I got up a little late this morning but quickly headed out to explore the city. There's extremely obvious Ottoman influence here, mostly in the huge number of mosques whose minarets and calls to prayer are hard to miss, but also in the architecture of the infrastructure. The famous bridge is really quite nice, and seems to be the hub for the city's entire tourism industry (not that it's very large, but still). A large cross sits on top of a nearby mountain, and I was tempted to climb up to it, but the only trail up was on the opposite side of the mountain. I actually spent a fair amount of the afternoon sleeping instead since I'm not quite 100% yet after the sickness.

But Mostar is clearly the poorest city I've been to yet while in Europe. The cars tend to be old, many houses aren't in great condition, stray animals roam everywhere (though they all seem to be quite well behaved and friendly - the huge dogs that chased after me just wanted pets), and prices are astonishingly low. The slickly named "Bosnian Convertible Mark" is worth about 55¢, but the prices you see look low even if they were in dollars. I got a huge traditional Herzegovinan lunch today for around 8 marks, and I'd have happily paid $8 for it, but I even more happily paid $4. The only annoying thing is that almost nobody here takes card, so I keep having to withdraw cash from ATMs and pay their stupid transaction fees. Even worse, all this money is worthless once I cross into Serbia. A girl in the hostel had a similar issue with Albanian money, so I bought a few euros worth off her since I do plan to go there eventually. Quick aside: I should mention that while I've been calling Mostar Bosnia, it's actually Herzegovina. This is confusing since Bosnia is mostly Muslim Bosniaks while Herzegovina is mostly Catholic Croats, but Mostar is a mostly Bosniak city in the otherwise ethnically Croatian area... It's something of a miracle that this country has survived at all as a union, especially given the 3rd separate Serbian ethnic region to the north. I'm not entirely sure why they got left out of the name, but "Bosnia and Herzegovina" is enough of a mouthful without an additional "and Republika Srpska", so maybe it's for the best.

Anyway, point is that Bosnia is by far the poorest country I've seen thus far. And yet, despite the poverty that I know exists, despite the all too recent tragedies that I know haunt all but the youngest adults, despite the country's ethnic tensions and the uncertain future that millions of its citizens face, I find the place beautiful. It has character and charm far beyond so many other cities I've seen. The river slices a bright teal course down a canyon the city flanks. Steep cobblestone pathways wend their way through the labyrinth of houses on either side of the banks. Cragged mountains encircle the city, and while they have no snow today, I know it won't be long before they shine brilliant white with the first storm of winter.

And the people laugh. They share jokes with one another, sing along to music in their own language, yell stuff at me that their tone suggests to be jovial in nature, though truthfully I have no idea at all of what they might be saying. In the evening I went to a bar with some people from the hostel (featuring $2 pints and a Kiwi named Hamish!) and the locals there were young and seemed happy. At night, young women walk the streets alone. When I went back to the hostel I played cards in the common room for a while with some other guests, and they pointed me to a group of photos on the wall of a bombed out house, little more than a couple walls and some rubble. I was startled to realize that the photos were of the very house I was staying in, or at least one in the same location - and it was our host Taso's family residence, not 30 years ago. It recontextualized all the other damaged buildings I'd seen, since they weren't, as I'd thought, merely neglected old ruins for which maintenance money had dried up. They're wreckage from one of the war's most brutal sieges. Taso (he's been very nice and I've forgiven him for being rude to me when I initially checked in) is probably in his late 30s, which would mean he grew up in the war. I know he lost a house, but what else did it cost him? How many schools and parks, teachers and neighbors, friends and family must he have seen go up in smoke? But now he's rebuilt that home and uses it to host privileged foreigners who won't ever begin to know the things he's had to live with. For all the sorrow that's plagued these people, for all the scars that remain painfully evident - their culture survives, their city remains, and that famed bridge across the valley's halves still stands.

It's worth recognizing that I've been here about 24 hours and my perspective is limited to the narrow setting of people who are in the old city center. Honestly, I assume it gets pretty depressing further out. But the mere fact that the city is safe and functional at all not 25 years after the conclusion of the Balkan Wars is hugely impressive. I think I'd rather live here than somewhere like Bratislava.

Sarajevo tomorrow morning. I'm taking a bus and I've heard the route is absolutely stunning - apparently the only thing more beautiful is the train route, but that got washed out in the flooding a few months ago and they haven't had a chance to rebuild the tracks yet. A shame since it was on Interrail. Hamish the Kiwi gave me tons of recs for things to do there, so I think I'll keep entertained.