DAY 109 - KONJIC

Fishing or feeding?

7 August, 2011

Total: 1001.1miles—Total: 1,935,491 steps

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.” Norman Maclean from the eponymous classic movie.

Konjic is located on the River Neterev, which is a rafting paradise as it is fed by fast flowing crystal clear water from the mountains. Where the river widens and slows, it is also an anglers dream each night and early morning. It reminded me of a scene from that wonderful movie about a family growing up in Montana and I began to reflect on the meaning of “Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.”

As it was my last night in Konjic, I prepared for the demanding journey to Mostar the next day. To get in the right shape, I visited a rickety old wooden cabin called ‘Studenac’ which served great pizza at a very modest price. I had bought two loaves of bread from the bakery before arriving at the bar/restaurant and taking my place on the edge of the river which, with the full glare of the sun having settled behind the mountain ranges, I was able to examine the contents therein with amazing clarity. I became fixed on two fly fishermen, casting their flies across the surface of the water, and I wanted to leap in to warn the fish it was a trap.

Thinking this might cause a bit of a stir, I opted instead to start surreptitiously crumbling bread crumbs from my loaf and casting them gently on the water. As the fish initially watched the bread crumbs gradually sink to the river bottom, you could see that they were clearly puzzled—was this some cunning new plan to lure them onto the menu? Then one of the smallest fish simply darted forward, swallowed a large crumb, and dashed back into a clearly amazed shoal. Trust had been established. I was not there to catch them, I was there to feed them.

They learnt fast and soon I was attracting quite an audience, of fish, that is. Each time the fisherman would turn toward the riverbank, I would put my hand with the bread to my mouth and then as they turned, would sprinkle more bread on the water—it was like the fish and I were enjoying a hilarious private joke.

As the darkness closed, I reached for the last piece of the second loaf and, as the fisherman had departed from a fruitless evening on the river, I cast it on the water with impunity and the fish responded by breaking the surface to claim their prize.

I reflected on what a wonderful evening it had been of utter self-forgetfulness, forgetfulness of the mission and just having simple fun with two loaves and thirty to forty fish. Like the fishermen, we were both casting on the water, but they were fishing and I was just feeding. I began by contemplating the truth of one line from a movie and ended by contemplating another, from Ecclesiastes (11:1) Cast thy bread upon the running waters: for after a long time thou shalt find it again.

DAY 108 - 1000 MILES . . .

6 August, 2011

Konjic

2.2 miles (Total: 1001.1miles)—4400 steps (Total: 1,935,491 steps)

“A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.” Lao Tzu

After a day flat out in my hotel recovering from the ‘bridge too far’ day to Konjic, I ventured out into the town of Konjic to clock up my first 1000 miles and more importantly to go in search of Lemsips or equivalent for my aching joints and throbbing headache—I was recommended ‘TylolHot-D’ by a pharmacist who spoke no English, but to whom I gestured my symptoms. Anyway, it tastes okay and I am feeling a little bit better today.

Fittingly, my pedometer—whose accuracy I have doubted many times as it consistently under records distances by about 10% when measured against road signs, Google and in one case against SatNav in Montenegro – is no more. I tried to change the calibration for the stride length, but this seemed to mess up the number of steps and made no change to the miles discrepancy. It is too late to change and I figured that because most of the time I am on major roads I can track the mileage back on Google Maps when I get home. Either way, whether I made 1000 miles at Brod or Sarajevo, I had certainly made it by the time I got to Konjic and that gave real satisfaction. It is more than Land’s end to john O’Groats (874 miles) and it is two return journeys between Durham and London.

I don’t want to do any reflections on the first 1000 miles, as I did this at 100 days, and introspection gets a bit nauseating for reader and writer after a while, so let me say a little about Konjic.

Konjic is, in parts, a beautiful town.  Encouragingly the development that is taking place is to capture the rugged and beautiful architecture, which blends perfectly with the high rugged mountain ranges and crystal clear rivers that surround it and run through it. Sadly, large sections of utilitarian Communist architecture remain to service the forestry and quarrying industries. Konjic also carries many scars from the Bosnian War. I came across a memorial with over 350 names on it; all of whom had perished in the war where Konjic was a strategic target on the major supply route from Dubrovnik to Sarajevo—Mostar I guess suffered for a similar reason.

