“How was your trip?”

 If I had a dollar for every time we got asked that question, we’d be off on another trip. Not that I mind that question at all, but it’s one that I find difficult to answer - so depending on who’s asking and how much time I think they have, I either respond with a polite “Good. Really good.” or I might pick out one aspect of the trip and talk about that briefly.

The trouble with answering this question is – how do you answer it? REALLY answer it? I’ve tried to ask myself the same question and each time I come up with different answers. So now that we’ve been back to our ‘normal’ lives in Sydney for a couple of weeks I’ll attempt to answer it once and for all – for me at the very least, and for anyone else who wants to know the real, unfiltered answer to the question.

So, how was our trip?

It was INCREDIBLE. Incredibly tiring. Incredibly challenging. Incredibly draining. Incredibly exciting. Incredibly liberating. Incredibly educational. Incredibly uplifting. Incredibly overwhelming. Incredibly satisfying.

Incredibly tiring.

Logistics alone would have you in a pickle if you weren’t slightly organised. Anyone who knows me knows that I am far from organised and fly by the seat of my pants most days. But you have to be organised and for me, that’s tiring.

You need to be organised to pack up your life in a 4-bedroom house in Sydney and live out of a few suitcases that not only need to fall within airline weight restrictions but, more importantly, need to fit in the back of a car. At some point in the middle of the year, we had help from our “luggage fairies” (family in Madrid, Spain and Zug, Switzerland who served as luggage drop off and storage points) but despite that, managing and packing our luggage for each move - we counted 51 - gets tiring. To complicate matters further, we had to plan our wardrobe and pack for changing seasons that ranged from an Arctic winter to a Mediterranean summer and everything in between. Arguing about what goes where and what fits where gets tiring. 

Then of course there’s the sightseeing. But that’s a fun kind of tired so I didn’t mind that too much. It comes with the territory. Rarely do I get the chance to get so physically exhausted that it hurts. Everything hurts and you’re so tired you can’t even sleep. That’s what happened when we hiked for 5 hours crossing over the border from France to Switzerland one day, only to go back and do it all over again the next day at Mont Blanc. By the end of that second day, it hurt…but it was worth it. Then there was that day in Sarajevo, Bosnia where I did 2 walking tours in one day in the blistering summer heat, then went on to do a 5 hour walk the next day in the mountains surrounding Sarajevo (again in blistering heat) with Jasmin – a local who fought with the Bosnian Army against the invading Bosnian Serbs. There was no way we would’ve missed that opportunity to hear about the war first hand, so we pushed. I pushed, ending the day curled in a ball in bed with one of the worst migraines ever.

Then there was that day back in March when we had to journey across 2 continents and 3 countries in 1 day getting from our hotel in Asilah, Morocco to our accommodation in Lagos, Portugal via Seville, Spain. Our Moroccan guide drove us from Asilah to Tangier Port (Morocco) to catch a non-existent 12 noon ferry, we then took the 2pm ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar to Tarifa (Spain), caught the bus from Tarifa to Seville, picked up the rental car and drove 3 hours to Lagos, Portugal...bags in tow. THAT was tiring.

There were a few of those during our trip – times where we pushed ourselves beyond exhaustion but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Otherwise, what was the point of even being there??!

Then there was the mental exhaustion when your brain has to work overtime trying to think and construct sentences in a different language... and decode a different language.  Out of the 10 months  spent in Europe and Morocco, we had 5 days in an English speaking city - London - where we could communicate freely, read signs without effort, read packaging, cooking instructions, and ingredients without having to think too hard. And just as we were starting to get used to key words in one language, we would move to a different country speaking another language. Sure there were English speaking people in most places but, apart from that, you're on your own (with Google Translate) to figure everything else out. It got to a point where I had gotten so used to simplifying my English using basic words so I could be understood that I felt my English starting to go downhill. There were at least 9-10 languages we had to navigate (not including Spanish dialects in the Basque Country or Galicia).

So it wasn’t all sunsets and margaritas but too much of that can get boring anyway.

Incredibly challenging.

This is where I reveal the ugly truth of long-term family travel. The trip was challenging on many fronts. Planning and managing the itinerary, managing the budget, researching, booking accommodation and transportation, keeping up with the kids’ formal schooling while ‘on the move’, taking care of things back in Sydney….

Luckily John is a Project Manager by profession so I was more than happy to leave most of the logistics of route planning, accommodation and transportation bookings, and budget management to him. He was even tracking our ‘burn rate’ on the budget. Who does that?? A Project Manager. Definitely a ‘must do’ though.

Meanwhile I took care of researching and planning the activities and sites to see, the kids’ (mostly Miguel’s) schooling, and anything else that needed attention back in Sydney. For the most part, I think this division of labour worked – although John might have a different view. We usually get along fine and can work as a team (after 22 years of marriage you would hope so!) so whilst it was challenging, this wasn’t really what I would consider ‘incredibly challenging’.

The incredibly challenging part comes from learning to live with a ‘new’ family dynamic – a dynamic where the 5 of us were all thrust together, living together 24/7 in a totally foreign environment doing things that were, in many ways, pushing personal boundaries. Add to that the fact that our kids are not so young with a wide age range (9, 15, 18) and, as with the nature of many teens, they can be quite outspoken (opinionated), strong-willed (stubborn), and self-absorbed (self-centred). Getting them interested and engaged in everything we, as parents, found interesting and engaging was not only incredibly challenging, it was downright emotionally exhausting. Whilst their input had been sought on the itinerary, we had a full year and different seasons… so we had to plan accordingly and couldn’t possibly do everything that everyone wanted within the first few months. That led to friction. A lot of friction.

