Adventures in the Balkans 2010

If you recognize the upper part of the image, that is because some scenes from Game of Thrones were set in Dubrovnik, Croatia. The bottom part of the image features the famous bridge in Mostar, Herzegovina, which was built in the 1500s.

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Many years ago, my husband and I visited Mostar in Herzegovina. As many of you know, the town is Mostar is famous for its storied bridge, commissioned by our friend Suleiman the Magnificent (1494-1566), whose tomb I visited recently in Istanbul.

During the Bosnian War of 1990s, this bridge was destroyed. However, by the time my husband and I arrived in Mostar in 2010, it had been restored to its former glory.

My husband lives on inspiration so nothing about this trip was exactly planned. We left Dubrovnik, where he had been attending a conference, and drove north from Croatia to Herzegovina. Somehow – I don’t remember how – we found a Muslim family who agreed to let us stay for a few days in their B & B.

I don’t know much about Muslims, but I tend to think of them as being very conservative. So imagine my surprise when I discovered a television in our bedroom, which allowed us to watch the Italian Fashion Week from Milan. Obviously, their target audience was not conservative Muslims living in Mostar!

The next morning, my husband and I went downstairs to breakfast. I may not have mentioned this before, but he is unable to function without his coffee. But it can’t just be any coffee. It has to be an espresso, preferable made to the exactly standards of a Milanese caffè. So, imagine his disappointment to discover a machine, which only delivered Nestlé coffee!

The young man who was serving breakfast, was very polite, but his English was not up to my husband’s demands. So his uncle appeared. When my husband explained the problem, this older gentleman offered to have his wife make Turkish coffee. Immediately, my husband brightened. 

“By why,” he asked, “if they could provide Turkish coffee did they have a machine that provided only Nestlé?” 

“It’s the German tourists,” explained the gentleman. “That is what they like.”

Ten minutes later, he reappeared with a brass tray on which stood a Turkish coffee pot emanating coffee fumes, with a brass bowls of sugar cubes squatting beneath some tongs, and two bone china cups and saucers. 

I have never tasted Turkish coffee before and was rather taken aback by its power. But my husband was in seventh heaven. Inspired by the assault on his senses of the black liquid he was imbibing, he engaged the uncle in a long conversation about the history of Mostar and recommendations for what to visit. 

We had a wonderful stay.

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