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Bosnia To Britain
Oct. 28th, 2017 12:21 amSaturday (7 October) in Sarajevo was yet another grey and dreary day. I had slept a lot better, and we woke up around 9am, heading downstairs to grab some limited breakfast. We then decided to go into the heart of the city once again to see if the mosque was open, but typically it wasn't and we had to give up. Disheartened, we headed back to the room, packed our bags and checked out. It was at this point that we realised we still owed the hotel money for parking and for some reason this had to be in cash. We hadn't enough as we were trying to whittle down our marks, meaning Wolfie had to go into the city again to grab money. Fortunately the hotel was so central, this was easy and soon he was back with cash and we paid for parking. The concierge then lead us two doors down to grab our car and soon we were driving out of the city. On our way out, we saw the old Holiday Inn, which had been built for the Winter Olympics in 1984 but had featured more prominently in the Bosnian War. It has since been recladded yellow and renamed the 'Hotel Holiday', but the building is unmistakeable. Opposite this is where the Sarajevo government building used to be, the one that was infamously on fire from shelling in 1993. It has since been rebuilt as a glamorous modern glassy tower block. There was also a nice white church here which I might as well mention.
It didn't take too long to reach the suburbs and soon we found ourselves in East Sarajevo, which was in the Republika Srpska. We didn't realise that it skirted so close to the city itself, but the Serbian flags were on display here and with Cyrillic writing reappearing, it did feel like a different world. We needed to be back in Tuzla, about two and a half hours away, at 3pm, giving us a couple of hours for a tourist sight out of town. We could have gone to the derelict toboggan track from the Olympics but instead we decided to go to the Sarajevo Tunnel, which proved to be the only lifeline for the city during the siege. Sarajevo was effectively encircled by Republika Srpska troops for 1425 days, with the airport the only place not under their control. This was administered by the UN, with Bosnian territory on the other side. However, sniper positions from the Srpska army meant that you couldn't cross the 700m of no-man's land without being put under fire, and many died doing just this. It was clear therefore that another solution was needed and so a tunnel was built under the runway from one bloke's house to another bloke's house. A car parked on the entrance to the tunnel is all that hid it from view *this didn't stop it from coming under fire though, as the numerous sharpnel holes, the Sarajevo Rose and the plaque highlighting nine people died there on 7 May 1995 testify) and the house in Butmir has since been turned into the Tunel spasa museum. It is in a tiny village along windy roads so we had assumed we would be the only ones there. We were wrong. Having avoided tourists throughout our Bosnia trip, for some reason we had to contend with three Italian coach parties as we viewed this museum. The worst part was during the documentary in one of the video rooms, when an entire coach load of Italians turned up, the guide turned down the volume of the rather fascinating fifteen minute documentary and then started a lecture in Italian. Rude. The documentary detailed how the tunnel was built and you saw people going through it, many with supplies and one poor sod with a goat. It was all monitored by the army, who stamped you in and out, and it was where much of the city's supplies came. It was an ingenious idea that took six months to build, with many thinking it would be impossible. The water in the tunnel did come up to knee-height though and consequently much of it has now been blocked off. However, you can still go in the first twenty metres or so, before coming out in the centre of the museum in a specially constructed exit. Even twenty metres was quite a thrill, with the need to go down it hunched being quite challenging. There were also rails placed into the floor which allowed trucks to pass through, on one occasion with a seat which carried the president of the country. There was a little museum which detailed how the tunnel was built, but the explanations were so lengthy that we didn't have time to hear them all, particularly when the Italians descended into the rooms and there was no space to move. Outside, you could see the airport, which was surprisngly quiet, and a dirt ridge marked the path of the tunnel over to the other side. You could easily see why such an open space was sniper territory. There were some signs in the outside area detailing the Siege but I would have hoped for more, while I also picked up a commemorative coin for 5KM on my way out which made for a nice souvenir.