Here we were, 5 of us, suddenly living with each other 24/7, often in tight spaces, in a totally foreign environment, forced to work as a team, totally dependent on each other. It was a pressure cooker waiting to explode and explode it did.

I hit my first low point 3 weeks into the trip spending Christmas Eve in tears. It was supposed to be one of the highlights of the trip – the White Christmas where we would all bond and have a magical and meaningful Christmas as a family. In the lead up there had been several arguments - few were getting sick of visiting Christmas Markets. And, apparently, on this night of nights, the same few were not as thrilled as I was about going to the little chapel in Obendorf (Austria) where the famous Christmas carol ‘Silent Night’ originated to hear it sung in the original German version by candle light on Christmas Eve. Nor were they thrilled about attending midnight mass in Salzburg Cathedral…and they made sure I knew it.

We were off to a rocky start in those early weeks with several arguments and yelling matches escalating to a child (who shall remain nameless) prematurely packing bags and catching the train solo to Zug, Switzerland for some time out. The  rest of us continued on with the planned journey from Vienna, Austria to the Czech Republic. This was early January –  4 weeks into our year away. It was going to be a loooonnnngggg year.

The ‘prodigal child’ eventually returned a week later to join us in Frankfurt, Germany enroute to our Lapland arctic adventure.

Add to this the different personalities of family members where you have a couple of ‘passive peacemakers’ and a few ‘loaded firecrackers’; a couple of ‘high energy’ individuals together with ‘I need my space’ individuals; a few ‘control freaks’ (ok maybe just one) and the ‘don’t tell me what to do’ types – all of which are magnified under the pressure and strains of travel. People don’t change. We weren’t going to change - but we somehow needed to learn to live with each other, function as a team, and enjoy each other’s company… THAT was the challenge – a mighty big one.

Good or bad, I now know more than I wanted to know about every family member’s personality - including my own - than I did a year ago.

Incredibly draining.

See above – ‘Incredibly tiring’ and ‘Incredibly challenging’. All of that sustained over an extended period of 13 months was incredibly draining.

After a day of hiking the Tre Cime in the Dolomites, Italy in early August I hit the lowest point in the trip as I stood outside our apartment staring at the beautiful mountain views. I was seething. It had been another day of fights – the family was sick of hiking - and I had had enough. What was the point of us coming all this way if we weren’t going to experience what the place had to offer?? I cursed myself for coming up with the idea for the year away. What was I thinking?? It was the worst idea ever, no one appreciated anything, it was a complete waste of time and money, a total and utter failure. I was ready to pull the plug and go home.

But, of course, after moments like this you just take a deep breath, pull your big girl socks up and keep going…

Incredibly exciting.

Who doesn’t get excited about travelling to a new place, meeting new people, doing new things? No explanation needed.

Everything was exciting. The Christmas markets; the snow storm; driving through the snow storm; dog-sledding in Lapland; learning about arctic life and people at the Arktikum; seeing the Northern Lights; learning and speaking Spanish; living in and exploring the back streets of Seville; engaging in local festivities; experiencing Northern Morocco; driving for hours across some of the most remote and scenic landscapes in Northern Spain; watching the sunset over Duoro river while sipping on Port wine in Porto, Portugal; market days at cute French villages; photographing and picnicking by the lavender fields in Provence; hiking in the French, Swiss and Italian Alps; walking through WW1 trenches in Italy; walking through bombed out ruins from the Croatian and Bosnian wars; swimming in the warm Mediterranean sea without fear of sharks or jelly fish; driving through deserted mountain roads in Bosnia; catching several ferries across countries and continents; meeting and speaking to convicted criminals; swimming with the turtles and jelly fish…

It’s all exciting…to the point that exciting becomes the new normal.

Incredibly liberating.

There’s a joke between John and I (more his joke than mine) that I am the CFO (Chief Financial Officer) but he is the CEO. Read into that what you will but it’s an undisputed fact that I am the family financial controller. From managing investments and savings to paying bills, to organising all sorts of insurance, to staying on top of our tax obligations… I do it all. So it was incredibly liberating to let go of that for a whole year and let John manage the budget and finance for our trip away. I would just ask for money when I needed it and spent it when I needed to. That felt so good - so good that I refused to look at my emails or check the physical mail received online for the first 7 months to find out what was going on back in Sydney. I don’t think I even checked our bank balances. I didn’t care, nor did I want to know. Before leaving I ensured we had tied up all loose ends but if something was overlooked or came up while we were away – too bad. I needed a break. By July there was a pile of physical mail waiting for us in Switzerland care of my sister-in-law who flew in from Sydney. Needless to say, there were a few fires that needed to put out by that stage… but I had had a good break from it all by then.

Apart from the obvious freedom of not having to work during the year, what was equally refreshing was not having to run around trying to juggle schedules on weekends filled with sporting commitments, kids’ birthday parties, and other social obligations. It was just us. We owned our time and had full control over that time. We did what we wanted, when we wanted – without having to consider anyone else. That probably sounds incredibly selfish but I’m sure if everyone just stopped and thought about it, you would realise how much of your time you really don’t own. Some might be totally fine with that. I wasn’t.

