Dear Mr. Garmin GPS CEO Sir, With all due respect, you really need to up your game in Bosnia and Herzegovina.  It would be most helpful if you would simply indicate “unknown road condition” if you aren’t absolutely certain the road is paved, passable, and not in hostile territory. We suggest starting with the hills between Medjugorje and the Adriatic coast. Best regards, Mike and Maggie Lohnes

Rest assured, all’s well that ends well.

Good Catholics that we are, Mike and I decided we could not leave Bosnia and Herzegovina without a visit to Medjugorje.  For the uninitiated, Medjugorje has been a popular pilgrimage site since the 1980s when six local children started seeing apparitions of the Virgin Mary in the local hills.  This was not to be missed. To further add to the excitement, we chose a Sunday to park our little Peugeot among the tour buses and see what all the excitement was about.  No one seems to have told the thousands of people in hundreds of tour buses parked at the Church of the Virgin Mary that a) the Catholic Church has not officially recognized the visions and b) the church is not where that apparitions are seen.  There are many very devout people who are making the trek to Medjugorje, and they all converged on the local church. After taking in the excitement of the church crowd we realized we needed to find Apparition Hill.  One of the smaller souvenir stand owners was kind enough to point it out on a map, and we got back into the car and headed into the hills.  Apparently we overshot the trailhead of the path to the official site, as we notice the building density start to wane; yet another kind shop owner came out and told us to turn around on the 1-lane road.  At this point Mike and I decided that we’d gotten as close as the Virgin Mary meant for us to be, having seen the actual hilltop from a distance, and decided to head to our next destination, Hvar, via Split.  We left Medjugorje around 11 a.m., knowing we had plenty of time to make the 4pm ferry from Split to Hvar.

This is when the fun began – probably the Virgin Mary’s retribution for our not having made enough effort to locate Apparition Hill.  We were determined to return to the Adriatic coast road, rather than an inland highway through Bosnia, for the trip to Split.  As has become our habit, I entered in the name of a town along the route we wished to take, turned off the volume to ignore the incessant “Make a U-Turn” instructions, and we headed across the Bosnian hills.  It seemed from the map that the road we’d originally veered off from the coast was “just over there,” but alas, long story short, we found ourselves headed down an unpaved road, passing under an enormous half-built bridge we’d recognized from our trip to Klobuk.  At this point things were getting a little dicey, and we decided to turn the GPS volume back on.  Our estimated arrival time at Split had just doubled, and we had no idea if we were heading closer or farther from our destination.  I recall telling Mike “I think we should be hitting the border soon,” and then breathed a sigh of relief to see the border crossing ahead.  I’ve never been so happy to have someone approach our car and demand to see our “documents.”  After the official handed back our passports, I took the opportunity to ask “can you show us where we are?”  Hearing “Metkovic, 100 kilometers ahead” gave us the orientation we needed to get us back on track.  We’ve decided to stick to major Croatian roads for the rest of our journey.  We made it to Split at 3:30, just in time to hand off the rental car to the agency, pick up our tickets, and hop the ferry to Hvar.

The two days we spent on the island of Hvar, followed by a night in Trogir, were blustery and wet, but that didn’t keep us from experiencing life in these historic cities with much of their original medieval construction preserved as a UNESCO historic site.  We experienced quite an unusual downpour in Trogir, but fortunately the rains waited until I had climbed the bell tower for a full view of the town.

View of Hvar town from our apartment

Hvar port

View of Trogir from highway

On my last post we were leaving Klobuk behind and heading to Mostar for the night.  I had plotted the trip on Google Maps with a double-check against the road map of Croatia/Bosnia and Herzegovina/Slovenia I purchased in Dubrovnik.  [To backtrack with an amusing story, while in Dubrovnik I decided I needed a highlighter pen to identify the route on our paper map.  I searched Dubrovnik historic city until I found a bookstore,   and almost purchased a pack of four yellow highlighters when ever-thrifty Mike said they had individual pens at the cash register.  The attendant said she had only one single highlighter and showed us one that came oddly packaged as a play hypodermic syringe.  We decided to buy it as it was cheaper than the four-pack, but I have since been traveling in fear of being pulled over at the Bosnian border for carrying drug paraphernalia :)]

ORANGE HYPODERMIC HIGHLIGHTER

In any event, we left Klobuk in our rear-view mirror guided by a Google Map printout, an orange-highlighted road map, and our GPS.  The route continued north through the mountains, turned east at Grude, meandered through Sirokei Brijeg, and came downhill into Mostar.  I was surprised at the size of Mostar, very impressive from the hills above.