I somewhat regretted my purchase however when we were back on the road, having grown weary of the tourists. Fearing we may have to go on toll roads, we were alarmed to find we had no money, resulting in a desperate search for a cash machine. Petrol stations don't have them in Bosnia and as this area was quite rural, we decided we just had to chance it. Fortunately, the roads were the usual single lane curved ones which followed mountain streams, meaning no tolls were forthcoming. As we drove, we noticed quite a number of cars flying the Bosnian flag, with many draping it over their bonnets to show their allegiance to their country. Assumedly these people were heading to the capital for the international football match between Bosnia and Belgium which was set for a 17:00 kick off. Alas we were heading in the opposite direction as we needed to get the car back to the airport and catch our flight. The drive itself was largely uneventful and we didn't stop anywhere, largely because we were on a deadline. I had hoped to call off at Olovo but we had overtaken a rather annoying driver just before we got there and the last thing we wanted was to be stuck behind him again. There weren't many places to overtake, which was quite frustrating when stuck behind slow drivers. The car was doing very well though, it was a crock of shit, which Wolfie liked, but our Skoda Felicia covered 1200km in a week and never let us down. Yes the radio made a weird humming sound and went bong whenever Wolfie used the brakes but we had gotten somewhat used to it and it had been a good little workhorse for us. We were quite sad we were going to have to leave it behind.
About ten miles out of Tuzla, we stopped for petrol, needing to fill the car before we gave it back to the rental company. Seeing that we had about an hour to kill before that time, we made a short detour down a narrow country road to the Etno Avlija Mačkovac, 5km from the town of Banovici. This area is at a base of a tall mountain and judging by the chalets and restaurants in the area, it's clearly a popular holiday destination for families. When we arrived, we didn't know what to expect, suffice that we had about ten minutes to look around. In the end, it didn't even take that, as this ethnic house was a little chinzy. I believe they have performances in the small paved courtyard and the house itself is traditional, but there were a number of shops selling handmade tat such as clocks, copper trays and wooden musical instruments which seemed to drain the authenticity for me. A number of rooms were made out in traditional style though, and these were interesting, while its place by the river did afford some stunning scenery, but I am not overly sure it was worth the drive. Still, at least we got to see it in the exceptionally limited time we had, and soon we were back on the road and at the airport, having gotten there through a really scary backroute alongside its main perimeter. Indeed, with less than half a kilometer to go, I couldn't see where the airport gate actually was, until the road tipped us out pretty much right on its entrance. We then met the car hire guys who checked the car before we checked in.
We were expecting a truly awful airport experience having seen huge lines queueing for a Sunday lunchtime flight when we had picked the car up, but there were only dribs and drabs on their way to London. We got through quite quickly and were delighted to discover there was a small bar in the terminal building. It was steeped in cigarette smoke though so we took our beer and sat on the chairs in the main departure gate. There were only two - with London and the Swedish city of Vaxjo being the only places to go - and it was all rather chaotic. There was little sign of direction from the staff there and we ended up being half an hour delayed, with no-one telling us what was happening. Still, we did eventually get to bored and although sad to leave Bosnia, reflected at just how much we had managed to cram into a week. Having the car helped, being quite the revelation, and this is something we may explore again should we revisit the region. While it was a shame we couldn't visit Srebrenica, we did manage to see everywhere else and aside from my slight bout of illness, which had pretty much cleared up by Saturday, the whole trip was magical.
Arriving in Britain was surprisingly painless, with London Luton's customs procedure incredibly streamlined. Walking to the gates, I noticed on the walls of the Arrivals corridors lots of pictures of London's sights but strangely none of Luton's, which was perplexing. Still, soon we were through customs and had boarded the bus to Luton Airport Parkway station, where we were going to take a train to London. I had toyed with the idea of going straight back to Leeds on the Saturday night but decided against it, partly because we would have gotten back after midnight and thus needed to get a taxi but mainly because if the flight was delayed and we missed our train, we would have to pay full fare to get home. This was well into three figures so I thought it made sense to stay in London the night as if the plane was delayed significantly, not even a taxi would be more than a three figure sum. As a result of all this, I had booked a hotel in Earl's Court and combining Crossrail with the excellent London Overground service, we managed to get to the rather dated Ibis hotel just after 9pm.