Incredibly educational.

One of the key reasons for this trip was education. A chance to expose the kids (and ourselves) to different lives, cultures, historical places, and experiences.

We learned about the Spanish and Portuguese conquests and the Spanish Inquisition relating them back to our history and roots in the Philippines. From the Spanish side we learned how religion was used as a means of control over colonies and people and the abuses committed as a result. 

We learned more about the cruelty of WW2 with a visit to Dachau Concentration Camp and saw how these camps were designed for mass murder; we understood how these camps and the cruelty within remained a mystery to their neighbours; we learned how Hitler rose to power ending with the war crime convictions that followed in the famous Nuremburg Trials; we stood on the podium where Hitler stood at the Nazi Party rally grounds in Nuremburg where he addressed thousands of his followers as I tried to gain a perspective and understand the popularity and appeal of one of the most evil men in history. We learned how Switzerland, a country that had positioned itself as neutral territory during WW2, was prepared for an invasion from the Axis troops (Italy) with several military fortresses built into their mountains. Until recently, these fortresses were unknown to the outside world. We stayed in the village where the Italian dictator, Mussolini, was eventually executed outside a home near Lake Como as he tried to escape to Switzerland towards the end of WW2.

We learned about WW1 beyond Gallipoli and how it all started in a tiny city called Sarajevo. We walked the WW1 trenches of the Dolomites where there was intense fighting between Austro-Hungarian and Italian troops, ending in Austro-Hungarian defeat.

John learned how to drive in the snow – in a snow storm, in fact. He learned how to shovel snow off a car, scrape ice off a windscreen, discovered that you need to plug the car in overnight or it won’t start the next morning, and how making a last-minute decision to turn right when driving on icy roads leads you into a pole.

We learned about the Sevillanos and their way of life - how a city that on the outside appears to be entrenched in religious tradition to the point of fanaticism is actually quite divided on the inside. We learned about Sarajevo and how Sarajevans manage to retain a sense of humour and optimism despite the cruelty they have lived through. We experienced Polar Nights and arctic life which is a world away from the life we have on the opposite end of the globe down under. For the first time I learned to appreciate cave art and an entire civilisation from an era that I had little interest in before discovering the caves of Lascaux and Les Eyzies, France.

We learned about the former Yugoslavia - a region we knew very little about. So little that I wasn't even sure what Yugoslavia was. Nor was I sure if the war in Bosnia was actually over.  We learned about Sarajevo and what really happened there, and elsewhere in Bosnia. As a teen in the 90s, Bosnia and Sarajevo had become familiar names to me for all the wrong reasons. We learned about the wars that led to the break-up of Yugoslavia, and how people felt about life then and now. We saw how countries faced with war can take years to recover - if at all. I shudder to think what the future holds for Syria and other war torn countries. 

We learned that being able to speak 3 languages is the norm for most Europeans, while the Moroccans that we met are able to speak 5-6 languages. Being able to speak English is a definite advantage but quite useless when travelling outside key cities… and if it’s the only language you can and are willing to speak then good luck.

Despite the proximity of countries to each other within Europe, the progress and prosperity of a neighbouring country stops at the border, as with the language. The cultural division between neighbouring countries and cultures is so pronounced, it’s amusing. The French and Spanish, the Spanish and Portuguese, the Swiss and Italians, the Croatians and Bosnians, the Italians and Austrians. Groups of people can be so different yet are all the same. Despite the wars that they’ve been through and the political bull dust they’re now living in, everyone just wants security, a means of making a decent living, and to be able to get on with their lives.

You’re never too old to get educated.

Incredibly uplifting.

When you spend a day with someone who has been shot at, who has witnessed cruelty and death and has faced death himself, who was betrayed by friends who wanted to kill him, yet somehow manages to maintain a sense of humour and optimism despite that, you can’t help but be in awe - and feel incredibly grateful for the life that you have devoid of that cruelty and need for survival. Suddenly my woes about daily traffic on the M2 and the ridiculous cost of living in Sydney paled in comparison. I have no doubt that Jasmin and his family suffer invisible scars from the war in Sarajevo, but their survival and optimism are a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. We can all learn from people like him.

Likewise, when you realise that you can have conversations and communicate with people without a common language. Despite seemingly having nothing in common, you have plenty in common. It just takes a willingness to listen and understand.

The world is a safe place and people are kind. This is what we experienced on this trip, and previous trips, where we’ve ventured outside our comfort zone to places and countries where our safety may have been deemed questionable. Questionable only due to our ignorance and unfamiliarity with the place. Bosnia is one country I didn’t imagine us going to, ending up there merely by chance. Yet it’s turned out to be one of the most interesting places we’ve visited. Our first foray into the predominantly Muslim country of Morocco several years ago washed away our fears and gave us one of our best travel experiences, so much so that we went back again on this trip to explore a different part. Even conversations with a convicted murderer and rapist at Iwahig Prison in the Philippines challenged my prejudices, making me realise that not every convicted person is, or should be treated, as a lost cause. Many people are there because of poverty and circumstance, not because they’re a murderous psychopath.

It's uplifting to see that despite all the craziness peddled in the media, when you get out into the real world, people are inherently good and the world is generally a safe place. Wars aren’t started by people from different cultures or religions. They’re started by idiots.

