What a solo road trip across the Balkans taught me

Driving alone in Bosnia, Croatia, Montenegro, and then on to Serbia and North Macedonia.

It seemed strange to other people that I would go to some countries solely because their wars fascinated me when I was growing up—not the landscapes, cultures or food but the wars. Yet there I was at Sarajevo Airport in Bosnia and Herzegovina, arguing at the car rental counter that a GPS was useless to me if it wasn’t in English.

My plan was to stay in Bosnia for three days, then drive to Croatia. “See, I can’t even find Croatia here,” I said as I tried to put into the device the places I was going to.

“Oh, you have to put its name in Serbo-Croatian. It’s Hrvatska,” the woman behind the counter said.

“Well how was I supposed to know that?” I snapped.

I had no phone service to use Google Maps, they wouldn’t refund me, and I was near tears from frustration. I don’t know whether the woman was being intentionally unhelpful or she was naturally unaccommodating, but someone else stepped in, took the device, and a minute later handed it back to me. It was in English.

At the first stoplight out of the airport, two policemen flagged me down for beating the red light. They didn’t speak English, I didn’t speak Bosnian or Serbo-Croatian. I thought, “Oh my God, this is going to be a disastrous trip.”

We go to countries with a little idea of the people, their food and language. We know something about the French, Italians, British and Americans. But the Balkan people—I had no idea what they were about. And for the first time in a long time, I went in blind and ready for a total surprise.

When you’re in a country so foreign to you, playing the “dumb tourist” is probably the best way to get out of a traffic infraction. I apologized profusely, and instead of making excuses I showed them my hotel address and asked for help.

Like “hello,” “help” is a word that everyone, everywhere, understands. In the end, the policija not only let me go without a ticket—they got into their car and convoyed me to my hotel.

It turned out to be a great start to my epic Balkan trip.

Related story: Love comes here to die: Zagreb’s Museum of Broken Relationships
Related story: Where to stay: A guide to Budapest’s top neighborhoods

Two bridges and a world war

My British friend James, who was then teaching world history in Hong Kong, told me before my trip, “I’m glad you’re finally going to the Balkans so you can shut up about wanting to go to the Balkans.”

As travelers, we have not one but several bucket lists. Once you get to visit your first round of dream destinations, you make another list, and another. Of course, you go back to your favorites again and again, because it’s stupid to visit a place just to say you’ve been there.

By the time I went to the Balkans, I had been to more than 45 countries (currently at 53). The Balkans were on my second or third bucket list—but they were an early fascination for me along with the former Eastern Bloc countries.

There were two bridges that I wanted to see in Bosnia: first was the Latin Bridge in Sarajevo where Franz Ferdinand of Austria was assassinated in 1914, and second was Stari Most in Mostar.

The assassination of the archduke and presumptive heir to the Austro-Hungarian empire by a Bosnian-Serb nationalist in 1914 was the catalyst for World War I, setting off a chain reaction of alliances and conflicts that plunged Europe into a devastating war.

My interest in the war stemmed from articles and books I had read over the years, including the poignant Letters from the Trenches, a collection of letters written by soldiers during World War I, offering firsthand accounts of the war.

Related story: The Paris I love is the Paris of Hemingway
Related story: Pickpocketed in Paris and other misadventures in the City of Love

As soon as I parked my car, I walked over to the Latin Bridge, an elegant stone arch bridge in the Ottoman style, spanning the Miljacka River. This was the place that started it all. In just four years, from 1914 to 1918, World War I killed 16 million people and wounded 21 million including civilians. I stood there for a few minutes, thinking how, more than a century since, nationalism still sparks conflict across the globe.  

Sarajevo has stunning Ottoman-era buildings alongside Austro-Hungarian architecture such as the National Museum and the City Hall. Walking around the Ottoman-era Markale Market in the historic center of the city, you’d think, what a diverse, lovely place with its vendors, cafes, and restaurants.

Yet this place was shelled twice—specifically to target civilians—during the Siege of Sarajevo in the Bosnian War. In fact, the term “ethnic cleansing” and “crimes against humanity” began their widespread use during the Bosnian War in the 1990s involving Bosniaks (Bosnian Muslims), Croats and Serbs.

When historical grievances, nationalism, and ethnic divisions collide, a war filled with atrocities and ethnic cleansing campaigns is never far behind. Residents of Sarajevo—particularly Bosniaks—were targeted by snipers, their homes destroyed, and they were cut off from basic necessities and medical care.

By the time the conflict ended, Yugoslavia had collapsed and six republics became independent: Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Slovenia, Serbia, Montenegro, and North Macedonia.

