Trebinje, the City of the Sun and the Plane Trees

Trebinje is the southernmost city in Bosnia and Herzegovina, huddled in a valley along the Trebisnjica River. It is part of Bosnia, yet not quite. The area is populated by mostly Serbian people.

As we entered the territory, we spotted a curious sign that said, “Welcome to the Republika Srpska” (“Welcome to the Republic of the Serb People”). In a previous story, I explained that Republika Srpska is a Serbian territory that covers large parts of northern Bosnia (called Bosanska Krajina), Eastern Herzegovina, and some eastern regions closer to the Serbian border (Northeastern Bosnia and Romanija). It is one of the two constituent entities of the country and is something like a “state within a state.”

And please don’t confuse this Serbian territory with the country of Serbia, officially called “Republic of Serbia” on the other side of the border. I know the borders in this part of the world is very complicated, even for those that live here. For this reason, I am not going to dwell on their politics.

There is so much more to Trebinje, and that’s what I would like to focus on – its nature, culture, and people.

With seven mountains framing the town in pictorial fashion and Austro-Hungarian ruins and monastic complexes adorning the peaks, one can easily say that it is by far, the prettiest little town in Republika Srpska. In fact, it is also dubbed as “The City of the Sun and Plane Trees,” which gives you an idea how perfect its weather and how beautiful it must be.

Trebinje ranks high with Mostar in terms of beauty and fortunately escaped its fate. It was virtually untouched by the war, thereby leaving its Old Town intact.

The tiny walled Old Town has a compact centre and has a pretty market square flanked by leafy plane trees and quaint buildings housing small shops and restaurants. The banks of the river are lined with swimming spots, old mills, and replicas of waterwheels, once extensively used here for irrigation…and more plane trees!

We arrived in the early afternoon and checked in to our hotel in the heart of the Old Town. Trebinje was to be our base for exploring Dubrovnik, in nearby Croatia. It is only 30 kilometers from Dubrovnik, about an hour by bus. 

Many travelers, in fact, choose to stay here if they want to explore the Croatian city that became famous after the Game of Thrones selected it as the setting of King’s Landing, among other settings. Prices in Dubrovnik, from accommodation to food, have gone up considerably when the TV series rose in ratings. Thus, budget travellers prefer to do a day trip to Dubrovnik from Trebinje, even though they have to cross the border twice. We were sort of doing the same thing, indulging in a relatively nice hotel right in front of the main square. For the same price, we would only get a cheap hostel in Dubrovnik, so staying in Trebinje is a better value for our money.

Since it was an exceptionally hot and humid day, and our drive here followed the course of the river, my tour mates naturally asked about the possibility of swimming. Our Tour Director confidently declared that we had come to the perfect place. There is a river beach called Brazen Bregovi, a mere 15-minute walk from our hotel where locals hangout to cool off.

He clarified that it is not a real beach. It is a huge pool built beside the river with shady plane trees surrounding it and facilities like sports courts, outdoor workout equipment, picnic tables, summer bars, and food vendors onsite. Nevertheless, it is a real treat on a hot and humid summer day. He told us to just follow the path that cuts through the park a few blocks from the hotel, and we’d hit it at the very end.

I stayed in my room for a bit to enjoy the air-conditioning before I ventured outside. After about half an hour of resting, I walked around the neighbourhood first to get the feel of the place. It was a sharp contrast to Mostar that was teeming with tourists. Here, most of the people I saw were locals going about their daily businesses. I instantly felt at home and safe. The small houses and business establishments housed in stone structures with wrought-iron overhangs and the stone fountains dotting the street corners were as charming as any old town would be.

Right across from our hotel was Trg Slobode (Freedom Square). With its chestnut trees, stone-flagged pavements, and chic street cafés, one could imagine being in southern France instead. In the middle is an angel-topped monolith that was donated by a famous Serbian poet, Jovan Ducic, to commemorate the day in November 1918 when the Serbian forces kicked the Austrians out of Trebinje. Apparently, this square is where all the action happens in this town. In the mornings, there is a produce market and at night, parties and celebrations.