There remains a harshness in the air and amongst the people I met and in a sense who can blame them after such a brutalising experience—straight out of forty years, under a Communist dictator, and into a bloody civil war—I am sure anyone would be the same. I stopped for a coffee, with a fellow guest at the hotel, at one of the cafes that are scattered along the river edge. He spoke English and so I just wanted to double check the TylolHot description before emptying the sachet into my cup of hot water. He was a Serb, and as usual his first question after hearing about my walk, was to ask why I wasn’t going to Belgrade. After I tried to explain, I asked him about the hardness in some of the people I had met and his response was, “They probably think you are an American” –it is an easy mistake to make, a bit like when you meet Canadians and ask them which state they are from or confuse Kiwi’s with Aussies. It is completely understandable, but I am not sure that it fully explained it—yes, this is a strongly Muslim area, but I didn’t see the waiters treating other visitors any different.

As with all rural areas, even in the UK, there is an inbuilt suspicion of outsiders and an instinct to keep themselves to themselves. Also, it’s not as if I am, or look like, a flash tourist ready to pay top dollar for all goods and services: my clothes are crumpled; I wear flip flops which display my missing toe nails, I instinctively ask the price of everything before I order it, I am unshaven, alone and carry a shoulder bag that looks like a ‘gas mask holder from WWII. I suppose it’s amazing that I get served at all. Indeed at garages all along my journey from Greece, I have often been turned away from entering onto the forecourt in search of a bottle of water and have to respond by keeping a ‘big bill’, 50 euro or 50 kr, in my side pouch which I hold out as I approach to prove I have the resources to pay.

All this experience causes me to look upon refugees in a very different way. You see I feel vulnerable because I don’t know where I am going to stay, or eat, or buy food, but at least I know that if I find the place then I can pay virtually any price—it may shaft my budget for a week, but I always have cash, I always have credit cards, I always have mobile phones with which I can contact people in an emergency and most importantly of all when stopped by the police, checking into a hotel or approaching a border, I have the trump card of valid British Passport to present. Even with this I feel vulnerable and at times scared. I then pondered what it must be like for people who arrive without money, without documents, in a foreign country that makes it clear they are not wanted, and without the means to communicate with their families. There are about 50 million refugees in the world today, and that number is increasing with wars and famines.  How we respond does not tell us as much about them, as it does about us.

DAY 105 - SARAJEVO TO PAZARIC: 22.6 MILES (45,200 STEPS)

3 August, 2011

Sarajevo—Pazaric (a few miles north)

22.6 miles (Total: 977.8 miles)—45,200 steps (Total: 1,888,691 steps)

A day of very frustrating problems with my wireless communications meant that I was unable to access the Internet or send or receive email. I realised again how much I rely on communications technology on this walk and how the campaign seems to grind to a halt more when my computer catches a virus, than when I catch a virus—that may be tempting fate. The point is, that as the campaign gathers pace the level of email traffic increases and keeping up is a major challenge, but also a major opportunity.

The decision to leave Sarajevo is not entirely a happy decision, as I had just figured out (after three tries) the way to order food at a great Italian restaurant called Vapiano (out by the Holiday Inn) and had received four stamps on my loyalty card—just one short of a free bowl of pasta (eating on a Monday gets a double stamp). If anyone is looking for a franchise to bring to the UK, then Vapiano would be my tip—good food, good value and good fun once you get used to it.

When I put on my rucksack, it actually felt quite good—it was good to be on the move again.

I headed out along what used to be known as ‘the most dangerous road in Europe’ between 1992-1995.  The road leads from the besieged old town towards the airport, is about six miles, and the bullet-pockmarked holes on the high-rise buildings give testament to the horrific justification for that description.

I continued to receive some encouraging toots and greetings from passers-by due to the media coverage of my visit, and then as I moved out of the town and into the rural areas, they gradually petered out.

As with most days, I set out with no idea where I was going to spend the night and this is the worst part of travelling. After about fifteen miles, I had reached my limit carrying my full backpack. I spotted at Hadzici what looked like a great place to stay called ‘Medline’. I went in and found that it was in fact a private medical clinic. I made a bold attempt to enquire how much it would costs to stay in one of those nice cubicles for a night and produced my European Health Insurance Card—they reminded me that Bosnia was not yet part of the EU.

I had to walk on another seven long miles before I stumbled across the only guest house on a 40 miles stretch of road between Sarajevo and Konjic. The Motel FS  turned out to be perfect—25 euros, so bang on budget, a firm bed, hot shower and good breakfast.

If only every day could end this way.  I fall asleep with Van Morrison’s ‘Days Like This’ running through my mind…

When it’s not always raining there’ll be days like this
When there’s no one complaining there’ll be days like this
When everything falls into place like the flick of a switch
Well my mama told me there’ll be days like this

When no one steps on my dreams there’ll be days like this
When people understand what I mean there’ll be days like this
When you ring out the changes of how everything is
Well my mama told me there’ll be days like this.