We hadn't had food by this point and it was getting late, so after checking in, we considered our options. In the end, we opted for the British pub inside the hotel, which turned out to be a mistake. Not only did they not have my first choice option, but they gave me dirty cutlery twice and had a beer selection straight out of 1991. All of this was quite poor. Still, the food filled a hole, which was needed as we intended to call in at Shepherd's Bush BrewDog as we had noticed there was a Siren tap takeover going on. We got the Overground there, with West Brompton station literally outside the hotel. Shepherd's Bush is only two stops north from there so it was all rather swift and soon we had a sample tray of four Siren beers in front of us. The bar was quite busy but the staff, who were wearing the new T-shirts with the negative social media reviews on them, were very friendly and great to talk to. As I was getting the first flights, two pissed girls asked Wolfie whether they could share our table, to which he agreed for some reason. Still, they were quite harmless and they even left us some beer when they realised they were too drunk to drink it. Meanwhile, my stomach had started up again, but having missed the last train, we decided to stay for a couple more thirds. Having had our fill, we then headed back to the hotel just after midnight, walking the half an hour back to bed.
I was awake for a while, with Wolfie just dropping off, as is customary when we go drinking. We did have a nice lie-in though, not surfacing until 11:30am and checking out of the hotel shortly afterwards. At something of a loose end, we decided to go to the British Museum but first we needed food. I wanted to have a look at the Regulation fetish store in Islington and knowing that there is a range of good eateries there, we decided this is where we would eat. We caught the Overground there, but it was delayed, meaning that we decided against the British Museum pretty early on. Still, we did get to Regulation, where we bought a few small bits of equipment for the dungeon, but before this we had a rather pleasant burrito in Chipotle, a chain that as yet has not made its way to the North. The rest of the day was spent either in fetish shops or bars, with us trying the Brewhouse & Kitchen in Islington first. The beer here was quite nice but they were more a real ale style, meaning we only hung around for one. Furthermore, they had a Christmas tree up which in early October I thought was a bit much.
Our next stop was Kennington, where we noticed there was an interesting independent fetish store. This was just off the main park there, next door to a fish and chip shop. It looked so out of place, but the gentleman who runs it was really nice and although it was rather cramped, there were some interesting bargains to be had. We spent more than we expected in this place, but we could have spent more, with me really wanting the red bondage teddy bear. Afterwards, it was just a short trip to Hackney Wick, a former industrial area with loads of Victorian bricked buildings festoomed with graffiti. It's quite run-down and threatening even at night, but there is an element of regeneration by the canal here, lead by the Howling Hops Brewery, which claims to be the first tank bar in the UK. Not many breweries are open on Sundays, which is why we ended up here as it was. Drinking amongst the tanks is always a thrill as you know you are getting the freshest product, and indeed they pour their brews straight from the tank. Of course, this meant we had to get through all of them, although they only had eight of their ten tanks operational. We also went to another bar, Crate, which is literally around the corner but the music here was way too loud and it was exceptionally busy. Crate has canalside seating, hence its increased popularity, and they brew their own stuff too, but I didn't think it was as good as Howling Hops.
We ended up in Howling Hops again about an hour later, but not after we had explored the Olympic Park, which was a short walk down the canal away. We had been here for the Olympics in 2012 and it was engaging to see how much it had changed. Some of the land has been listed for flat developments but much of the rest is as it was five years ago. The only main difference was the place was deserted, which was quite a contrast to the bustle of the area back in 2012. The stadium is still there, now used by West Ham and thus has a range of different baubels affixed to it, not least the posters of all the Hammers legends. There's also one of those brick pavements that football clubs do where you can buy a brick for a lot of money and get your name immortalised. I liked the inappropriately placed drain in the middle the best. The red tower is also there too, except they've put a slide in it, down which you can ride for an extortionate amount of money. The gardens are all gone, but this seems to be the only major change we thought as we wandered around in the fading autumn sunlight. As we did, there was stuff we hadn't noticed before, like the football training parks, whilst it was good to see the stadium was still being used by one bloke who was cycling round and round it. Still, it was good to have a wander and as we strolled back along the canal, we decided to call in at Howling Hops again, partly to get through their eight kegs but also to pick up some bottles from their bottle fridge to take on the train.
