Copper Earrings, Bridge Jump, and Bosnian Coffee in Mostar

I spent the rest of the morning perusing several shops, but did not buy anything, save for a magnet.

Outside a foreign exchange office, I bumped into my roommate and the British guy who just came from the Koski Mehmed Pasha Mosque. They showed me the photos that they took from the minaret then asked if I wanted to join them for lunch. I realized I was famished, so we went on a hunt for a place to eat.

My roommate heard about this cool bar that’s inside an actual cave and I remember our local guide mentioning it during our walking tour. I said it would be the perfect place to eat because it would be cold inside and that’s what I needed at the moment, more than the food. But we were disappointed when we found it. The place, called Bijeli Bar, also known as the Alibaba Cave Bar, serves only alcoholic drinks and hookah pipes…no food! I guess, this is where you go when you want to drink and party, not when you want a huge platter of meat.

Across the street was a restaurant with an open terrace. My companions opted to go there, so I followed. We were seated under an umbrella, but since we were outdoors, it was scorching hot and humid. Before we ordered, I told my roommate and the British guy that I would have to excuse myself because I didn’t think I could last another ten minutes under direct exposure to the sun. I was literally melting and I was having a little difficulty with my breathing. I said I would have to find an air-conditioned place and stay there for a bit as I have a respiratory condition that acts up in this kind of weather. They told me they perfectly understood and asked if there was anything I needed. I assured them that air-conditioning was all that’s required to make me feel better. I said goodbye to them and told them I’d see them on the bus later.

I had thought about going to the other side of the bridge to find the restaurant where our Tour Director was staying. That one had air-conditioning, I recalled. As I was walking, I bumped into the American flight attendant, and she asked what I was up to. It turned out she wanted the same thing – an air-conditioned place and a pint or two of ice-cold beer. She went onboard with me to head out to Restaurant Divan.

But along the way, we got sidetracked. We saw this display of beautiful copper jewelry and suddenly, she remembered she wanted to get some earrings. I suggested she should probably get them on this side of the river, where the artisans’ shops are, and we happened to be in a copper artist’s workshop. The place was inside a quaint stone building with huge electric fans blowing full blast. Nice! I told her that I could spare a few minutes here. Besides, the copperware was exquisite, and I thought I could get earrings for me, too.

If there is one thing you need to get from Mostar, it’s copperware. This copper craft, along with that of leather tanning and carpet weaving, dates back to the arrival of the Turks here in the 15th century. At present, there are thirty craft guilds in the city, with some tracing their roots all the way back to the 1700s. The trade is passed on along generations and most of them operate right there, at Kujundziluk Bazaar.

We did not have to look further for proof. At the corner of the shop, the shop owner himself was working intently and painstakingly hammering an intricate design on a piece of metal. We watched him for a bit, and when he decided to take a break, he told us that everything in his shop was made by him and his son and that he could show us around.

My travel mate and I each ended up buying several pairs of copper earrings for ourselves and to take home as presents for family and friends.

With the earring business dealt with, we re-focused on the quest for food, beer, and air-conditioning, and we went on our way to cross the bridge. But we were sidetracked once again, and this one was something we could absolutely not say “no” to.

As we stepped on the bridge, we noticed a crowd gradually gathering toward the slope. Then we saw this guy standing on the ledge of the bridge, wearing a pair of blue swimming trunks and collecting money with a plastic bowl on one hand. My American companion and I looked at each other and simultaneously blurted out, “It’s going to happen!”

We rushed to where the action is…and right in front of the guy. Then he jumped down from the ledge and asked if we would like to make a donation. He said that if he collected enough money, he and his companion would jump off the bridge. We quickly fished for some change and stayed where we were as he continued to solicit. We were standing right on the middle of the bridge and on the front row. We were hoping that he’d make 25 euros soon.

Within a few minutes, we heard wild cheers all around us, which was a good sign. The guy in blue swimming trunks walked back to our corner and announced that the jump would commence soon and that his friend would be doing it this time. More cheers ensued.