Walk of shame in Dubrovnik

Every time you do something you haven’t done in a long time, people tell you, “It’s like riding a bike.” The problem is, I don’t know how to ride a bike so the idiom is lost on me.

But I do know how to drive a manual car. The rental companies in Bosnia, however, didn’t offer automatic cars (or if one did, it was several hundred dollars more expensive). After three or four times that your engine dies because you took your foot off the clutch, you get the hang of driving a manual again. So, to me, it was like driving an automatic, not a bike.

The two-hour drive from Sarajevo to Mostar is a scenic route along the Neretva River, surrounded by the majestic Dinaric Alps and its green slopes. Along the route, you pass through valleys and gorges, small villages and farmlands.

Then you see it: Stari Most or Old Bridge. Built in the 15th century during the Ottoman Empire, it’s one of the most visited attractions in Bosnia. I had lunch by the Neretva River, which affords the best view of the bridge and the divers. Locals (and brave-hearted tourists) dive from the top of Stari Most into the river, a drop of about 24 meters (78 feet).

From Mostar to Dubrovnik, Croatia, you’re driving on the drop-off side of a mountain—and there are no rails! You can appreciate the views better but my knees were shaking, I could feel the sweat on my back—as well as the impatience of the cars behind me. It was like driving on Kennon Road with hairpins.

In the autumn of 2017, the cultural phenomenon that was Game of Thrones had just concluded its seventh season. That was another reason I wanted to go to the Balkans: to see Dubrovnik, which was Kings Landing on the show. (Two years later, I would also visit the shooting locations in Sevilla and Ithalica in Spain.)

On my last day in Dubrovnik, a Croatian told me, “You’ll see that Skopje has a lot of ugly statues.” On my first day in Budva, a Montenegrin asked me, “What’s a girl like you doing in a shithole like Montenegro?”

GoT walking tours were very popular back then. You book one online and find your group (among so many!) at Pile Gate, the iconic entrance to Old Town. Dubrovnik is the place where some of the series’ biggest scenes were filmed and the city’s entrepreneurs wisely capitalized on this.

Cersei’s Walk of Shame was filmed here. The main street leading from the Baroque Staircase (similar to Rome’s Spanish Steps) is flanked by bars and restaurants. On any given day, the restaurants and cafes are all full for lunch and dinner.

Related story: How to staycation like a king in a Tuscan castle
Related story: The irresistible allure of return destinations

To film that one scene, the business owners were well compensated by GoT to keep their establishments closed for several days. But then the shooting dragged on to 10 days—and they were very happy to be paid for staying closed.

My favorite in Dubrovnik is the little beach at Fort Lovrijenac, which doubled as the Red Keep on the show. The best vantage point is the 37-meter-high cliff known as Dubrovnik’s Gibraltar Rock, from where you can see the beach and the red rooftops of the old town.

In Dubrovnik, I returned the car from Sarajevo and got on a ferry to Herceg Novi, Montenegro, where I rented another car in Budva—also, unfortunately, a manual.

The dolomite mountains of Montenegro

On my last day in Dubrovnik, a Croatian told me, “You’ll see that Skopje has a lot of ugly statues.”  I said, “Isn’t that true of every European city?” He said, “No, there’s a LOT!” Two countries later, I would find out exactly what he meant.

On my first day in Montenegro, while I was eating by the beach in Budva, a Montenegrin asked me, “What’s a girl like you doing in a shithole like Montenegro?”

Budva is a resort town with beautiful, sandy beaches. It is more expensive than Sarajevo but less expensive than Dubrovnik. Montenegro has two main tourist destinations in these parts: Budva and Kotor. The latter is where ocean liners dock in the summer, causing traffic and overcrowding. But since I was traveling in autumn, it was quiet and the weather was pleasantly crisp.

If you drive outside Kotor Bay to Perast, don’t get distracted by the gorgeous limestone and dolomite mountains. They looked like they rose from the sea or land and just kept rising and rising. Think El Nido’s limestone cliffs and multiply their size by 20 or 30. You can hike in Kotor to get a bird’s-eye-view of the bay; drive along the winding mountain roads; chill at the many restaurants fronting the beach; or just kick back and take a walk along the water.

Related story: I visited 14 Christmas markets in 5 countries in Europe. Here’s what I love about them

My plan was to drive along the coast to Tirana, Albania, but since Montenegro had such a laidback atmosphere I decided to skip it and stay. A few days later, I flew to Serbia from Tivat airport, which is just 17 kilometers from Budva, rather than the bigger airport in the capital city Podgorica 60 km away.