And that's pretty much it really. The train back was uneventful and we got home quite late, but it had been a wonderful trip. I feel I've spent as long writing it up as we were actually on it, but still, I'm sure it's been worth it. Probably.
It didn't take too long to reach the suburbs and soon we found ourselves in East Sarajevo, which was in the Republika Srpska. We didn't realise that it skirted so close to the city itself, but the Serbian flags were on display here and with Cyrillic writing reappearing, it did feel like a different world. We needed to be back in Tuzla, about two and a half hours away, at 3pm, giving us a couple of hours for a tourist sight out of town. We could have gone to the derelict toboggan track from the Olympics but instead we decided to go to the Sarajevo Tunnel, which proved to be the only lifeline for the city during the siege. Sarajevo was effectively encircled by Republika Srpska troops for 1425 days, with the airport the only place not under their control. This was administered by the UN, with Bosnian territory on the other side. However, sniper positions from the Srpska army meant that you couldn't cross the 700m of no-man's land without being put under fire, and many died doing just this. It was clear therefore that another solution was needed and so a tunnel was built under the runway from one bloke's house to another bloke's house. A car parked on the entrance to the tunnel is all that hid it from view *this didn't stop it from coming under fire though, as the numerous sharpnel holes, the Sarajevo Rose and the plaque highlighting nine people died there on 7 May 1995 testify) and the house in Butmir has since been turned into the Tunel spasa museum. It is in a tiny village along windy roads so we had assumed we would be the only ones there. We were wrong. Having avoided tourists throughout our Bosnia trip, for some reason we had to contend with three Italian coach parties as we viewed this museum. The worst part was during the documentary in one of the video rooms, when an entire coach load of Italians turned up, the guide turned down the volume of the rather fascinating fifteen minute documentary and then started a lecture in Italian. Rude. The documentary detailed how the tunnel was built and you saw people going through it, many with supplies and one poor sod with a goat. It was all monitored by the army, who stamped you in and out, and it was where much of the city's supplies came. It was an ingenious idea that took six months to build, with many thinking it would be impossible. The water in the tunnel did come up to knee-height though and consequently much of it has now been blocked off. However, you can still go in the first twenty metres or so, before coming out in the centre of the museum in a specially constructed exit. Even twenty metres was quite a thrill, with the need to go down it hunched being quite challenging. There were also rails placed into the floor which allowed trucks to pass through, on one occasion with a seat which carried the president of the country. There was a little museum which detailed how the tunnel was built, but the explanations were so lengthy that we didn't have time to hear them all, particularly when the Italians descended into the rooms and there was no space to move. Outside, you could see the airport, which was surprisngly quiet, and a dirt ridge marked the path of the tunnel over to the other side. You could easily see why such an open space was sniper territory. There were some signs in the outside area detailing the Siege but I would have hoped for more, while I also picked up a commemorative coin for 5KM on my way out which made for a nice souvenir.
I somewhat regretted my purchase however when we were back on the road, having grown weary of the tourists. Fearing we may have to go on toll roads, we were alarmed to find we had no money, resulting in a desperate search for a cash machine. Petrol stations don't have them in Bosnia and as this area was quite rural, we decided we just had to chance it. Fortunately, the roads were the usual single lane curved ones which followed mountain streams, meaning no tolls were forthcoming. As we drove, we noticed quite a number of cars flying the Bosnian flag, with many draping it over their bonnets to show their allegiance to their country. Assumedly these people were heading to the capital for the international football match between Bosnia and Belgium which was set for a 17:00 kick off. Alas we were heading in the opposite direction as we needed to get the car back to the airport and catch our flight. The drive itself was largely uneventful and we didn't stop anywhere, largely because we were on a deadline. I had hoped to call off at Olovo but we had overtaken a rather annoying driver just before we got there and the last thing we wanted was to be stuck behind him again. There weren't many places to overtake, which was quite frustrating when stuck behind slow drivers. The car was doing very well though, it was a crock of shit, which Wolfie liked, but our Skoda Felicia covered 1200km in a week and never let us down. Yes the radio made a weird humming sound and went bong whenever Wolfie used the brakes but we had gotten somewhat used to it and it had been a good little workhorse for us. We were quite sad we were going to have to leave it behind.