Out of nowhere, a tall, muscular blond guy, wearing pink swimming trunks with yellow and green pineapple prints stepped forward. My companion whistled and whispered to me that this hunk must be so secure about his masculinity that he could pull off wearing a candy-coloured, fruit-themed diving outfit in public. I agreed that he certainly carried himself with a lot of confidence.

The diver quickly doused himself with water, then climbed onto the ledge. He yelled out loud and raised his arms to rouse the crowd into even more frenzied raving, just like a wrestler about to haul himself into his opponent.

We were right in front of him and had our phone cameras ready to capture the moment. Just then, a lady pushed my companion aside, squeezed in front of me, nearly causing me to drop my phone, and positioned her phone camera right in front of mine. It happened in a split second, and we were both thrown off guard.

But we quickly recovered and simultaneously said, “Excuse me, Miss!” I gave the lady THAT look (with the hope that she got its meaning – the “what-do-you-think-you’re-doing” look) and my companion confronted her. “Hey, you can’t do that! You can’t just barge in here,” she said to her.

The pushy lady (quite literally) determinately responded with, “I just gave money!” and my companion raised her voice and said, “We gave money, too, and we were here first. Don’t be rude and step aside,” to which I added, “And please move your camera aside as well. Find your own spot, Miss.” 

But she continued shoving me and covering my camera. It’s a good thing that both my companion and I had good reflexes, and without even glancing at each other, we both turned at 90 degrees, so that instead of facing the diver diagonally, we were facing the bridge directly. The slight movement gained us more space and Miss Pushy Lady was finally forced to step away. I heard more bickering behind us, as she tried to squeeze in other peoples’ shoulders and we heard people telling her off. I didn’t think she succeeded in pushing her way to the front, but I had no time to be bothered by it anyway because Mr. Pink Trunks suddenly gave a primordial scream and assumed a diving position. We all held our breaths as he plunged down. I held my phone steadily to capture his fall.

Down below, a huge crowd had also gathered by the riverbank. As soon as we heard the splash, we broke into screams and “hurrahs.” After a few seconds of losing sight of him, we spotted his pink trunks and saw him triumphantly swimming to shore. Now, I understood why he chose such a colourful diving wardrobe. The pineapples stood out in the turquoise waters.

The video recording from my phone turned out well. Later that day, I found out that one of my tour mates captured the dive from the banks of the river. She and her gang happened to be having their lunch there when the big moment came. She found a perfect spot and took a really nice video. We both shared our footage to the rest on the group on our Facebook chat page.

My American companion and I were amazed by the timing of events. Despite our desperation for cold air and cold beer, that stop at the coppersmith’s shop was all we needed to be on the bridge at the right time, and we were even on the right spot. Now, we both could say that our Mostar experience is complete. And she added she couldn’t believe that pushy lady almost ruined it for us.

We shook our heads and I added that it doesn’t matter where we go. There would always be entitled people somewhere trying to get what they want with little regard for others, and we are sometimes bound to encounter them. It was good that we reacted fast, otherwise, she would have spoiled the highlight of our Mostar visit. “It takes years of practice in different cities to hone the most important skill of fending off these types,” my American companion said. She is a well-seasoned traveler, I could tell.

On the other side of the bridge, we bumped into our Australian guy tour mate. He just watched the bridge dive from the side of the Stari Most, and now he wanted to get something cold to drink, but did not really want to eat.

We walked with him to this small cafeteria where he ordered his soda. The cafeteria had a couple of tables and some chairs which indicated it served food. Curious, my American companion and I asked for the menu to check what they offered. The owner told us to sit down so she could take our order, but we politely clarified that we just wanted to see the menu, if that's alright. I guess she didn't like that. In a loud, annoyed voice she asked, “Why? What’s wrong with my restaurant? Why don’t you want to eat here?”