(I would visit Podgorica the following year. Unfortunately, I didn’t know that Orthodox Easter was after Catholic Easter, which I had spent in Portugal. I arrived to a city that was as quiet as Manila on a Good Friday.)

Belgrade remembers differently

Belgrade, the political center of the former Yugoslavia, is so beautiful that my heart ached thinking about the war.

Republic Square in the center of Belgrade is a major meeting place for locals and tourists. The statue of Prince Mihailo dominates the square, surrounded by eclectic buildings in different architectural styles. But you won’t find many remnants of the Ottoman Empire here—not like in Bosnia and North Macedonia.  

Belgrade is less touristy than Kotor. Here, I took a (free) walking tour that included a memorial to the victims of the NATO bombing during the war. Having been to Sarajevo first, it was interesting to see it from the Serbian perspective.

The guide said, “Our children died too.” No war, after all, is ever one-sided.

It was raining on my last two days in Skopje, so I cancelled my plans to Kosovo and Lake Ohrid. Many times throughout this Balkans trip, I thought to myself: “I’m finally here,” alternating with, “What am I doing here?”

I don’t know if the sentiment was widespread in Serbia, but she defended the Serbian leaders who were found guilty of genocide and crimes against humanity by the International Criminal Tribunal in the Hague, including former Serbian President Slobodan Milosevic, and Ratko Mladić, former military leader of the Bosnian Serbs and often referred to as the “Butcher of Srebrenica.”

Walking around Belgrade, I remembered that feeling I had on Mt. Kulen in Cambodia where, during the Khmer Rouge ethnic cleansing, land mines were buried to maim and kill the locals.

Skopje and its statues

From Serbia, I flew to North Macedonia. I had forgotten about the conversation with a Croatian about the statues in Skopje until I stepped out onto the street after checking into the flat I was renting.

It does have a lot of statues and gaudy embellishments, and Neoclassical buildings that looked empty. How many? There are 285 statues in Skopje’s center—one of them depicting pregnant women sitting on a fountain. Something about Mother Earth, or maybe they had just run out of subjects.

They looked garish, maskipaps. But taken as a whole it was quite charming, especially at night when they’re lit up, especially the neoclassical buildings.

Skopje’s remodeling started in 2010 because the government wanted to make it more visually appealing and to “reclaim aspects of its history from Greece.”  

For decades the two countries bickered over the name Macedonia, which Greece opposed when the latter adopted it in 1991 upon the dissolution of Yugoslavia. Finally, in 2019, Macedonia became North Macedonia.

A local told me that the dispute goes way back to the King of Macedonia Alexander the Great, whom many Greeks claim to be Greek.

“Clearly he was Macedonian,” locals say.

“But he was of Greek descent,” historians would say.

Maybe he was both? If the blood that ran through his veins was Greek but he chose to fight for Macedonia, could he not be claimed by both? In Skopje, if you so as much suggest that, you will be met with a withering look.  

From Skopje, my plan was to do a day visit to Lake Ohrid, south of Skopje and near the Albanian border, then go back to Skopje and drive to Kosovo the following day.

The joke in the Balkans is that there are two capital cities you can skip entirely: Podgorica in Montenegro and Pristina in Kosovo. But I was curious about Kosovo, because like in Bosnia, Serbia’s Milosevic wanted to expel the Albanians here and make the Serbs the dominant population. Even when the International Court in 2010 recognized Kosovo’s declaration of independence of 2008, Serbia rejected it.

It was raining on my last two days in Skopje, so I canceled my plans to Kosovo and Ohrid. Many times throughout this Balkans trip, I thought to myself: “I’m finally here,” alternating with, “What am I doing here?”

I had been traveling solo since my late twenties, initially because my interests differed from those of my friends. I’ve been called a nerd, weird, and impractical for spending so much money on trips like this; for traveling solo without anyone to split the cost of accommodations with. But the Balkans brought home what I knew to be my reason for traveling: an unending curiosity about how other people live. What makes them go to war, what makes them happy, what makes them human.

We go to countries with a little idea of the people, their food, and language. We know something about the French, Italians, British and Americans. But the Balkan people—I had no idea what they were all about. And for the first time in a long time, I went in blind and ready for a total surprise.

On my last day in North Macedonia, the locals I befriended invited me to lunch and to watch a football game. I already had a meal with them the day before, so I thanked them and declined.

Instead, I walked around Skopje’s center one last time, among the statues. Thinking about the Macedonians’ centuries-long dispute with the Greeks, I began to understand—or at least guess—why they built so many of them.