About ten miles out of Tuzla, we stopped for petrol, needing to fill the car before we gave it back to the rental company. Seeing that we had about an hour to kill before that time, we made a short detour down a narrow country road to the Etno Avlija Mačkovac, 5km from the town of Banovici. This area is at a base of a tall mountain and judging by the chalets and restaurants in the area, it's clearly a popular holiday destination for families. When we arrived, we didn't know what to expect, suffice that we had about ten minutes to look around. In the end, it didn't even take that, as this ethnic house was a little chinzy. I believe they have performances in the small paved courtyard and the house itself is traditional, but there were a number of shops selling handmade tat such as clocks, copper trays and wooden musical instruments which seemed to drain the authenticity for me. A number of rooms were made out in traditional style though, and these were interesting, while its place by the river did afford some stunning scenery, but I am not overly sure it was worth the drive. Still, at least we got to see it in the exceptionally limited time we had, and soon we were back on the road and at the airport, having gotten there through a really scary backroute alongside its main perimeter. Indeed, with less than half a kilometer to go, I couldn't see where the airport gate actually was, until the road tipped us out pretty much right on its entrance. We then met the car hire guys who checked the car before we checked in.
We were expecting a truly awful airport experience having seen huge lines queueing for a Sunday lunchtime flight when we had picked the car up, but there were only dribs and drabs on their way to London. We got through quite quickly and were delighted to discover there was a small bar in the terminal building. It was steeped in cigarette smoke though so we took our beer and sat on the chairs in the main departure gate. There were only two - with London and the Swedish city of Vaxjo being the only places to go - and it was all rather chaotic. There was little sign of direction from the staff there and we ended up being half an hour delayed, with no-one telling us what was happening. Still, we did eventually get to bored and although sad to leave Bosnia, reflected at just how much we had managed to cram into a week. Having the car helped, being quite the revelation, and this is something we may explore again should we revisit the region. While it was a shame we couldn't visit Srebrenica, we did manage to see everywhere else and aside from my slight bout of illness, which had pretty much cleared up by Saturday, the whole trip was magical.
Arriving in Britain was surprisingly painless, with London Luton's customs procedure incredibly streamlined. Walking to the gates, I noticed on the walls of the Arrivals corridors lots of pictures of London's sights but strangely none of Luton's, which was perplexing. Still, soon we were through customs and had boarded the bus to Luton Airport Parkway station, where we were going to take a train to London. I had toyed with the idea of going straight back to Leeds on the Saturday night but decided against it, partly because we would have gotten back after midnight and thus needed to get a taxi but mainly because if the flight was delayed and we missed our train, we would have to pay full fare to get home. This was well into three figures so I thought it made sense to stay in London the night as if the plane was delayed significantly, not even a taxi would be more than a three figure sum. As a result of all this, I had booked a hotel in Earl's Court and combining Crossrail with the excellent London Overground service, we managed to get to the rather dated Ibis hotel just after 9pm.