To the southeast of the square is a small pathway named after the same poet lined by mature plane trees, which was the dominant tree found all throughout Trebinje. There are old-fashioned lamp posts and street vendors selling wares from artwork and handicrafts to kitsch souvenir items. The tourist information office was also situated there, as well as a small Orthodox church that was unfortunately closed.

I found the entrance to Gradski Park, a spacious public park with nicely groomed trees, well-tended grass, flowering shrubs bursting with summer blooms, a modern fountain that lights up in different colours, and an impressive memorial honouring the partisan struggle against fascism. There were families strolling by and children playing in the park or riding their kiddie automobiles.

At the corner was another Orthodox church, bigger than the first one I saw, and it was open. I went inside to take a look. It is called the Church of the Holy Transfiguration of Our Lord.The structure is a combination of Roman Gothic and Byzantine architecture. It has a beautiful garden and a statue of a Serbian patriarch.

Inside, I saw the typical Orthodox iconastasis (a wall of icons and religious paintings, separating the nave from the sanctuary) and frescoes that adorn the ceilings and walls. A sign indicated that a relic of a saint is kept in the church, a patriarch’s miter, if I understood correctly. As I exited, I saw the church’s priest in black vestments talking to what I would guess was church staff. He nodded to me and I smiled back at him.

I continued my walk along the path past the park and then through a quiet residential neighbourhood with small houses, apartment buildings, and an occasional café. There were locals taking a walk and they were all very friendly. They confirmed that I was on the right track towards “the beach” and wished me a good time.

At the end of the street was a mural with graffiti and as I turned, I saw the huge swimming pool. It was surrounded by metal railings. On one side was a stone pathway, and on the other, a “concrete beach.”

I spotted some of my tour mates on the “beach” side and they waved at me. Some were in the water, and some were sunbathing. Behind “the beach” was a grassy area with a small playground. I noticed a few more tour mates having a picnic, chips and canned beers on hand. They asked if I wanted a beer, but I declined, explaining that I was not going to stay too long. Behind them was the riverbank and I saw a handful of locals fishing.

I told my tour mates that I just came to check out the pool, dip my legs in the water, take pictures of the sunset, and walk along the river. They informed me that the water was actually very cold. I kicked off my shoes and waded in. It was indeed cold, but a few locals, and some of my tour mates were actually swimming. Most people were on kayaks and small boats, and there were some playing volleyball on the side or just chilling out with their kids.

After I got my feet wet and captured some sunset shots, I bade them goodbye. With the sundown, the cooler temperature, and some breeze that had set in, I was ready to explore the river path. The whole town of Trebinje was built along the banks of the Trebisnjica River and I intended to see as much as I could in the short time that we were there.

I rounded the pool to go back to the other side where the stone pathway was and walked along the banks of the river all the way to the other side of the Old Town. It was a pleasant and tranquil walk with more plane trees, small cafés, pretty backyards, and small business establishments on either side, until I reached the main thoroughfare. From there, I found a small flight of stairs that took me back on the main road towards the Old Town square. I walked back to the hotel, once again zigzagging through small streets and alleyways.

For some reason, I ended up at the back of the Orthodox church that I previously visited, and this time, I heard some heavenly chanting. Curious, I walked to the side entrance and discovered that a service was going on. Since the door was opened wide, I assumed that it was alright to go in. By the door, I spotted a woman with a child. That encouraged me to inch in a little farther.

I am not familiar with Orthodox worship traditions, and in fact, this was my first time to see a service, which I believe, is called Divine Liturgy. At the altar was the priest I saw earlier, flanked by altar servers. They were praying in chants in the Serbian language. One was swinging a censer, filling the air with the familiar scent of incense also used in Catholic Masses. The other one held a bell.

I noticed that everyone was standing (there are usually no pews in Orthodox churches) – the males on the right side, and the females, on the left. I was glad I entered the left side door, and I tried to blend in with the women standing beside me. Once in a while, the community would reply in chant and make the sign of the cross, which is a little different from how Catholics do it. They use three fingers imprinted on the forehead, then the right, then the left shoulders. Catholics do it in reverse, with the two fingers crossing the left shoulder before the right after the forehead.