To be honest, I had no idea what to expect of Mostar, knowing only from a brief TV story that Mostar is the largest city is the Herzegovina region of Bosnia and Herzegovina.  I wish I had done my homework ahead of time, because I was unprepared for the cultural initiation I would receive into this extraordinary city.  The central and most-visited part is the historic city of hilly streets, paved in unusual rock patterns, and lined by small shops and restaurants.  The historical Ottoman influence permeates the air with aromas of spices and music and art. The historic center streets cross the Neretva river by the beautiful Old Bridge (Stari Most) that was recently painstakingly rebuilt after being destroyed in the 1990s war.  I learned that the Old Bridge is said to be where East meets West, and one can certainly observe the mix of cultures in the community.

Outside the small historic town, the city of Mostar can only be described as “war torn.”  Mostar is the closest I have been to the evidence of war, with bombed out buildings covered in street art, roads yet to be repaired, mortar holes in the sides of homes.  At our hotel we met a young couple from the U.S. who were only their honeymoon.  The wife spoke Polish and so could read some of the graffiti on the buildings.  She said one of them read “Is Freedom Worth It?”  It is so hard for us Americans to fathom making a decision between freedom and prosperity.

We stayed one night at a lovely hotel, the Muslibegovic House which is actually a Bosnian National Monument, having been a former wealthy Ottoman home.  Inside its walls is a lovely courtyard and comfortable rooms with Turkish beds. At breakfast Mike declared the coffee was the best he’d ever had, I’m certain it was Turkish coffee, and it was at the very least the best we’ve had this trip.

Our hotel host was kind enough to help map our way out of town (she declined to use the syringe-highlighter, however), and in short order we were on our way to our next stop, Medjugorje. I wish I’d had more time to explore Mostar and take a “deeper dive” in,  and hope to return one day.

Today was a very long time coming.  One impetus for this trip is a quest to discover my maternal Croatian roots.  In 1907 my mom’s 19-year-old father, Jozo Dzaic, left his home in Klobuk, then-Austria, for the long trip through Ellis Island to America.  There, as Joseph Dzaich, he started his restaurant business, married Kata Ribaric from Kajgana, and raised 6 children.  Joseph never returned to Klobuk, and no other family member has ever been there….until today.  I wanted to see where he came from and discover any evidence of the family he left behind.

I spent some time in the days prior to this day plotting our route to Klobuk.  Google Maps is extraordinary in its knowledge of the networks of roads in the most remote areas; its ability to discern the quality of those roads is not completely perfected.  The first route Google Maps suggested was to head straight over the mountains from Dubrovnik, and, once over them, venture north.  Fortunately, as the 19-year old attendant at the Internet cafe handed me the route print-out, he commented “you know, Bosnian roads are not so good.” He then sat with me and helped plot a route up the coast on the M-6 (he called it the Adriatic road) to Opuzen, turn east on the M-9, cross the Bosnian border at Metkovic, turn north on the M-6 through Ljubuski to Klobuk.  We also took time to research how we would leave Klobuk and get to our overnight destination in Mostar.  My new friend wished me well, thanked me for the tip I gave, and went back to his pizza. Thank goodness for the kindness of strangers.