Incredibly overwhelming.

See ‘Incredibly exciting’.

We saw some of the most beautiful monuments, walked through many interesting cities, and hiked and drove across some of the most breathtaking landscapes. Doing that over an extended period gets overwhelming. Feeling the need to see it all and do it all gets overwhelming.

There were many times when I wanted to do more, but our bodies (and minds) couldn’t keep up. In Bosnia, we wanted to go to Srebrenica, then I wanted to go to Serbia; in Switzerland, I wanted to go up and hike around the Matterhorn; in the Philippines, I wanted to go to Bataan. There were many things I still wanted to do but, in the end, I couldn’t keep up with myself.

Incredibly satisfying.

The biggest satisfaction comes from knowing we didn’t throw the towel in and come home early like we had threatened to several times, to not have that ‘what if’ or ‘should have’ hanging over our heads. We did what we set out to do. Had we thrown the towel in too early we wouldn’t have seen the fruits of our earlier challenges.

The family dynamics changed from the rocky start and by the end of the trip we learned to deal with (or tolerate) each other better – I think.

Kat and Bea developed a sisterly bond which I didn’t think was possible – from sharing make up tips, to sharing clothes and ‘boy notes’. I put it down to their sharing a room in most places – something they don’t have to do at home in Sydney. We also learned the art of compromise – I let them skip some sightseeing on the condition that they needed to participate in activities deemed ‘non-negotiable’ without fuss and attitude. I feel both sorry and disappointed for them – for the things they missed out on because they preferred to stay home and watch Netflix. I will never understand it but had to pick my battles.

We identified the ‘high energy’ individuals and called them out when their energy was disrupting other family members’ peace. With the number of hours spent on the road, there was also a lot of conversation – more than we would have had leading our ‘normal’ lives in Sydney under one roof but totally detached from one another. The kids talked about and consulted us on career and educational choices, dreams and goals. I liked having the open conversations and being able to impart some ‘parental wisdom’ about their choices. Then there was the endless nagging (negotiation) about getting a dog when the trip was over.

We settled into our roles in Team Travel so we were no longer stepping all over everyone and getting in each other’s way. By the end of it, everyone either knew what they needed to do or accepted that they needed to do something and not be an idle spectator. At some point on our 5-month road trip I became redundant as co-captain (happily so) while Kat took over the packing, navigation, and coordination of arrival times with our hosts – many of whom didn’t speak English. When she decides to travel the world on her own, she’ll be more prepared than others her age.

Bea and Miguel have developed a sense of independence and confidence that wasn’t there before. They too have grown up before my eyes.

Lastly, and probably most importantly, I’ve come home more content.

Before the trip, I had visions of grandeur wanting to leave the Big Smoke, to live in a small village in rural France or Spain. I wanted to get away from everyone and everything that was going on around me, around us. If we had to work, I wondered whether we could move to London and start a new life there, or even Spain, Germany, or France. Anywhere but Sydney.

In hindsight, I think we were simply burnt out – I was burnt out – not by work, but by life. It seems we have it pretty good in Sydney – or Australia in general. I know people keep saying that but until you get to see the other side, you don’t really know where the grass is greener.

Where else can you take a year off work and come back to your job? American, Spanish, English, Portuguese, French, Swiss, Filipino…. it didn’t matter who we talked to – this was never heard off in their part of the world. It should be, but it isn’t.

Distance education… Australia is set up for it – not just at University level but in Primary and Secondary levels. Again, unheard off with many. Home schooling would probably be the closest but that’s a whole level harder than simply supervising a pre-determined curriculum and lesson plan. While I have my misgivings about the whole Distance Ed curriculum thing (ie. having to do 6 weeks’ worth of work on Coral Reefs while we were in the middle of the Alps with no sea nearby; or having to study about ancient Egyptian pyramids when we are walking around the old city of Dubrovnik which is equally interesting), we are lucky to have it and to be able to use it as we try to raise socially aware children while keeping up with formal schooling requirements.

Needless to say, I no longer have the immediate desire to permanently run off to some remote village in Spain or France. It’ll always be there waiting - if and when we’re ready. For now, we're back where we need to be.

So in a nutshell, THAT was our trip. Congratulations if you've reached this point.

Sieged by Sarajevo (Bosnia and Herzegovina)

Our initial foray into Bosnia early in our trip (January 2018), to a town called Banja Luka in the northern part of the country, was purely coincidental. John made a purchase while we were in Zagreb, Croatia and wanted to make the most of the tax rebate available to foreigners. To do that we needed to leave the EU. Bosnia, around 2 hours away, was the closest border. We would never have considered Bosnia as a destination otherwise. I still had vivid memories of a country at war featured in the daily news in the 90s. I wasn’t even quite sure if the war was over. So we hired another rental car from Zagreb (insurance for the car we had was not covered for travel into Bosnia) and left our original rental car in the car park while we made the day trip to Banja Luka, Bosnia.

Crossing the border into Bosnia was like entering another world. Dilapidated and abandoned homes, occupied homes and buildings that looked like they were still under construction (by Australian standards), cigarette smoke everywhere… I mean everywhere – in enclosed cafes, bars, petrol stations. Bosnians love their cigarettes to a level I hadn’t seen since the 80s. What was palpable just driving through the country side to get to Banja Luka was the sense that this place had been through a war, a war had hindered their economic progress. I had read that mines were still prevalent around Bosnia and wandering through abandoned buildings and uncleared paths was not advisable. I couldn’t help but wonder how many of the fields and abandoned buildings we were passing still had mines in them.