We explained that we were just there with our friend to get a drink and we were just curious. "If you are not sitting at a table, I don't give the menu.” Got it! "We're so sorry," we said and slowly walked away after our guy friend got his drink.

When we were at a safe distance, my American companion remarked, “What is it with this day that we seem to be attracting people with issues?” I said that it must be the extreme heat. Then she said, “Oh well, let's just go look for some air-conditioning.”

Our guy friend left us to look for an ATM and buy a souvenir for his mom. My American companion and I headed to the restaurant by the bridge. Along the way, we passed by that other restaurant we saw earlier...the one with all the staff dressed in traditional garb.

We considered going there. The place, called Sadrvan, seemed to be very popular, and judging from the menu displayed outside, they offered authentic Bosnian food. It was good that we spoke with the hostess by the door first. She told us that at this time of the day, they were offering only the set menu – an appetizer, a main dish, a dessert, and a drink. My companion said she was not that hungry and though I was famished, the set menu was a bit too much for me. The servings were huge there, and since the dishes were also meat heavy, I wouldn’t be able to handle all that food. I only had room for a main dish, or even just an appetizer.

We thanked the hostess for the information and moved on. We soon found Restaurant Divan, named after the Turkish word for “couch.” We crossed our fingers that there, we could just order what we wanted to eat. The hostess confirmed that and led us to the covered terrace with the most wonderful view. What a pleasant surprise!

From the street-level entrance, one would never realize how much bigger it was inside until you enter. It has three levels, each with a covered terrace facing the river. The interior was casual, but elegant, and most of all, air-conditioned. We saw our Tour Director by the bar but noticed that he was snoozing, so we didn’t bother him. We figured he already had his lunch. 

Our table was on the second-floor terrace with a view of the smaller river, the Radobolja which feeds into the Neretva, and the Kriva Cuprija (the Crooked Bridge). This stone bridge is a smaller version of Stari Most and was said to be constructed as a “test” before they built the bigger bridge.

The charming bridge is set against a layered series of picturesque stone houses and old mills that have been turned into shops and restaurants. We were glad we chose this place. We were two steps down the busy streets, and we were beside this peaceful scenery where all we could hear was the gentle gurgling of the water. That’s why we elected to sit here. The fresh air and the view trumped over the lure of air-conditioning inside.

Our first order was of course, extra cold, beer! We both had the Czech beer, Staropramen, which they carry on tap in this restaurant. After a refreshing gulp, we ordered our food. Our server noticed us previously checking on our Tour Director upstairs.

“Do you know him?” he asked. When we told him that we are part of his tour group, the server said that he would give us “special plates” – bigger servings with more stuff, he emphasized. Our Tour Director is a favourite client, so anyone from his group gets special treatment, he beamed. This was awesome!

I ordered the dolma plate – beef stuffed in grape leaves and served with mashed potatoes and cream. My companion ordered a huge plate of fries with lots of ketchup. She said she wanted to take a break from meat for now and just get an all-American snack. Our server said that my plate has an extra dolma and that my companion's plate has extra fries. He also gave us complimentary bread.

But the one thing we didn’t want to miss was the Bosnian coffee. And since the restaurant offers it on their menu, we opted to stay there for coffee instead of going out to find a kafana. Our server assured us they make their coffee the same way as the kafanas do and serve it in the traditional way.

Though Bosnia carries traces of Turkish influence, one never says Bosnian coffee is the same as Turkish coffee. Both start out with roasted coffee beans that are pulverized into a fine powder and cooked in a copper-plated pot with a long neck called dzezva. But the next steps are different.

The Turks add the coffee and optional sugar to cold water before placing it on the stove, but in the Bosnian way, the cold water alone goes on the stove. After boiling, a small amount of water is set aside. The coffee is then added to the pot and put back in the stove for a few seconds, allowing the liquid to boil again, and rise to the point of almost-overflowing, creating a thick foam. This process may be repeated several times. Then, the hot water that had been set aside is added.