I stayed for a while, mesmerized by the powerful chanting. With the incense smoke and the colourful icons whose gold glimmer was heightened by the flickering flames of the candles, I was transported to another world. I just savoured the moment in prayer that I could feel, even though I did not understand a word. Then I saw the priest turn around and walk down the aisle to bless the faithful with the incense and holy water. I bowed my head and said a prayer of thanks for this opportunity to witness a beautiful worship ceremony.

Outside the church, I saw a small kiosk. There were two girls selling handmade magnets. They were mostly souvenir magnets from the church, but there were some generic Trebinje ones, and some simple printed ones. The texts are all in Cyrillic, but after a broken English conversation with the younger girl, I understood that they were names and descriptions of their origins. I asked if they had one for my son’s name, and luckily, they found one for me.

The younger girl, who spoke a little English tried to translate the text for me, which said that my son’s name originated from the Greek word that means, “defender or protector of the people” and that it signifies bravery and strength. I had to get it, of course. Unfortunately, they did not have my name nor my husband’s, which was not surprising as our names are not common in the Balkans.

On my way back to the hotel, I took a different route from the park and passed by local landmarks – the city hall, the courthouse, another park with sculptures, a museum, and a small mosque.

I was early for our group dinner, so I asked the concierge what else I should see around the neighbourhood. It was only seven o’clock and we were supposed to meet our Tour Director for dinner in an hour. The concierge asked if I had been to the Old Bridge and if not, it was only a ten to fifteen walk. Perfect!  

He gave me directions and off I went. I found the stairs leading to the river path underneath the bridge on the main road. I recognized this area. I was on the other side of that road awhile ago, but the river path was cut off by the main road, that’s why I never got to this side.

At the bottom of the stairs, I saw an elderly couple, clearly tourists like me. The husband was taking photos of the wife, who was posing under the bridge. I smiled at them and the husband asked if I wouldn’t mind taking their photo together. He offered to take mine after. I obliged but then realized something. I asked the husband if they were here to see the Old Bridge and they pointed to the bridge above us.   

I suspected as much. They got it wrong. I told them that this bridge is not the Old Bridge. It is a modern one called Kameni Most that is part of the main road that crosses the river. The ancient bridge, I told them, is further down the path. I asked them to follow me. I had not been there, but as per the concierge’s instructions, it should be around five minutes away.

True enough, as we emerged from a curve, I spotted an old windmill and beyond that, the ancient bridge. The couple behind me both said, “Aha!” and profusely thanked me for leading them to the right bridge. They offered to take my photo and then I took theirs.

This bridge is called Arslanagica Cuprija. This unique double-backed structure was built in 1574 commissioned by the Ottoman vizier in honour of his son killed during the war with Venice. It was named after the toll collector of that time.

The bridge was originally ten kilometers further upstream from its present location, but in 1965, it disappeared beneath the rising waters of the Gorica reservoir. Rescued stone by stone, it took six years to be finally reassembled. I wish I could have walked over it, but I wanted to make it on time for dinner, so I started my walk back to the hotel.

Dinner that night was at Restoran MG, a traditional eatery tucked away in a small alley beside a hostel. It serves traditional Serbian fare, as well as European-inspired (particularly Austro-Hungarian) dishes.

I sat at a small table with the two American ladies and our Tour Director. Our group was broken up into smaller tables around us. I asked our Tour Director what he was going to order, and I ordered the same. We got the karadordeva snicla, a Balkan twist to the Austrian schnitzel. It’s basically a rolled veal steak schnitzel stuffed with kajmak (local white cheese), then breaded and fried.

This dish is sometimes colloquially referred to as the “maiden’s dream” or the “bride’s dream” because of its shape. The American flight attendant ordered the same thing, and the older American lady ordered a more traditional schnitzel.

When our plates arrived, our Tour Director said, “Now you understand why we call it ‘bride’s dream’?” and we all laughed hysterically. The American flight attendant joked that maybe it should be nicknamed “bride’s nightmare” instead. She said, “It’s too long!” More hilarious laughter ensued, both from our table and the next. Apparently, most of us ordered this plate.

