I am from Bosnia - Take me to America!

What luck to find ourselves in Bosnia & Herzegovina on the very night they qualified for the knockout stage of the World Cup. We were tucked into a restaurant in Mostar, watching the match unfold over dinner. The moment the final whistle blew, fireworks shot into the night sky and car horns blasted like an over‑enthusiastic brass band. The Bosnians celebrated in style, naturally accompanied by their World Cup anthem: “I am from Bosnia, take me to America!” It’s impossible not to love a country with that level of commitment a d passion.

After a couple of weeks in Albania, we made our way to Bosnia & Herzegovina by bus — a journey that required pit stops in Budva (Montenegro) and Dubrovnik (Croatia). Transport was mostly smooth, though it began with a long, slightly chaotic wait in Shkodër. The ticket agent kept anxiously counting the crowd, clearly aware the bus from Tirana was likely already half full. Albania, it seems, has adopted the British rail approach: sell more tickets than seats and hope for the best.

We teamed up with an Irish couple (also on a later‑life gap year — solidarity!) and devised a plan. Two of us would sprint onto the bus to secure seats, while the other two would tackle the luggage situation. None of us fancied standing for four hours. Nearly an hour into waiting, a young couple wandered over and casually asked when the bus was leaving. We all laughed and asked which bus they meant. Their answer: “Oh, we don’t mind. We woke up and decided to go with the vibe.” 

Eventually the bus arrived, we executed our plan flawlessly, and all those years of London tube training finally paid off.

The Border That Time Forgot

Most of the remaining bus journeys were uneventful — except for the Montenegro–Croatia border crossing. All 52 passengers were ordered off the bus, passports checked, then told to walk into Croatia and wait. Moments later, we were summoned back like naughty schoolchildren. Customs wanted to search every single bag, big and small. Ninety minutes later, two young Scots had their vapes confiscated and were held back, and the bus left without them. The customs officer informed us we were being “punished” for their behaviour, which really completed the school‑trip energy. Our Croatian host later told us the crossing once took her eight hours, so perhaps we got off lightly.

We did slightly regret not taking the boat from Budva to Dubrovnik — but at the time it felt like an unnecessary splurge. Hindsight is a cruel friend.

Budva, Boats and Dubrovnik Prices

Budva treated us to a gorgeous boat trip with long dips in the sea. As we left the harbour, the boat owner casually said, “Lots of police around today — if they stop us, just say we’re friends.” Mark suggested he tell us his name first so the story sounded at least vaguely believable.

Dubrovnik, meanwhile, is stunning but wildly expensive. Forty euros to walk the city walls, nearly six euros for a Diet Coke, and a young American we met was paying fifty‑five euros for a bed in a ten‑person hostel dorm. It’s a magical place, but best enjoyed briefly unless you’ve recently won the lottery. We did squeeze in another outdoor cinema night in the old town, which was lovely — though with temperatures in the mid‑30s, anything after lunchtime required heroic levels of motivation.

Mostar & Sarajevo: Beauty and Brutality

We arrived in Mostar on a scorching afternoon and spent three nights there before heading to Sarajevo. Both cities were beautiful, but visiting them was also sobering. Many buildings still bear bullet holes from the war, and the Sarajevo Roses — red resin marking spots where three or more people were killed — were a stark reminder of the siege’s brutality. The genocide museum was heart‑wrenching.

Yet Bosnia has rebuilt itself with resilience and warmth. Around half the country is forest, making it lush, green, and full of rivers and waterfalls. It’s a place that stays with you.

Our visit to Sarajevo coincided with the anniversary of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, so we joined a walking tour. It was fascinating to see how many twists of fate led to the event that triggered WWI. We’re still kicking ourselves for not buying the artist’s impression fridge magnet of the smiling Archduke and his wife with their arms around Gavrilo Princip. A truly unhinged piece of memorabilia — and now a lifelong regret.

Mostar, with its Turkish influence and slippery cobbled streets (I was convinced I’d fall at any moment), was a delight. The famous bridge has been rebuilt and remains the town’s centrepiece. We took a day trip to Kravice Waterfalls, which was the perfect escape from the relentless 35‑degree heat.

A Month in the Balkans

Bosnia was a big shift from the other countries we visited — more cultural and historic, less beach‑and‑cocktails. I’d absolutely go again, and next time I’d love to hike in the mountains and forests.

Nearly a month in the Balkans comes to an end. The buses carried us across borders, we swam and walked, ate and drank, learned about ancient history and the horrors of war. It was relaxing and thought‑provoking in equal measure — and thoroughly wonderful.

Home for three days… then off for a month in Scotland where it will be nice to catch up with old friends, be a bit cooler and enjoy the thrill of live sport.