The Bosnian way, they say, creates thicker foam and a more robust flavour, though I heard from those that have tried both the Turkish and the Bosnian versions that the differences are indistinguishable.

Service is also different. Turkish coffee is served in a single cup. Our coffee, served in the Bosnian way, came in a full dzezva, a pot that holds three cups of coffee. It was presented on a round tray accompanied by an empty cup and a container filled with sugar cubes. All the pieces are made of copper. We were also given a glass of water. Most kafanas serve their coffee with a Bosnian candy called rahat lokum, similar to Turkish Delight.

To drink the coffee, first take a sip of water. Next, put a cube (or two) of sugar in your empty cup. Then, spoon out a layer of foam from the dzezva, and pour the coffee before adding the foam. Some people plop the sugar cube in their mouth and put it under their tongue so that it dissolves while they sip their coffee, but we didn’t do it this way.

The coffee was very thick, bitter, and potent. For sure, it would keep us going for the rest of the day. And the ceremony itself felt so fancy. We savoured the moment and took our time sipping our Bosnian coffee. After all, this is Bosnia and the Bosnians take their coffee seriously – no instant coffee, no coffee in paper cups taken to go, no other embellishments (whipped cream, flavourings, drizzles, or toppings – even for me, this is like turning coffee into a calorie-laden dessert) - just pure coffee goodness!

We still had time left, so we stayed in that section of the Old Town to window shop. We were particularly interested in the copper coffee sets, I guess, it was the effect of the exhilaration from our fancy Bosnian coffee experience.

We both thought it would be cool to take home a set and enjoy some fancy coffee back in North America. I imagined myself at our dining table, pouring my coffee from a dzezva and sipping it from a copper cup.

But as we hopped from shop to shop, trying to compare prizes, we came to our senses. Do we really have time to roast the beans, pulverize them, and stand beside the stove for that long to complete all the boiling process? Nah!

I guess I was fine with my Keurig and Tassimo machines back home. I reminded myself not to be too carried away. I was on vacation in Bosnia and here, I could enjoy an elaborate 30-minute coffee break. But back in Canada, realistically speaking, I wouldn’t have the time for this. Plus, I thought about how much space the copper set would take in my small luggage and how it would just be put on display back home, never to be used.

In the end, my American friend and I ended up buying small copper spoons in-laid with colourful stones. We realized that these would be the more practical (and pretty) way to remind us of the Bosnian coffee we had in Mostar.

As we slowly made our way back to the bus, we both quipped that Bosnia had far exceeded our expectations. I had thought this to be the poorest among the Balkan countries and the roughest stay, but so far, it was turning to be our favourite.

If there’s a place in the Balkans to which I plan to return, it would be Mostar. Besides, I still would like to go to Medjugorje and see the Bosnian pyramids, and Mostar is the perfect base town for those day trips.

My American companion also told me that outside Mostar, there are a couple of places worth a short drive. One is the Kravice Falls, a semi-circular cascade of water, which she said, is like the smaller version of the popular falls in Plitvice, Croatia. It is said to be Bosnia and Herzegovina’s best-kept natural secret, still undiscovered by tourists.

The other one is the Blagaj Tekija, a Muslim Dervish monastery tucked under a sheer, limestone cliff overlooking the source of the River Buna. It is still an active monastery and Dervish ceremonies still take place there. But aside from admiring the natural beauty of the surrounding area and the architectural wonder of its building, one can dine at the monastery restaurant (fresh river fish, she said) and book a river ride through the caves.

Before we boarded the bus, we stopped at the Franciscan Catholic Church again. We discovered that there is actually an elevator that takes you to the bell tower, so there would be no rigorous climbing involved. But we did not want to be late, so we just bought some Catholic souvenirs (I found out my American tour mate is also Catholic).

The souvenir store sells Medjugorje rosaries and other religious items from there. Seeing them reminded me again how close I was to the Marian apparition site. But we were leaving Mostar soon.

We had one more Bosnian city to visit - Trebinje, and this time, we were going to the country's Serbian district.