Saturday morning Mike and I left Dubrovnik in nice little rented Peugeot and headed up the Adriatic coast.  The beauty of the Croatian coast with its hundreds of island is well known, but what we were struck with is the spectacular clear blue skies and waters.  It looks to be completely unpolluted, crystal clear and clean.  The southern Croatia coast is a narrow strip of land flanked by tall mountains, on the other side of which is known since the 1990s as the country of Bosnia and Herzegovina.  The geographic demarcation is clear; those mountains are extremely domineering and certainly nearly impassable in most areas, and the coast is the jackpot of scenery, seafood and access to the outside world.  No wonder so many wars have been fought to gain control of this strip of land. Interestingly, Bosnia and Herzegovina’s border does hit the coast for what seems like no more than a 10-mile section, and we needed to provide our passports as we crossed through.

To supplement our Google Maps route printout, our Garmin GPS, fully updated with the latest European maps, succeeded in locating Klobuk.  We found the GPS most useful for noting your current location, tracking your car on the map, though we had to turn off the volume as its constant suggestions to “make a u-turn” or to turn off onto a mountain road became frequent and annoying. There is a clear distinction in road maintenance and quality between Croatia and Bosnia & Herzegovina, although the Bosnian highways were safe and navigable.  As we reached Lujubuski, a large city in a plain below Klobuk, we noted a large market with the name “Dzajic” emblazoned on the side, and stopped to snap a photo, and continued into the hills toward Klobuk.  My grandfather had indicated “Ljubuski” as his birthplace on his American Intent to Gain Citizenship application, I suspect because it was the largest town with any commerce close to Klobuk.  We continued on, but noted for future research, Ljubuski might be the best source of documents.

Our route started gaining elevation as we drove into the hills to Klobuk.  Growing up, we had been told the Croatian word “klobuk” means “hat,” and Papa’s village got its name from a distinctive hill.  It was very exciting, rounding a bend, to discover the klobuk-shaped hill.  We stopped and snapped a photo.  Passing the Klobuk road sign, we stopped at the first cemetery we saw to look for names.  Mike noted that the cemetery seemed new, all the headstones certainly are.  We searched but did not find any Dzaic names, though the location was the perfect spot to shoot a video I had been rehearsing.  Here are a couple of snapshots from that area.  I’m having difficulty uploading the video to YouTube, and may have to wait until my return to the U.S.  It was a very emotional moment for me as I realized I had reached my grandfather’s home town.

KLOBUK MOUNTAIN

We proceeded north along the two-lane highway, looking for homes and people.  Passing scatterings of homes in various stages of maintenance, we spotted a church in the distance and drove over.  The front doors of St. Mark the Evangelist church were open, and we spotted some people cleaning inside.  Parked the car and approached; no one spoke English, but one man was brought forward who asked if we spoke German.  Unfortunately, communication was an issue; I showed them the pictures I had brought with me of the 6 young men who came to the U.S. from Klobuk, their names written on the back.  I pointed to the word “Dzaic” and raised my hands in question – they shook their heads “no.”  Next time I’ll bring my Croatian or German-speaking friends.  We looked through the church cemetery for some recognizable names; the closest one we found as “Dzekusic.”  We did note that several surnames resemble local towns “Culjak” and “Medjugore” so the tradition of naming families by location seems to continue.

Not one to be easily thwarted in my quest, I noted that several newer model cars had taken a one-land road off the main highway along-side the church into the hillside.  I encouraged Mike to follow them, hoping to find friendly, English-speaking folk, and we proceeded across a fairly new wooden bridge to a pretty little area with a few homes.  Mike’s public investigator radar was activated when he noted that these new-model cars were actually all late-model Mercedes driven by well-dressed middle-aged Middle-Eastern men, who, in his estimation, were probably packing heat.  It was his advice that we skedaddle as quickly as possible (“skedaddle” is my translation for the words he actually used).  We noted that yet another Mercedes had crossed the wooden bridge towards us and had pulled over – I thought it was to kindly let us by, but Mike noted he was talking on his cell phone and checking us out.  We headed back to the highway and stopped to make one last video – this time with a new spin.  This experience leads me to believe that the story we had been told about my grandfather’s educated brother being executed in Klobuk in approximately 1944 was true, and Klobuk has developed to be a haven for some not-so-seemly activity disguised by the rough and remote geography of its hills.  I’m hopeful that some day we will learn our assessment is incorrect, but for now, we felt it best to get on to the haven of our next stop, Mostar.