The Serbian schnitzel was served with fries, a small dollop of rice, roasted veggies, and a mayo-like dip. The older American lady, who is a wine connoisseur, ordered a bottle of local red, recommended by our Tour Director. “Wine is on me, ladies and gent,” she said.

The wine was indeed good and was a perfect match to our schnitzels. Our Tour Director, who is a wine enthusiast himself, said that Trebinje is known for excellent wine. With 260-days of guaranteed sunshine a year, a Mediterranean-like climate, and good soil, wineries abound here. Though not yet popular as a wine-tasting destination, the region certainly has hidden gems.

The older American lady told us that she booked a wine tour for the following day. She wouldn’t be joining our trip to Croatia because she didn’t think her legs would be strong enough to withstand all the walking and climbing that we were going to do in the walled city. She decided to spend the day in Trebinje, visit a winery, enjoy some vino, do a little sightseeing, then get a massage at a spa. We asked her to tell us about it and share her pictures, which she did. She sent me “daytime” photos of the Old Bridge which were a welcome contrast from my “nighttime” shots, and a few pictures from the old fort that she also visited.

Our Tour Director, who makes it a point to sit with different groups every night, told us that he was quite enjoying the “adult” conversation we were having at our table on politics, war, world affairs, philosophy, and life in general. The two American ladies, myself, and the Canadian Vietnamese couple (who did not join the dinner that night because it was too late for them) were the only “mature” travelers in this group. The majority of our tour mates were in their mid-20s to the early 30s, I would guess.

We lingered over our meals as our conversation progressed from one serious topic to another, and with that, we ordered (and finished) a second bottle of the same wine. The older American lady insisted on paying for both bottles, so the other American lady and I treated her to coffee and dessert afterwards.

We ordered plates of tiramisu, which was not quite Balkan, but the flight attendant wanted it badly. I told them that my husband makes a “mean” tiramisu with only the best Italian ingredients. I also mentioned that every time we would dine at an Italian restaurant, he’d order the tiramisu and ask me to compare it with his…and of course, expect me to declare that his version is better. And so, I said, that even though this tiramisu is good, my husband’s is tastier and more authentic. I took a photo of my tiramisu and sent it to my husband.

We heard a little commotion at the other table not far from ours. It was a party of ten or so, a family celebrating something. It seemed like one of the guys was complaining to the server. Our Tour Director said they are Turkish tourists. He speaks various languages – Serbo-Croatian, Turkish, Russian, Hebrew, English, among others – hence, could understand what the Turkish guy was saying.

He excused himself, went to their table, and chatted up the guy. The Turkish guy started laughing and then he called the server back, patted him on the back and joked with him.

When our Tour Director came back to our table, he explained to us that it was just a little misunderstanding due to the language barrier. “Everything is good now,” he said. We told him he could be an excellent negotiator or diplomat with his skills in navigating tricky situations like this. He just shrugged his shoulders and said he is just trying to help the restaurant staff because they have always been nice to him and to all customers.

Then we turned our attention to the TV screen. A football match (soccer, to us North Americans) was starting – an important game, according to our Tour Director, because it was Serbia versus Russia. Of course, as a Serb, he was rooting for his team. We watched the game with him until we finished all our drinks, and from what I understood (I don’t really follow football, and I am not familiar with the game rules), the Serbian team was at a great advantage.

We left the restaurant before the match was over, but as we approached our hotel, I figured that the Serbian team eventually won. All the cafés and restaurants along the streets we passed by, and even our hotel restaurant and the square in front of us were filled with people, mostly locals tuned in to the screens and cheering like mad men. By the time we reached the lobby, the Serbian team had won. I congratulated our Tour Director before I turned in for the night.

Trebinje was a wonderful bonus on this trip. I appreciated the tranquil atmosphere and the quiet time in-between the hurried touring. If I get the chance to go back, I would explore the areas outside the Old Town and visit the old Austro-Hungarian fortress hugging the mountaintops, see the monastery on top of the hill, cross the Roman bridge, and and go to a winery or two.