May 22, 2024

What a weekend! Challenging, exhausting, familiar. Risks taken, fears confronted, wise old men returned to, saleps drunken, miles driven, and more. Mom met me at the office on Friday, we took a bus to Belgrade center, and walked around for a while, seeing the center, my apartment, getting some cevapi, beers, seeing a bit of the blues jam at Bluz i Pivo, and walking around a really fun bustling night market with lots of cool Serbian products. 

On Saturday morning we had a chill morning, eating some Burek, and taking a train up to Novi Sad. What a cute city! There’s a super beautiful old town with lots of little cafes and churches. We had a nice lunch and walked up to their big fort on a hill across the Danube before making our way back to the train station to return to Belgrade. We went and played a few frames of pool, where I practiced my new techniques from Peter and taught Mom the rules of 9-ball. 

Sunday morning was spent retrieving a rental car from the Belgrade Waterfront Gallerija, which took a bit of doing, but we figured it out. The first stop on our road trip was a huge war monument in Kosmaj, about an hour south of Belgrade. It’s located within a national park and consists of five huge spiked structures arranged in a star shape, each having a curved spine leaning first inwards and then outwards as they grow taller, with a third prong jutting outward near the bend of the central pillar. I saw it on Instagram years ago and I was so struck by the design, and the real thing did not disappoint. On our way further East, we drove through almost exclusively rural areas, making a few stops in tiny remote villages with extravagant churches that seemed so out of place next to the modest homes and sprawling farmland. One in particular, in the town if Sibnica, was a candy cane red and white striped orthodox church nestled in unkempt fields, full of sheep and hay bales. We crossed the border into Bosnia, facilitated by a very friendly and boisterous Serbian border control officer who gave us the crispest passport stamps I’ve ever seen!

The next stop we made was at the Srebrenica Memorial Center in Bosnia. As we approached the parking area, we could see the furthest extents of the cemetery long before the entrance appeared. Acres of white obelisk tombstones marked the victims of the 1995 genocide that happened in the region, mostly targeting Muslim Bosniaks. Seeing the extent of the grid started to help me approach an understanding scale of the atrocity, something that I know I’ll never truly be able to wrap my head around. It is a somber and heartbreaking place, but beautifully designed, created, and preserved. A sign read: “In the Name of God The MOst Merciful, the Most Compassionate. We pray to Almighty God, May grievance become hope! May revenge become justice! May mothers’ tears become prayers that Srebrenica never happens again to no one again nowhere! – Raisu-I-ulama, July 11, 2001”. 

Our next stop was in Sarajevo. After a long day of driving, we got another cevapi dinner and walked around. I went up to a lovely viewpoint where I made a friend last year. I took in the city for a while, the roads dripping up form the river into the mountainsides, the calls to prayer combining between the dozens of mosques in the valley, the grungy blocks far to the west of the city. What a gorgeous place. From there I made my way to Hussein’s Cafe, a tiny cafe in a row of Turkish tea houses on a steep street above the old town. I had been there a year ago and had been struck by Hussein as the coolest, wisest guy ever. He speaks a handful of languages and delivers your Salep to your table, mixing the cinnamon in with a spoon before wishing you bon apetit. After paying, we suavely waits for you at the edge of his outdoor seating, shaking each patron’s hand and thanking them for coming. On my way out, I told him I had been there one year ago. I also asked him what he does when he is afraid and has to do something that gives him fear. He enlisted the collaboration of a friend of his who spoke English more strongly. He translated: “if you have decided, then the fear is already behind you”. So fucking cool. The friend translating was really a super cool couple, who also gave me courage and encouragement (cool root word sharing I never thought about). 

The next morning we got the early morning train to Mostar. They say it’s one of the most scenic train routes in the world and holy shit, they’re right, I think at least. It weaves around and through the Bosnian mountains, through which threads a number of copper green rivers. Huge mystical rock formations define the landscape, as well as patchworks of farms, fields, romantic villages, and lush forests. We arrived in Mostar and took a lovely tour of the old town. It’s as if someone carved the shape of a town into the banks of the Nvereta river, took the thousands of smooth pale stones they unearthed, and crafted a charming village, as well as a giant arching bridge across the river. This bridge itself was my query, and as soon as I could, I made my way to the headquarters of the Mostar Diving Club, a small building on one end of the bridge.  Thus began my career as a diver. 

