Explore Historic Cities & Stunning Nature in the ‘Balkans’ Colorado’

Twenty years ago, the notion of tourism in Bosnia and Herzegovina seemed implausible. However, despite the lingering scars of war, this captivating Balkan country now attracts visitors with its winding river valleys, Alpine mountains, and historically significant cities. Consequently, it is emerging as one of the most culturally diverse destinations in Europe, working toward a brighter future.

We arrived at the bungalows after dark, with the rafting resort at Base Camp TaraSport located alongside the crystalline waters of the Tara River, which demarcates a wild border between Bosnia and Herzegovina and Montenegro. The three-hour drive there was both beautiful and nerve-racking, much like my overall experience in Bosnia itself. The twisty mountainside highway lacked railings, with the second-deepest river canyon in the world plunging 4,300 feet below us on one side.

This dramatic landscape has garnered Bosnia a nickname among adventure travelers: the Colorado of the Balkans. Everywhere I looked across the valley, striking Alpine peaks greeted me, presenting yet another lovely distraction from the potential of a plunge. As the night grew darker, the road felt increasingly lonely.

“The BBC calls this part of the highway the worst road in Europe,” said Branimir Belinić, my driver. The trip had been organized by the bespoke travel company Ker & Downey; Belinić was one of the guides arranged for me. While most would accompany me only on certain legs of the journey, Belinić remained by my side all week. A spirited outdoor enthusiast from Croatia, he introduced me to some amusing “Balkan humor,” warning me to watch out for land mines whenever I exited the car to hike. Reflecting on his earlier comments about the road, I regretted not taking them more seriously.

The day had been long, filled with breathtaking natural beauty. We began our drive in Blagaj, a quaint village in southeastern Bosnia known for the serene Blagaj Tekija, a 600-year-old dervish monastery situated at the base of a cliff by the emerald Buna River. I experienced a profound sense of peace while sitting by a window overlooking the river, as the sound of the flowing water felt like music to my ears.

However, that serenity vanished once we encountered the notorious worst road in Europe. I texted my husband in New York City: “I’m scared.” (His reassuring response was, “You’ll be fine,” followed by his interest in my dining experience.) As we finally pulled up to Base Camp TaraSport just outside Sutjeska National Park, I felt a wave of relief and even joy at having survived the drive. The new summer property, with its small, unheated A-frames, reminded me of an old Catskills colony.

After dropping off our bags, Belinić and I stumbled down a dirt path in the dark to the central pavilion, an open-air restaurant with family-style picnic tables, a lively bar, a massive hearth with a roaring fire, and, when the sun was up, a stunning view of the wild river. I was handed a glass of rakija—a potent Sam of sorts comparable to grappa. Capturing a photo of the glowing drink in the firelight to send to my husband, I slowly sipped to warm up. Our meal rejuvenated us, consisting of grilled meats for everyone else, while I relished cabbage-and-tomato salad alongside Bosnian stuffed vegetables. We wrapped ourselves in blankets and enjoyed the fire’s warmth, my spirits high again.

My journey through Bosnia had begun when I landed in Sarajevo seven days earlier. Motivated by my interest in the Bosnian War, I was eager to uncover the history alongside the present. A character in the novel I’m writing grew up during the Siege of Sarajevo, the nearly four-year-long assault on the city by Serbian forces in the 1990s. The multiculturalism of Bosnia captivated me—prior to the war, Sarajevo was often called the Jerusalem of Europe due to the coexistence of Catholics, Muslims, Orthodox Christians, Jews, and atheists.

The tragedies in Sarajevo were part of a wider conflict in the Balkans, initiated by the death of Josip Broz, known as Marshal Tito, the leader of Yugoslavia. As its republics seceded during a series of conflicts, what was then the Socialist Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina fractured along ethnic lines, resulting in savage brutalities that claimed hundreds of thousands of lives and displaced approximately 2.7 million people.

Was there anything left of Bosnia’s rich legacy of tolerance and diversity? What was life like now, three decades later? I had heard rumors that Bosnia was one of Europe’s upcoming travel frontiers, filled with eager individuals seeking to move beyond the war and rebuild. Hence, I was determined to witness their endeavors firsthand. Being a lover of the outdoors and an adventure-seeking spirit, spending ten days exploring Bosnia’s cities and mountains seemed to be the perfect trip.

Sarajevo had always beckoned to me. Its charm is mythical—red-tiled rooftops, elegant church spires and minarets, and a blend of Roman, Ottoman, Austro-Hungarian, and Communist architecture, settled along a valley in the Dinaric Alps, flanked by the Miljacka River. Upon my arrival, I became immediately enamored by the city’s many bridges—some stone, some iron, some modern, and others remnants of the Ottomans’ four-century reign.