It was only a day trip so we didn’t get to see much of the place except to get the initial impression that this was a completely different world – different to its neighbouring Zagreb and vastly different to all the other (mostly Western and Central) European countries we had been to. It was clear that the prosperity and progress of this country’s European neighbours didn’t extend across the borders. It was enough to make me want to come back and learn more about what happened here. We had to come back.

Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, Banja Luka - Serbian Orthodox Cathedral

We arrived in Sarajevo, Bosnia towards the end of July – seven months after our initial visit. We travelled from Split, Croatia and made our way inland to the Bosnian capital. Driving closer to the capital was a bit eerie as we passed outlying towns that looked ‘normal’ but had buildings pock-marked with bullet holes and shrapnel marks. Despite the poorly finished cement exterior on many of the buildings, the only reason I recognised them as such was because I had seen them before – on office buildings after a coup de etat took place in Makati, Philippines when gunfire had been exchanged between government and rebel troops in the middle of the Central Business District. That was back in the early 90s, just a few years before the Bosnian War. 

We arrived in the centre of Sarajevo late at night and it looked liked any big city. Bright lights, tall well-constructed glass buildings, lots of cars. “This place seems to have recovered well”, I thought to myself. It was a far cry from the abandoned and ruined buildings we had passed on our way in. I later found out that was the area known as “Sniper Alley” – a main boulevard running through the city centre that was notorious for people getting killed by snipers during the Siege of Sarajevo. When we later went up to the mountains surrounding Sarajevo, it was easy to see why with a clear line of sight to the area. We also later realised that “Sniper Alley” is a misnomber. The reality was that any street in Sarajevo at the time was a sniper alley.

Walking along Sniper Alley today - the infamous Holiday Inn building housing foreign journalists on the left (yellow building). Sniper Alley is more a Boulevard than an actual alley.

View of the previous Holiday Inn - the only building left standing in what was known as Sniper Alley during the Seige of Sarajevo (foreground photo). It was where foreign journalists were housed during the war hence off limits to the bombing all around. 

The Executive Council Building - the Centre of government for Bosnia and Herzegovina - as it stands today. Photo in foreground shows it burning after it was hit by Serbian tank fire signalling an official act of war against the city.

Building on left riddled with shrapnel 'scars' - typical of many old buildings around Sarajevo. New glass building is part of the reconstruction after the war.

Facade of a building riddled with shrapnel marks and sniper bullet holes. A typical site around Sarajevo.

Building on right with rebuilt exposed red brick shows where the shell landed and exploded. Spray of shrapnel marks still visible on the neighbouring building on the left. A typical site around Sarajevo.

Sarajevo Memorial for Children killed during the Seige of Sarajevo. The cylinders have names of children who were innocent victims of sniper fire or mortar blasts. Not a a comprehensive list of names.

Then we met Jasmin (pronounced Yasmin).

Jasmin was part of the Bosnian Army fighting against the invasion of the Bosnian Serbs during the Siege of Sarajevo. I had stumbled on a blog online about his son’s business. His son, who goes by the name 01 online, runs The War Hostel in Sarajevo and offers various tours to share their story with all those who care to listen and who want to experience what it was like living in Sarajevo during the war (1992-1995). We had to meet these people! After a quick exchange of emails we managed to get a booking for the next day.

The next morning, we made our way to the address we had been given. It was a 15-minute walk from the apartment to an area we were roughly familiar with having walked around the city the day before. We rang the doorbell and a voice on the intercom said they would be out soon. Slowly people started emerging from the door – guests from The War Hostel that had modest signage and simply looked like someone’s home. First a fellow Australian from Sydney, who turned out to be a cop, then a newly married English couple on their honeymoon. Then there was the 5 of us. After a few minutes of getting acquainted a rickety old van pulled up the driveway and we were introduced to Jasmin, an older gentleman in his 50s. We were told he would be taking us on the tour today because 01 had injured himself and couldn’t do the walk.

I had read about Jasmin so I already knew who he was, silently pleased with our luck. He was going to guide us through the enemy frontlines on Mount Trebevic and take us to his old frontline bunker.

Waiting outside The War Hostel - Jasmin's home at the foot of Mount Trebevic where he and his wife and baby (01) lived during the Seige of Sarajevo.

Inside The War Hostel. News clippings from media coverage about the Seige of Sarajevo decorate the wall.

We all squeezed into Jasmin’s rickety old van and made our way backwards down the driveway. We were still getting over the novelty of squeezing in over capacity and not having to wear seatbelts when Jasmin broke the jovial mood. He pointed to a “Sarajevo Rose” on the road we had just passed no further than 200 metres from his house (The War Hostel is the family home). A mortar shell had landed on that spot killing people as they waited in line to collect water from the nearby Sarajevski beer factory as all supplies to the city had been choked off by the Bosnian Serbs. Luckily the beer factory had its own water source from a natural spring so it became a lifeline for Sarajevans. One of those killed by the mortar was a 17-year old boy and to this day, Jasmin tells us, his mother blames herself for his death because she sent him to get the water.

