After a brief visit to a museum on the assassination of the archduke in 1914, which turned out to be one wall of pictures, and a lot of confusion involving trams I got a bus for Mostar.
The route went down, and down with the snow getting less until in Mostar itself there wasn¨t a trace although there was a gale blowing down the valley.
I got a bed in a place where I appeared to be the only guest and took a walk around town. The bridge itself was illuminated as were the minarets and a cross that appeared to be floating in the sky, the hill was so perfectly dark it was invisible and the photo didnt work. It seemed to me there was something, shall we say less than tasteful, in a cross looming over the mosques in a town where people were killed for being Muslims.
In the morning Mostar proved to be tiny and so I pushed on towards the coast.
With every mile it got warmer and the landscape got more mediterranean until at Dubrovnik bus station.
Not realising it was well over an hour another backpacker and I walked into the old town, which was like a bit of Italy and a bizzare change after the slavic and Islamic interior and even odder now that the weather stopped being Christmassy the decorations appeared for the first time.
I spent the day exploring the city walls and museums and generally being amazed to go from deep snow to a place where people sit at pavement cafes under the orange trees. I also established that the Italian influence is no fluke, this was a Venetian outpost for centuries and as a sea port always looked across the Adriatic rather than up into the mountains for influence.
The route went down, and down with the snow getting less until in Mostar itself there wasn¨t a trace although there was a gale blowing down the valley.
I got a bed in a place where I appeared to be the only guest and took a walk around town. The bridge itself was illuminated as were the minarets and a cross that appeared to be floating in the sky, the hill was so perfectly dark it was invisible and the photo didnt work. It seemed to me there was something, shall we say less than tasteful, in a cross looming over the mosques in a town where people were killed for being Muslims.
In the morning Mostar proved to be tiny and so I pushed on towards the coast.
Not realising it was well over an hour another backpacker and I walked into the old town, which was like a bit of Italy and a bizzare change after the slavic and Islamic interior and even odder now that the weather stopped being Christmassy the decorations appeared for the first time.
I spent the day exploring the city walls and museums and generally being amazed to go from deep snow to a place where people sit at pavement cafes under the orange trees. I also established that the Italian influence is no fluke, this was a Venetian outpost for centuries and as a sea port always looked across the Adriatic rather than up into the mountains for influence.
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