The Latin Bridge stands out as the most infamous; it is the site where Gavrilo Princip assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand, an event that ignited World War I. Tourists can have their pictures taken in front of a Gräf & Stift convertible, the same vehicle in which the archduke was allegedly riding. Džana Branković, a young woman guiding me around the city, shared her wedding photograph taking place in front of that car. Her joyful memory is now the wallpaper on her cell phone.

Branković and I explored churches, synagogues, and the Sarajevska Pivara, a nearly destroyed 19th-century brewery that was built over a natural spring. During the war, the spring’s waters became crucial as the main supply was cut off, and today it proudly produces beer once again. We visited different mosques for Branković to fulfill her commitment to pray five times each day. I grew fond of the harmonious combination of the call to prayer and chiming church bells. Her mother is a Bosniak Muslim while her father was Serbian Orthodox; he volunteered to protect Sarajevo when hostilities began but never returned.

The traces of the Bosnian War are evident in Sarajevo, where the city has yet to fully recover. Some structures remain shattered and abandoned, nature reclaiming the spaces once occupied by human life. Certain streets are still marked with blood-red resin-filled “Sarajevo roses” — remnants of explosive impact. Tourist shops in Baščaršija, the Old Town, display items like umbrella stands made from spent shell casings and toy cars constructed from bullets.

Nevertheless, within these memories of the past lies a city of incredible beauty and hope. During my free moments, I ventured between chic boutiques such as Kutcha, a furniture store hidden within an old building, and Bazerdžan, which highlights locally-produced clothing and jewelry. I witnessed young couples at leisure in hookah cafés and teenagers enjoying laughter while sampling various forms of Turkish delight, dried fruit, halvah, and roasted nuts.

The traditional cuisine is affordable, abundant, and satisfying: uštipci, savory Bosnian doughnuts filled with cheese, and ćevapi, a grilled sausage reminiscent of kebabs brought by the Ottomans. But Baščaršija is also adorned with stylish cafés offering pour-over single-origin coffee alongside Bosnian specialties like tufahije—poached apples filled with lemon, raisins, and whipped cream.

Exploring Beyond Major Cities

As day transitioned to night, locals and tourists flocked to art galleries and theaters, a reflection of Bosnia’s vibrant arts scene. In fact, the celebrated Sarajevo Film Festival, which debuted during the war, continues to draw attention. Restaurants and bars soon buzzed with boisterous revelers savoring moments together over meals and drinks.

I opted for dinner at Inat Kuća, translating to “Spite House,” nestled in a historic Ottoman home. Its backstory exemplifies the Bosnian spirit: in the late 19th century, the Austro-Hungarians sought to build a city hall on the owner’s land, yet he refused unless they moved his entire house piece by piece across the river to its current site. This restaurant comprises refined Bosnian flavors, some of which still hold their Ottoman roots, such as ćufte, pilav, and meza. I enjoyed a delicious zeljanica, a spinach-and-cheese pie, while traditional sevdalinka melodies played softly in the background, the terrace extending over the river.

Many locals still supplement their incomes by cultivating food in kitchen gardens, indicating that Bosnia’s economy remains fragile. However, mingling among the crowds, I sensed the energy of a new generation determined to move forward.

The following day, I met with another city guide, a passionate former Communist named Zijad Jusufović. Upon learning of my Jewish heritage, he remarked, “That is brave of you to say.” When I inquired about prevailing prejudices in a Sarajevo with only about 500 Jews left, he replied calmly, “Nobody cares, but nobody talks about it.” He guided me to Sarajevo’s desecrated Jewish cemetery, where many bullet-riddled headstones still lay uprooted from the siege.

Subsequently, we drove on a mountain road to the 1984 Olympic grounds. A neglected bobsled run, now a vibrant canvas of graffiti, felt almost like an art exhibit. Nowadays, runners utilize the path, and as children zipped past on skateboards, I felt a connection to the playful spirit of the area. Nearby, he pointed out a “sniper hotel,” the battered remains of a hotel built for Olympic visitors that was repurposed by Serbian forces during the war, now transformed into a mural-covered memorial urging visitors to Never Forget.

Later in my journey, Belinić encouraged me to explore the ruins of another sniper “hotel,” this one a former bank in Mostar. While the modern center of Mostar is filled with mostly uninspiring buildings, the Old Town is a storied destination. Ottoman architectural wonders abound, including the charming Koski Mehmed Pasha Mosque and the 16th-century Stari Most, which arches gracefully over the Neretva River. Originally destroyed during the war, it was rebuilt in 2004 using stones from nearby quarries and original remnants unearthed from the riverbed.

Mostar’s reconstructed landmarks showcase the city’s devotion to its heritage, and during my visit, I noticed it drew bustling throngs of international tourists. One evening, as I admired the shimmering lights of the bridge reflecting on the water from my hotel, I could hear the rhythms of Notorious B.I.G. drifting from a nearby café.

