I wasn’t in the best frame of mind when we got to Mostar. Another long bus trip, another customs stop, and honestly, I thought: all this to see a bridge?
And sure enough, the first stop was the classic “Instagram” moment. Flowers framing Stari Most, each of us lining up for the photo. Blatantly staged. That is the world today, isn’t it? Experiences served up as photo ops.
But what stayed with me was not the bridge. It was what we saw driving in.
On the right were parks that had become cemeteries. Grave after grave after grave. All the headstones showing dates from the nineties. On the left was a building still in ruins, covered in red and white cloth, scaffolding rusting with time. The guide said the money to rebuild had been promised, but it never turned up. Corruption swallowed it.
At the time I just clocked it. Cemeteries here, ruins there. But after we met the woman who told us her story of living through the war, that image came back and hit me harder.
She explained how her home was destroyed. How she and her husband ended up with her mother-in-law, living off a vegetable garden and a few chickens. How coffee on the black market cost one hundred dollars a kilo. How she still jumps at lightning because it sounds like shelling. And she said you have to start again not just with jobs or houses, but in your head.
After hearing her, those graves and that broken building hit me hard. All those lives cut short, looking down on a stark reminder of corruption.
Money talks, money walks.
Promises made, promises broken.
And the graves look down on the ruins as silent witnesses.
That night at dinner, that is all we talked about. Most people on our bus had grown up with Nazi Germany as part of their world. “Never again” was not just a slogan, it was something they carried. And yet here we were, in a city ripped apart only thirty years ago.
Change your heart, look around you.
Change your heart, it will astound you …
Everybody’s got to learn sometime.” The Korgis (written by James Warren), performed by Beck
The Americans shook their heads at what is happening back home. I did too. Everyone asking the same question in different ways: why don’t we ever learn?
So yes, Mostar has a bridge. But the real story is in the graves, the corruption, and the people who stayed.
#Mostar #Bosnia #TravelReflections #TravelAsWitness #HistoryMatters #LearningFromHistory #Corruption #NeverAgain #TravelBlog2025







