Back to Croatia this Saturday, having skipped it on Wednesday to record the books I have published in the first 1000 days of coronavirus, which changed the world so substantially. This post is about a lazy afternoon in Dubrovnik, and then a lazy afternoon in Mostar, necessitated by pouring rain.

The first three pictures are of afternoon and evening on my balcony in Dubrovnik, and the next three of the journey to Mostar on November 4th, including a stop soon after we entered Bosnia for the first time. The next is of the bridge at Mostar, showing my exhaustion while I was hauling my suitcase up cobbled streets, with finally a welcome glass of wine on my balcony at the Kriva Cuprija, before the rain descended.

From Croatia to Bosnia

After that morning exploration of Dubrovnik, I gave myself what I thought a well earned rest. On the way back I got a bottle of wine and a large packet of crisps, and settled down with them on my balcony, shirtless in splendid sunshine. But unlike in my extravagant youth I could manage only half the bottle, and not all the crisps, before I retired to bed, to read and then fall asleep in the sun.

I was up well in time though for a quite spectacular sunset which I watched from the balcony. I still had some of the peanuts I had taken, which sufficed for the evening though, after more reading I also finished the crisps.

By then I had decided that, instead of going back to Split by the road I had come on, I would instead go from Dubrovnik to Mostar, which I had much enjoyed on my visit in 2017 to Serbia and Bosnia. I believe I had been to Mostar on my first Yugoslavian trip too, but I have no recollection of that, and whether it was on my way to Sarajevo, to which I went from Zadar, or on my way back from Sarajevo to Split. I thought I remembered the famous bridge, for my Yugolavian hosts in Slovenia had told me it was not to be missed, but I had no memory of it. The 2017 memory however was still vivid, though the bridge I saw was a reconstruction, for the original had been destroyed in the war.

But as much as the bridge, seen in bright sunshine with youngsters diving off it into the river beneath, I had also enjoyed the hotel I found, the Kriva Cuprija, named after a little crooked bridge above the main bridge. So it was there I headed, on an early bus after breakfast at my hotel in Dubrovnik.

The journey took a long time however, and involved leaving Croatia into a sliver of Bosnia, and then entering Croatia again, and then leaving it before again entering Bosnia. The Croatians stamped my passport three times, though thankfully the Bosnians only had controls at the last entry, and they did not even stamp the passport.

More irritatingly, it had begun to rain that morning, and it rained steadily all the way to Mostar, and afterwards. It was not very heavy rain, so a cap and a heavy waterproof jacket sufficed for protection, but it was still an irritating trek up to the bridge, trundling my bag along cobbled streets.

The town looked bleak and the bridge was deserted, but soon after I crossed it I found my hotel, and they gave me a lovely room with a balcony that looked onto the bridge, very different from the small room below which was what I had the last time, though that too was very pleasant with the sound all night of the river trickling by.

I took a glass of wine out onto the balcony, but after a few minutes it started to rain so I had to retreat to bed. But with the curtains open I was quite content to read there and finish the peanuts, not at all hungry after my massive breakfast at Dubrovnik.

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