One of the 'Sarajevo Roses' around the city. Pavement markings where a mortar shell had landed causing casualties. They are filled with red resin to commemorate the deaths. There are several marked around the streets of Sarajevo. This particular one was the one that landed at the Markale (market) causing the most casualties garnering attention of the international community.

The beer factory that served as a lifeline for the people of Sarajevo when Bosnian Serbs had cut off the city from all supplies -  including water. The beer factory had it's own source of water - a spring that ran underneath it - so people had access to water to survive during the Seige.

We quickly started making our way up the winding steep and narrow roads of the mountains surrounding Sarajevo marvelling at Jasmin’s skill manoeuvring his old van through and up the streets. We stopped at an abandoned structure that was clearly destroyed by war and was now overrun by plants and graffiti. Jasmin motioned for all of us to get out and led us into the abandoned building that was once a hotel and restaurant with a great view over Sarajevo. Of course a great view over the city for guests means a great view for snipers as well. We could see “Sniper Alley” in the distance quite clearly. Bosnian Serbs had taken over this hotel loading it with machine guns and setting up several sniper stations on its rooftop. At one point, we were told, they had even hired a female Olympic sharp shooter from a neighbouring eastern European country paying 500 German Marks per kill. She wasn’t the only one who was paid. This was the incentive that was being offered to get the best snipers, especially during the early years of the Siege, and when money ran out snipers would do the job voluntarily. Serbs from neighbouring Montenegro and Serbia were said to be coming into Sarajevo on weekends to help their ‘brothers’ in the war for a Greater Serbia returning to their day jobs during the week.

View over Sarajevo from what was once a hotel and restaurant. Bosnian Serbs took over this building to set up snipers on the rooftop.

Walking through the ruins of the bombed out hotel and restaurant. One of the many sniper posts used by Bosnian Serbs surrounding Sarajevo.

We piled back in the van and made our way up the winding mountain roads until we were stopped by road work. Jasmin turned to us asking if we were willing to walk the rest of the way. “How far?”, the Aussie cop asked. “Oh far… yes far”, replied Jasmin as he mentally envisioned where he planned to take us. What the heck. We were here. Of course we were willing to walk. Besides, walking gives us more opportunity to talk.

Jasmin told us stories of how his commanding officer would order them to keep advancing the front line to push the invading Bosnian Serbs back, all from the safety and comfort of his party den surrounded by alcohol and women. Jasmin wasn’t fond of him and while his English wasn’t very good, it was certainly good enough to call this guy a few names in the English vernacular.

Walking and talking with Jasmin about his experience during the Seige of Sarajevo.

Jasmin is a funny guy. He had been through a lot but managed to keep his sense of humour making us laugh at things that really shouldn’t have been funny at all. He told us about a running joke they had about NATO officers coming in (when they finally decided to intervene) giving the Bosnian Serbs one hour to pack up and get out. He said one hour was way too long. All they would’ve needed was a minute. Then there was the time when he and his senior officer, a good friend, decided to go out and climb cherry trees and pick cherries to take home to their families. They were both high up in the tree when Jasmin heard sniper bullets hitting the ground and trees around him. Realising they had been spotted by a sniper from a neighbouring bunker, he slid down the tree as fast as he could getting his arms scraped and bloodied in the process. Meanwhile, his friend, who had damaged hearing, did not hear the sniper fire and continued to happily pick cherries at the top. In a panic, Jasmin tried to get his friend’s attention. His friend finally looked down and saw Jasmin on the ground frantically motioning for him to get down. “Jasmin! Someone’s shooting at us??!”, his friend asks. “Yes!!”, Jasmin confirms. “Oh my god. Someone just shoot him already!”, he thinks to himself jokingly. 

Then there was the time during a supposed ceasefire when Jasmin was out walking on a riverbank in Sarajevo. To his right was a 6-metre high wall, and to his left was an equally high drop. As he walked along this path, a sniper started shooting at the path in front of him. As he retreated, the sniper would shoot behind him, teasing him and taunting him but not actually shooting him. Jasmin ran to safety and managed to find cover, sticking his hand out one last time to give the sniper the middle finger. Silently, he thanked the sniper who could’ve easily killed him in that moment.

Jasmin was not a fighter but he was forced to fight. He fought to keep his city safe, to keep his family safe. He fought, they fought, for their lives. He didn’t like what was happening. He hated that he had to fight with people who were once his friends. Neighbours who had suddenly turned on each other. He told us about someone he knew from school who fought for the Serbs and whom he managed to see several years after the war. This person apologised and blamed the government for making them turn on their fellow Sarajevans then held out his hand in peace which Jasmin accepted. Then there was Jasmin’s good friend, someone who he went through primary school with, sat next to in school for many years. He hasn’t spoken to him. He doesn’t quite have the energy to call him yet, says Jasmin. Understandably, the wound still runs deep on that one. He told us how nights spent in the trenches were so filled with fear that the simple sound of rustling in the scrub would set off an exchange of gunfire in case it was the enemy creeping up on them. He showed us how they would fire their guns holding it above their heads blindly aiming it at the direction of the Bosnian Serbs, while they stayed ducked below in the trenches. “Everybody’s scared”, he told us. “If you aren’t scared, you’re crazy. You get killed.” He went on to tell us about his cousin who grabbed a machine gun and ran up the hill shooting at the Bosnian Serbs in anger. He ended up with a rocket through his chest. All that was left of him for the family to bury was 10 kilos of his remains.

