This summer I had the opportunity to travel with my mother for two whole weeks – something I haven’t dared to do since I was a teenager. It has always been a dream of hers to explore Eastern Europe. So, for her 70th birthday, the two of us bickered and giggled our way from Prague, capitol of Czechoslovakia, to the islands of Croatia. We had an amazing, if quarrelsome time  together. And while I could write about several stops along the way, it was Mostar, Bosnia that ultimately brought us closer together.

We drove into one of the most idyllic settings I have ever had the pleasure to visit. The Bosnian countryside is typically European, but with its own unique flavor; the rooftops were a shade more red, the rivers a deeper hue of turquoise and the dogs skinnier than anywhere else we had been. Usually I would invite you to Google images of Bosnia, but unfortunately most of what you'll find is pictures from the Bosnian war that ended almost 20 years ago.

In 1991, the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, which had previously consisted of Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro and Macedonia, split apart. While the latter two countries peacefully formed independent republics, the former ones did not. The war in Slovenia, otherwise known as the Ten-Day or Weekend War, was thankfully brief.  The Bosnian War and Croatian War of Independence lasted several years and resulted in 200 thousand casualties.

Driving into Mostar, Bosnia, knowing that so much pain had been inflicted and suffered in this city, knowing that serious war crimes had happened in recent memory, we wondered about the people and local culture. Would hate still be palpable? How would Muslim Bosniaks and Catholic Croats get along with their neighbors, the Orthodox Serbs, and with each other, following a period of violent ethnic cleansing?

Before we left Croatia we’d  heard that Catholics and Muslims refused to cross the Stari Most bridge; that instead each religious group chooses to remain on their respective side.

The Stari Most bridge is what originally drew me to Mostar.  Our Airbnb room was carefully selected so that we would have a view of this  bridge – a bridge commissioned under penalty of death to a novice architect (I’ll let that one sink in for a minute). At the time, almost 500 years ago, it was the widest man-made arch in the world. It is rumored that Mimar Hayruddin, the architect who designed the bridge, planned for his own funeral the day the scaffolding was removed from the completed structure. He needn’t have worried; the bridge was among the greatest architectural achievements of his time.

Sadly, the original bridge was destroyed in 1993. The Croats admitted they destroyed the bridge, that it was of ‘strategic importance’. Academics argue that it was a deliberate destruction of cultural property.

But wait, this story has a happy ending!

In 1998 several organizations including UNESCO and the World Bank commissioned experts to reconstruct the bridge in painstaking detail. As many photographs as possible were collected so that each aspect of the bridge could be perfectly replicated. The second bridge was inaugurated in 2004, and is pictured here (from the vantage of our Airbnb balcony). My mother and I drank a glass of wine on that balcony, dismayed to hear that there were locals who refused to even cross it because of their religious differences.

The next morning the two of us ventured out for some food, shopping and exploration. Eventually I broke down and asked a local shopkeeper if it were true that Muslims and Catholics refused to share such a lovely and resilient piece of history. He replied that “it was all nonsense – he was Muslim and his wife was Catholic. Only idiots participated in such bigotry.”

I asked him if there were any idiots in Mostar. His reply?

“Sixty percent. About sixty percent are idiots.”

Our impression during our short visit may have been skewed by the upcoming World Cup. Bosnian spirit was palpable, all blue shirts and gold stars. But if, as the shopkeeper alleges, more than half the city is still entrenched in hate and bitterness (which would be entirely understandable given the history), I still have hope. I have hope in a new generation and in people like him. I have hope in the smile he gave us when he talked about his love for his wife.

I have hope, too, in the Jewish community in Mostar that is currently building a synagogue made of glass – as a symbol of peace in a formerly war-torn country. 

I never anticipated how much my mother and I would be affected by this enchanting city and its endless bridges, minarets and church spires. It’s easy to get lost among the many religious artifacts. Thankfully there is always a smiling local to help you find your way or share a bit of history. It is from these forgiving residents that I learned to breathe life in, appreciate the ones I love, and not sweat the small stuff.

And I think finally my mother and I might agree on something.

To anyone traveling the Croatian coastline, I highly recommend taking a quick, gorgeous drive inland and visiting this cultural treasure. It takes a special place to heal the hearts of so many. Indeed, it takes an exceptional place to inspire peace in the tumultuous relationship that mothers and daughters share.