I have a theory that once you’ve visited a new city for three days you must either leave immediately or stay on for a full week at the least.  My rationale is as follows:

Day 1: Get oriented to physical layout and time-zone bearings (can be combined with Day 2 if short on time)

Day 2: Visit the must-see sights, so you can say you did them (e.g., Eiffel Tower in Paris, London Bridge in .. uh.. London, Military Tattoo in Edinburgh, Haleakala volcano at sunrise in Maui, walk the wall of historic Dubrovnik)

Day 3:  Scratch the surface of some off-the-beaten path activities

These three days allow you to float about, tread the water, and perhaps stick your face a bit under water to see what lies beneath the surface.  After three days, though, you must either leave town or dive in deeply.   I’ve had the great good fortune of diving in a few times in my life by renting apartments in residential Paris and Florence, buying and cooking fresh food from the local markets, making friends with the neighbors and feeling like part of the community.  This one must do to really get to know a region.  If time and resources do not allow, best to tie up the visit with a scratch-below-the-surface kind of day.

Here’s a photo of our little Dubrovnik apartment

Friday was our last day in Dubrovnik, technically day 3, therefore, and as it was scratch-below-the-surface day we started by skipping (OK, walking quickly) to town by a different route WITHOUT needing map in hand.  We chose a breakfast restaurant outside the historic city walls, and the eggs on Mike’s plate looked so bright yellow they were about to pop off the plate.

First stop was the Franciscan monastery museum, old pharmacy and church.  From the city wall walk the previous day we had a good perspective of the Franciscan monastery from above, and could observe with envy the quiet cloister through its open courtyard.  For just a few kuna we were let inside, and sat together enjoying the cool quiet while a few religious quickly walked about us.  Curiously, the Franciscans have maintained a pharmacy within their monastery walls; in addition to the modern operating pharmacy, they display the original one, with all kinds of antique medicine bottles and other medical equipment.  When I inquired at the gift shop if they had any pictures of the antique pharmacy, I was asked if I were a pharmacist.  Although I replied “No, I’m a nurse,” a sweet woman surreptitiously handed me a photo postcard under the table and said “take it.” Click here a link to a photo I found.

From there we moved down the “Strada” to the Dominican monastery, not as busy as its Franciscan brother, most likely due to its distance from the main gate.  Hard to imagine this small walled town could house so many religious but I must admit I would mind being cloistered in such a gorgeous place.  As we wandered throughout town we noticed that the Dubrovnik Symphony Orchestra would be performing at the Rector’s Palace that evening and decided it would be the perfect end to our Dubrovnik adventure.  Below are photos of the amazing octopus carpaccio I had for a pre-concert dinner, as well as a snapshot of the orchestra arrangements from our first-row seats.  The concert sold out its approximately 100 seat venue and we noticed some were sitting on the marble steps of the building in order to see.  The oboe soloist Thomas Hutchinson from New Zealand couldn’t have been more than 21 years old, and he was extraordinary. No recording can take the place of live music for touching the soul.

On Saturday morning we will be picked up at 8am by a rental car representative and begin our trek up the coast.   Going to be an early morning!

[My apologies for the rather brief and abrupt posting.  My current Internet connection is very sporadic, and I’m especially having trouble uploading pictures. More to come when I get better connectivity.]

Just passed our first 24 hours in Dubrovnik and have already met a Canadian who was born in the town next to my grandma’s, and a Croatian who spent 10 years living in my hometown, Glendale, California.  One thing I love about travelling outside the U.S. is the willingness of people to chat across restaurant tables, so much less guarded and than Americans when it comes to revealing oneself.

We arrived at our “sobe” – rental apartment – Wednesday early afternoon, and were greeted by the owner, Rastko, who introduced himself as “not the owner, the man of the owner” with a grin.  He showed us our lovely large apartment with brilliant views of the Adriatic across the old city.