Bravery on the battlefield is also something you could not predict according to Jasmin. “You can never tell”, he reflected. The biggest, fittest men sometimes ended up in tears consumed by fear and mental anguish. Then he told us about a 17-year old Sarajevan girl who took control of one of the main machine guns in their section of the mountain. Perched on a hill it would’ve been quite exposed yet she got behind it and continued firing towards the Bosnian Serbs and didn’t stop. She controlled the gun while another person was with her loading the ammunition. Everyone else took cover fearful of Bosnian Serb retaliation. She was later awarded a medal for her bravery. A medal which she reportedly ‘threw on the ground’ when they refused to admit her into the frontline because she was female.

We stuck to paved roads for most of the way until Jasmin led us through an unmarked path through the scrub. I knew about the dangers of venturing out on these ‘unmarked paths’ due to unexploded mines… “Jasmin, are you sure about this??”, I asked nervously. “Stay in one line kids! Make sure you follow in his footsteps (literally) and don’t veer off the path!”, I instruct the kids. Further ahead Jasmin stops and turns to face us indicating for us not to go beyond the rock behind him. Around 2 metres in front of us was a sign warning of the dangers of uncleared mines below. It was a bit surreal standing there, imagining that just 2 metres beyond where we stood, we could get blown up by a land mine. I thought back to bushwalking in Australia. Land mines would not even be a consideration. Getting bitten by a deadly snake or spider? Sure… but getting blown up by a landmine?? Yet here we were, on a mountainside overlooking Sarajevo, where many people seem to wander around on their own, where the Winter Olympics were held in 1984, and there are still landmines. Early in the war, many Sarajevans and members of the Bosnian Army were killed with landmines as they advanced on the Serbs unaware of them. Later on, they would advance in single file with one person checking the path for mines and the rest to follow using the cleared path.

Red sign warns not to proceed further due to active land mines still prevalent in the mountains surrounding Sarajevo.

Back on the paved road Jasmin would occasionally stop and point out Serbian trenches that were barely visible under the overgrown grass and shrubs. We were walking in what was the Bosnian Serb front line territory. He then stopped at a particular spot on the road and pointed out where he and his group had managed to penetrate the Serbian front line. His friend, who was the ‘front man’ leading the group through the minefields had been shot and killed there. He had led the group safely up the side of the mountain through the 1^st and 2^nd frontlines up to the side of the road only to be shot by a sniper from up above as he emerged.

We continued on and followed Jasmin into the scrub, this time having to climb up the steep embankment, grabbing on tree branches for leverage. Every time we would leave the road onto one of these ‘unmarked paths’ my nerves would start up. We met this man less than 2 hours ago and we were now following him through minefields. “Jasmin, our lives are in your hands”, I said a bit over dramatically. Meanwhile the kids seemed to enjoy this adventure, walking through shrubs and overgrown grass. The prospect of stepping on a landmine didn’t seem to faze them. We were now standing over what was a Serbian bunker – rotted planks of wood collapsed into the hole. An old Yugoslav army uniform was left strewn over the top. I was dubious about the authenticity of that uniform having lasted in that spot for over 25 years but was assured that it had been left there as is.

About 50 metres away through more scrub was another Serbian bunker. Jasmin showed us these bunkers so we could get a sense of how entrenched the Serbs were in the mountains surrounding Sarajevo. Every 50 metres or so were bunkers with machine guns and snipers overlooking the land below them… all around Sarajevo. This was the 3^rd Serbian frontline Jasmin explained to us. Beyond this further up the mountain was the Serbian base. Further down the mountain towards Sarajevo were the 1^st and 2^nd frontlines.

Following Jasmin as he led us through the scrub single file towards the land mines and former Bosnian Serb bunkers.

Going "off road" and climbing up the embankment to get to former Bosnian Serb bunkers.

One of several Bosnian Serb bunkers dug well into the mountainside. This one had a former Yugoslav military jacket strewn over the top.

Another Bosnian Serb bunker.

Back on the paved road walking and talking. Jasmin told us about the difficulties they had at the start of the war with people in the front line with no weapons. People were arming themselves with improvised cocktail bombs, knives, hunting rifles, hand guns and whatever else they could find to defend their city. The Bosnian Army was ill-equipped and no match for the resources of virtually the entire Yugoslav army backed by the Serbs. When the ‘Tunnel of Hope’ was opened in the 2^nd year of the war, more guns made it to the frontline. Apparently ‘aid packs’ that were air dropped also contained few arms so the Sarajevans could defend themselves – until an aid pack accidentally landed behind the Bosnian Serb frontline causing international tension when Bosnian Serbs accused the international community of interfering with a 'domestic' matter.

Shortly we found ourselves approaching the abandoned 1984 Winter Olympics Bob Sled track. “Do you want to walk on the track?” It’s about 1.5 kms.”, Jasmin asked. No one seemed to be sure what they wanted to do. “C’mon. Let’s walk on the track.”, Jasmin declared jumping down onto the concrete surface below. We all followed. I walked along the track taking my time, marvelling at what once would’ve been an Olympic track that was now decaying and covered in graffiti. I wish I had known to look out for the holes in the concrete made by Serbian troops who used that track as a natural bunker and stuck machine guns through the holes. Jasmin only told us this after we walked through the tracks when we were looking at it from the outside – from what would have been the point of view of the Bosnian Army. He doesn’t normally like walking on the track he told us. This was the 2^nd Serbian frontline. Perhaps it was the thought that these tracks were used as shelter to kill many of his friends. Perhaps something happened here that he wasn’t ready to share. Looking at this huge, sturdy concrete structure in front of us it was easy to see how this place could bring back bad memories. I bet the Olympic Committee never thought their bob sled track would be used that way.