Their fee structure allowed me to pay 20 euros for the training program before investing in the 30 euro membership fee. This was more than I’d read online, but alas. If anyone is searching online, researching the dive, let this be some up to date information for you. When I first told them I wanted to do the drive, they asked what the highest dive I’ve done is. I said something like “uhhhh maybe three meters”, which to be honest is even a stretch. They gave me a little look, but shrugged and continued. I stripped down to my speedo and followed my coach down to the river, into a little motor boat, and crossed the river to the practice area. It was nestled atop a small cliff on the left bank of the river, with the towering bridge just to the left. My coach (whose name I regretfully blank on. I’ll call him Coach, even though he was probably around 18) told me to first get my body used to the temperature of the water. They say it’s the coldest river in Europe, about 7 degrees Celsius. In the Budapest bath I went to last week, the cold plunge pool had been 20C. However, I must have had a good bit of adrenaline pumping through my veins: I barely felt the cold at all after submerging. Coach gave me a few tips: start with my arms out to the side, using them to guide my fall and correct any rotation. About two or three meters from the water’s surface, straighten my body, become really stiff, and grab my balls. When jumping, just take one step forward and step straight off, not trying to clear any distance. I nodded in mild amazement that they let just any schmuck try to do the dive. Before I could believe it, he sent me up the diving tower to the lowest board, which was probably about 9 meters, maybe 30 feet or so. I just took a deep breath, tried not to think about it too much, and stepped off. The water rushed towards me, then I was seeing a pale blue bubbles all around me, then gasping for air, burping violently, and raggedly paddling towards the river’s rocky shore. Coach shouted down at me that it wasn’t so bad, but that I needed to be a lot straighter when I entered. The climb back to the base of the platform was actually a bit of rock climbing, tricky when you’re shaking and soaking wet. After the first dive I needed a couple minutes to gather myself. The rush was something I’ve never felt, I felt really shaky and thin minded. Between the dive and the cold it makes a lot of sense. I had never done a jump even close to that height, and it was the smallest Mostar had to offer. I noticed that my head hurt a good bit, but I attributed it to the rush. Coach said it was a decent enough dive and that I could proceed up to the next platform. This one was about 13 meters, or 42 feet. From here I did three dives, none of them fantastic, and one downright bad, leaning forward too much and getting a pink sting on my chest and a face full of water. Each time I climbed the tower I was filled with a huge fear or dread that did not diminish with practice. The rush was incredibly stimulating, but I must say that at no point was I relishing the next dive. On my way up to the final dive, I realized that my head was actually pounding super painfully, as if my sinuses had been filled with water moving at a hundred miles an hour and totally cleared them out. This is basically what really happened. I told my coach, and he said that it is a pretty normal thing and that if my head really hurt, it would be better to quit than to continue. So, mildly dissatisfied and pretty damn proud I got back into the motor boat and returned to the Diving Club to change back into my clothes. Nobody gave me a hard time, but I still don’t like quitting anything. Out of the context of the ultimate goal of the bridge  (24 meters, 79 feet), what I did would be super impressive, and it still is, but I would be lying if I said that I was purely pleased with how it went. Just one of those things. 

We spent the rest of the day wandering Mostar, spending time in the lovely place, me trying to deal with my throbbing head as well as I could. It was a chill afternoon and a calm ride back to our AirBnB in Sarajevo, with my heart rate incredibly high with residual adrenaline the whole time. The next morning we took the cable car up the mountain to walk through the old Sarajevo Olympic bobsled track, the berms of which now serve as giant canvases for murals and graffiti artists. Athens might give it a run for its money, but I’d wager that Sarajevo has more graffiti density than any city I’ve ever been. I dropped mom off at the airport that afternoon and enjoyed a somewhat tired, rather long drive back to Belgrade where I returned the rental car with only some minor hiccups. What a cool adventure to take with my mom!