We hadn't had food by this point and it was getting late, so after checking in, we considered our options. In the end, we opted for the British pub inside the hotel, which turned out to be a mistake. Not only did they not have my first choice option, but they gave me dirty cutlery twice and had a beer selection straight out of 1991. All of this was quite poor. Still, the food filled a hole, which was needed as we intended to call in at Shepherd's Bush BrewDog as we had noticed there was a Siren tap takeover going on. We got the Overground there, with West Brompton station literally outside the hotel. Shepherd's Bush is only two stops north from there so it was all rather swift and soon we had a sample tray of four Siren beers in front of us. The bar was quite busy but the staff, who were wearing the new T-shirts with the negative social media reviews on them, were very friendly and great to talk to. As I was getting the first flights, two pissed girls asked Wolfie whether they could share our table, to which he agreed for some reason. Still, they were quite harmless and they even left us some beer when they realised they were too drunk to drink it. Meanwhile, my stomach had started up again, but having missed the last train, we decided to stay for a couple more thirds. Having had our fill, we then headed back to the hotel just after midnight, walking the half an hour back to bed.
I was awake for a while, with Wolfie just dropping off, as is customary when we go drinking. We did have a nice lie-in though, not surfacing until 11:30am and checking out of the hotel shortly afterwards. At something of a loose end, we decided to go to the British Museum but first we needed food. I wanted to have a look at the Regulation fetish store in Islington and knowing that there is a range of good eateries there, we decided this is where we would eat. We caught the Overground there, but it was delayed, meaning that we decided against the British Museum pretty early on. Still, we did get to Regulation, where we bought a few small bits of equipment for the dungeon, but before this we had a rather pleasant burrito in Chipotle, a chain that as yet has not made its way to the North. The rest of the day was spent either in fetish shops or bars, with us trying the Brewhouse & Kitchen in Islington first. The beer here was quite nice but they were more a real ale style, meaning we only hung around for one. Furthermore, they had a Christmas tree up which in early October I thought was a bit much.
Our next stop was Kennington, where we noticed there was an interesting independent fetish store. This was just off the main park there, next door to a fish and chip shop. It looked so out of place, but the gentleman who runs it was really nice and although it was rather cramped, there were some interesting bargains to be had. We spent more than we expected in this place, but we could have spent more, with me really wanting the red bondage teddy bear. Afterwards, it was just a short trip to Hackney Wick, a former industrial area with loads of Victorian bricked buildings festoomed with graffiti. It's quite run-down and threatening even at night, but there is an element of regeneration by the canal here, lead by the Howling Hops Brewery, which claims to be the first tank bar in the UK. Not many breweries are open on Sundays, which is why we ended up here as it was. Drinking amongst the tanks is always a thrill as you know you are getting the freshest product, and indeed they pour their brews straight from the tank. Of course, this meant we had to get through all of them, although they only had eight of their ten tanks operational. We also went to another bar, Crate, which is literally around the corner but the music here was way too loud and it was exceptionally busy. Crate has canalside seating, hence its increased popularity, and they brew their own stuff too, but I didn't think it was as good as Howling Hops.
We ended up in Howling Hops again about an hour later, but not after we had explored the Olympic Park, which was a short walk down the canal away. We had been here for the Olympics in 2012 and it was engaging to see how much it had changed. Some of the land has been listed for flat developments but much of the rest is as it was five years ago. The only main difference was the place was deserted, which was quite a contrast to the bustle of the area back in 2012. The stadium is still there, now used by West Ham and thus has a range of different baubels affixed to it, not least the posters of all the Hammers legends. There's also one of those brick pavements that football clubs do where you can buy a brick for a lot of money and get your name immortalised. I liked the inappropriately placed drain in the middle the best. The red tower is also there too, except they've put a slide in it, down which you can ride for an extortionate amount of money. The gardens are all gone, but this seems to be the only major change we thought as we wandered around in the fading autumn sunlight. As we did, there was stuff we hadn't noticed before, like the football training parks, whilst it was good to see the stadium was still being used by one bloke who was cycling round and round it. Still, it was good to have a wander and as we strolled back along the canal, we decided to call in at Howling Hops again, partly to get through their eight kegs but also to pick up some bottles from their bottle fridge to take on the train.
And that's pretty much it really. The train back was uneventful and we got home quite late, but it had been a wonderful trip. I feel I've spent as long writing it up as we were actually on it, but still, I'm sure it's been worth it. Probably.
