; the next morning they offered breakfast though we had to decline as we were in a hurry to get to Sarajevo.

Sarajevo

Entering Sarajevo we saw an enormous cemetery on a hillside where many war victims have been buried. A large block of flats, still in use, bore the marks of war damage from the Serbian shelling during the war. We passed the Olympic stadium, which is in disrepair. At an internet cafe a man joked with us about the dangers of what we are doing; 'Too many weapons in the hands of the wrong people', he said.

The center of Sarajevo, however,  is beautiful; a sort of Westernized Medina. Another man named Asim, the owner of  Hostel City Center, had previously invited me to stay at his hostel for free via e-mail. We are here now, for two days, and the hospitality is better than ever. Snow is forecast for tomorrow, but we'll be warm.

A Short Note From Travnik

I'm in Travnik, Bosnia and Herzegovina, about five or six day's walking from Sarajevo. I no longer have a camera, though I've got photos to post once I have time to post them. I hope to have a day or two to take a break in Sarajevo and to catch up on this blog.
Meanwhile, I've been camping rather than couchsurfing, with the occasional host to offer a meal or room in a hostel. The mountains are beautiful with autumnal colors mixed with aspens. All is well.

Donations

Friends, I continue to ask for donations. I've got enough money now to take me to the end of October.
As always, I try to spend as little as possible. Most of what I spend goes towards simple, basic food, but there are other expenses as well, such as second hand clothing. The boots I've had since Perpignan, in France, are just about ready for retirement.
I have stopped using 'couchsurfing' to find hosts as it took up too much time and money using the internet in internet cafes; my travelling companion  (who has her own funds) and I have been either 'wilderness' camping or asking for lodging in the places we visit. As always, there are generous and hospitable people who help us out, but there are many days when only your donations keep me going.
I am doing my best to work for peace along the way, visiting those places where efforts are being made to reconcile former enemies from the 'Balkan Wars'.
And I still talk to people I meet about the petitions I am carrying for peace in the Middle East, and about the organization I walk for, 'Masterpeace' masterpeace.org
My budget is something less than 150 euros a month now, as Bosnia is less expensive than Slovenia and Croatia.
If you'd like to contibute to this walk for peace, e-mail me at: la_peripherie@yahoo.com,  and type in 'donation' as the subject. I will tell you whether or not I still need money, and if I do, how you can send it to me.
Thank you!

The Peacemaker of Hrvatska Kostajnica

Daniel, his wife, Marina, and their daughter, Dalia

 In a park in Hrvatska Kostajnica, the Croatian half of a city divided by the Una River and the Bosnian border, a woman approached Inge and I to ask if we needed anything. This question always gets my mind racing as there is a long list of things I feel I could do with, but we answered only that we were looking for a place to stay that night. The woman, a Russian named Marina, replied that her husband, Daniel might be able to help us out when he returned from work.
We waited for this unknown patron of ours by the river, listening to the muezzin's call to prayer over on the Bosnian side. I had to smile as I hadn't heard this sound since Morocco, nine months ago, and I had to smile even more as I was hearing this call in Europe, in a place where this sound had almost been eradicated 20 years previously.
Daniel, Marina, and their daughter, Dalia, arrived later, helping us to find a place to camp along the river. The Una River was named by the Romans as being THE river; it is still a clear, clean and beautiful river worthy of the name. During their visit, Daniel explained he had been involved in projects aimed at reconciliation between Bosnian Serbs and Croatians, projects that had caught the attention of peace communities like Tamera, in Portugal, which sent representatives in 2003 to learn from Daniel and his colleagues.

Alen and Daniel

The next morning I was up early to have coffee with Daniel and his brother Alen. Both brothers were cheerful, and remained so despite my questions about their lives during the war.
Their family had moved from Kostajnica to Bihac, in Bosnia, hoping to avoid the impact of the impending war. Instead, they found themselves in the middle of it, holing up in their basement as mortar rounds fell around their house, killing and maiming friends. Alen, who was only 11 at the time, was afraid to leave the basement the first month, but later got used to the war, playing football with his friends whenever there was a pause in the mortar attacks. Once, Alen got his hands on some smoke grenades and he and his friends lit them and used them as footballs.
On another occasion, Alen hunted a neighbor's chicken with a home made bow and arrow. He proudly displayed it to his mother, who angrily made him throw it away; she was afraid the family would suffer for his stealing the chicken. When his father got home, he angrily had Alen find the chicken, stating that food shouldn't be thrown away when everyone was so hungry. That night the chicken fed eleven people. Alen also traded with UN soldiers in the Black Market, bringing home cigarettes and tinned beef. He has since put on weight and become a cook, telling me he decided after the war he would never be hungry again.
Daniel was older when the war started, and not long after the first mortar rounds fell, he was given a WWII German automatic rifle. He served in the army until a UN convoy was able to bring he and his family to Zagreb, where Daniel studied at university.
After the war the family returned to Kostajnica, occupying a vacant house for a time before finding a permanent home.
What is most remarkable about this story is that Daniel has devoted his years after the war to peacemaking in spite of the hardship he and his family suffered. Both he and Marina are examples for all of us to follow. 

Across the Una River and into Bosnia

At the border

A republic within a nation; Republika Srpska

The mosque in Bosanska Kostajnica, just across the river

Taboriste to the Una River (War and Peace)

Taboriste

Bozidov, our host in Taboriste

korablja@turizamtisinic.hr

The village of Taboriste has been completely rebuilt since the war

As always, Inge attracts the strays

South From Zagreb