Walking along the abandoned Olympic Bob Sled track

Looking at the Bob Sled track from the outside - a concrete wall that Bosnian Serbs used as protection. Holes were drilled into the concrete so machine guns could be slotted through and they could fire at advancing Bosnian troops.

We had now walked down the mountainside through the bob sled track and continued walking down through scrub until we reached a point which Jasmin identified as the 1^st Serbian frontline. The closest point the Bosnian Serbs had made to Sarajevo in the valley down below. Further ahead, he explained, was what was known as ‘no man’s land’ – the gap between the two opposing forces, between the invading Bosnian Serbs and the Sarajevans protecting their homes. ‘No man’s land’ was riddled with land mines and fraught with danger, Jasmin explained, followed immediately by “C’mon. Let’s walk through no man’s land”.

As we made it through the clearing Jasmin pointed to what was then part of the Bosnian Army frontline protecting Sarajevo – two high points in the landscape ahead of us. Further along he took us to his frontline position, his bunker where he had spent many nights on end through heat, rain, and snow. This was his ‘home’. He knew this area well. He explained how the bunker was set up with remnants of United Nations marked tarps still visible. This is where he was stationed, as a 29-year old, throughout the war making his way through the trenches installing and repairing communication cables providing communications capability between bunkers and the base in Sarajevo below. There were 700 men in his group, all working in rotation day and night, keeping the Bosnian Serbs away from Sarajevo. Men, women and children who couldn’t be in the front line, helped with preparing and delivering meals and supplies to those who were in the front line. All around the mountains surrounding Sarajevo were similar set-ups. They functioned like this for 3 years, all while Bosnian Serbs continued to shell Sarajevo dropping hundreds, if not thousands, of mortar shells onto the city daily – a city that simply wouldn’t give up the fight.

It was at his old bunker where Jasmin shared his parting message with us – make love, not war. No more. For someone who fought during the war and would’ve had every reason to stay angry and bitter, he had a quiet and sensitive nature about him.

Descending the mountain towards the Bosnian front line where Jasmin was positioned. From here they protected Sarajevo in the valley below from the Bosnian Serbs positioned in the mountains up above.

Bosnian frontline where they positioned themselves protecting Sarajevo in the valley behind them. Mountains surrounding the city all had a similar set-up with Bosnian forces protecting Sarajevo from the advancing Bosnian Serbs positioned higher up in the mountains. The city sits at the base of a 'bowl' making it easy to be surrounded by invading forces and cut-off from supplies.

This was the end of our tour as we made our way back to his van parked at the top of the mountain. I walked back quietly trying to absorb everything I had just seen and heard.  My head was spinning and I was exhausted – physically and mentally. What was supposed to be a 2.5-hour walking tour had pushed out to 5 hours because of the extra walk due to road work. It was an intense 5 hours hearing first-hand about someone’s traumatic experience of war. I have no doubt that for Jasmin to be able to tell his story is a benefit to him and his healing as it was to us.

We made our way back to Jasmin’s home stopping by the supermarket to buy bags of sugar. “My wife needs it for her lemonade stall”, he explains. Jasmin’s wife is an intelligent and talented woman who used to write books for blind children. This was her old life. Today she owns and runs an ice cream and lemonade stall outside their family home which is strategically located along the path of the newly opened cable cars heading up to Mount Trebevic. She’s happier now, Jasmin tells me, but I sense a tinge of sadness and regret when he says this. As if he feels she’s not living her true potential.

We all ordered a lemonade from her happy to quench our thirst after the long walk and support their newly opened business. We said our goodbyes thanking Jasmin’s family for sharing their story. As we were doing so 01, who would’ve been a baby during the war, turns to the kids and tells them “For me, Australia is the dream. Never take what you have for granted.”

Stopping for refreshments at Jasmin's wife's lemonade and ice cream stall outside their home. It sits along the walk way of the newly opened cable car  up Mount Trebevic. Sarajevo City Hall visible in the background.

The whole experience with Jasmin and his family and the story of Sarajevo stayed with me for days. Not often do you get to meet someone who has been through what they have been through, let alone get them to share their story. And, despite all that, they are some of the warmest, most humble, and optimistic people I’ve met. There’s definitely something to be learned from people like them – people who have faced death, seen death, escaped death and now know how to appreciate the simple things in life; who have seen the worst in humanity yet continue to have faith in it; who know how to laugh when they would rather cry; and who have lost everything except hope for a better tomorrow.

Recommended reading about the war in Bosnia

PS. If you want to know more about the Bosnian War, The War is Dead, Long Live the War, Bosnia: the Reckoning by Ed Vulliamy is a great read. He is a British journalist who was assigned to cover Bosnia in the early 90s and was part of the team that first exposed the presence of ethnic cleansing Concentration Camps to the rest of the world - many of which were located within what is now known as Republika Srpska (unknown to us at the time, Banja Luka is its capital). He later testified at The Hague resulting in imprisonment of high ranking officials responsible for war crimes.