Fortunately we were not as tired after our long trip as we’d expected, so changed quickly into something cooler – bright sun was out– and headed off to explore.  Dubrovnik is a hilly town, lots of steps, all leading down to the old city.  We made our way down our lovely walk from our sobe, literally 10 minutes down (and later to learn, 30 minutes back :)).

The first commercial enterprise we encountered was a gelato stand just outside the Plini (main) gate.  Spotting my hard-to-find favorite, hazelnut, we stopped for a scoop.  Tasty enough, but as we’ve unfortunately been spoiled by the amazing gelato in Florence, it did not live up to our exacting standards. They do, however, have the Florentines beat on decor, as evidenced by the Gelato Man statue outside the building

Guide book and map in hand, we headed into the walled city and wandered about to get oriented. Our local agent, Antonia, had told us the walk across the old town from wall to wall takes 10 minutes time; she was quite literally correct.  This did not, however, factor in stops to pop into St. Blaise Cathedral during rosary time (patron saint of Dubrovnik and known to cure throat ailments; let’s hope he cures my cough), check out the tchotchkes, or read every posted menu for a potential dinner locale. We’ve discovered the creative charms of friendly restaurant representatives scattered about town, helping you find your way, then very convincingly suggesting the best restaurant with the best prices in town.  It was thus that we found ourselves seated for an early dinner at a sidewalk cafe, and my dish certainly lived up to its billing as a fresh Dubrovnik seafood platter – whole grill fish, head and all, tasted magnificent.

In short order, two couples sat down at the adjacent table and looked over to admire our food.  When I noted they were also served the same gratis “Croatian antibiotic” (Rakija – an herbal variant of slivovica) we struck up a conversation.  These two couples are Canadians who have been travelling together through Croatia for weeks and were about to head over for 3 more weeks in Turkey.  Long story short, the husband, Carl, was born in Tomasica, the town immediately adjacent to Kajgana, my grandmother’s village in the north. They had just been to Kajgana (population 300) and showed us some photos.  When I told him we were trying to locate relatives in Kajgana, he, noting that they most likely did not speak English, wrote out a message (see below) in Croatian for me to use when I show up there.  It says, in essence, “Hello, I’m trying to find relatives from the family Ribaric who lived at 23 Kajgana – does anyone speak English here?”

Needless to say, the combination of our jet lag and two shots of Rakija (I had Mike’s as well as mine) took their toll, and we were home asleep by 8:30pm.

Today, Thursday, started with coffee and pastries at the local coffee spot, and for anyone who was raised with Croatian relatives, having hot cheese and apple gibonica (strudel) is as decadent as one can get.

Our day was spent on the obligatory tourist activities, taking the cable cars to the Homeland War memorial in Fort Imperial on Mount Srđ (the 1991-94 war of independence remains in daily conversation), and walking the historic walls of the Stari Grad (Old City).

Had a light dinner of thin crust pizza and coffee then walked up (getting better, 20 minutes) the stairways to our sobe.   After one more night of early sleep, we should be sufficiently time-zone-adjusted, and plan to spend our last full day in Dubrovnik visiting the smaller museums, attending a concert of the Dubrovnik Symphony Orchestra, and dressing up for a late dinner.

Laku noć – good night.

We’ve just arrived at our lovely Dubrovnik apartment, was oriented by our travel agency staff, and are about to set out on a walk to the historic downtown to get our bearings.  Our trip was smooth as could be, and our apartment is amazing.

I’ve posted my thoughts regarding the first steps of our journey, click here to read them.

With one very full week of work left before vacation, it occurred to me I’d better start getting ready.  I do hope to regularly post on this site stories and pictures from our trip to Croatia.  Here are a few things I’ve begun:

Records of my family history I’ve gathered in my recent quest to discover my heritage.  Click here for the first story I’ve posted.

Click here for notes and photos I’ve posted in preparation for our trip.

Getting close!