Conversations with people across Mostar, Sarajevo, and throughout Bosnia often led to revealing stories of the war. It felt as though the conflicts had occurred only yesterday—the emotional scars running deeply, and the pain of loss still vivid. The region eagerly seeks new industries and directions for growth, with tourism presenting a vital opportunity to showcase Bosnia’s breathtaking mountain ranges, clear rivers, and uncrowded outdoor pursuits. Beyond drawing many nature-loving visitors, the country’s immense natural beauty seems to offer spiritual solace to Bosnians of all ages.

Thus, we proceeded into the wilderness, traveling to the village of Lukomir, a haven for hikers. This shepherd’s town lies at the highest altitude in Bosnia, perched atop a mountain midway between Sarajevo and Mostar. Comprising about two dozen quaint stone-and-wood houses, most of which date back centuries, the village is enchanting, albeit with satellite dishes visible on nearly every residence. As we arrived on a windy day, the picturesque surroundings felt like stepping into a timeless storybook—if not for the modern necessities clashing with tradition.

The main road was nearly deserted as an elderly woman sat by the side, selling handmade mittens and socks. She told us she was 80 years old, clothed in thick tights, a winter jacket, tall rubber boots under her long skirt, and a silk scarf wrapped around her head, traditional babushka-style. Lukomir is a seasonal community; in November, before winter snowfall, inhabitants gather their livestock into rented trucks and retreat to the valley until spring. The village lacks stores, schools, and municipal buildings—merely a tiny mosque adorning the hillside. However, its beauty calls out to adventurers, with summertime attracting a multitude of hikers.

Belinić, who had accompanied me for the 90-minute ride from Sarajevo, parked our bags in a simple bed-and-breakfast, one of the few businesses in Lukomir. We then chose to hike up a neighboring peak before descending into a breathtaking canyon, where towering limestone walls were adorned with lush medicinal plants. Though the rocky, shrub-covered trail proved more challenging on our return to the village, we felt proud of our efforts and eager for dinner.

Guesthouse Letnja Basta embodies a familial atmosphere; while a young man manages it, his mother and sister prepare meals on the same woodstove that heats the house. We gathered at a communal table where the women served a dinner of crunchy cabbage slaw, fresh tomatoes sourced from outside Sarajevo, a firm Bosnian cheese reminiscent of feta, and the most delicious roasted potatoes harvested that morning. The feast included bread and chicken, followed by local lamb accompanied by rice and peas. Dessert consisted of syrup-soaked pastries and halvah. The ambiance was warm and inviting, and soon we retreated upstairs to our rooms, pleasantly stuffed from our meal.

The next morning, we enjoyed a hearty breakfast to gear up for a day of cycling. A neighbor delivered fresh goat milk, which our hostess warmed on the stove for us to enjoy—it was surprisingly sweet. The plan was to pedal for 30 miles from Lukomir to Boračko Lake, a scenic glacial reservoir where we would spend the night. The evening before, we waved goodbye to a shepherd guiding his flock back to the village. As we departed in the morning, we passed him again as he led his sheep, with a colorful umbrella overhead. The first stretch of our ride followed an arid mountain path, above the tree line, while we later descended into a landscape covered by pines and juniper.

Upon arriving at the lake, we spread out a picnic beneath a gazebo, taking in the metallic hues of the water that contrasted beautifully with the surrounding forest. The area is wild and untamed, featuring small beaches and the occasional solitary fisherman. Nearby, a town rests on one side of the lake while an abandoned socialist-era resort stands on the other. Loren Keserović, our young bicycle specialist guide, took us around the ruins, evoking nostalgic stories from fellow adventurers yearning for the more stable times during Tito’s leadership when basic needs were met and vacations were a given. Old memories certainly linger, as indicated when I discovered an envelope tucked under the welcome gate—an electric bill addressed to one of the previous workers’ unions.

At Vila Sunce, our lakeside hotel, the owner prepared freshly caught trout over an open flame, using his strong arm, while his other remained disabled by a war injury. As we savored the smoky fish, a nearby birthday celebration infused the atmosphere with lively cheer. Although it was just past peak season at Boračko, Keserović shared tales of summertime escapes when he and friends would visit to kayak and swim on this tranquil mountain lake.

Boračko Lake feeds into the Neretva River, where I would soon experience the tranquility so passionately described by our youthful biking guide. The water proved clear and icy, and during our river-rafting adventure, we drank it in handfuls. I reveled in the exhilaration of riding the rapids and getting sprayed by the glistening, refreshing water. Many creatures roamed the woods along the riverbank, seeking trout—wolves, otters, and foxes. I anticipated spotting a bear, but eventually eased my vigilance. Autumn’s first touch had begun to ink hues of color among the trees. We navigated through tall rock canyons, where goats nonchalantly traversed the narrow ledges far above. Typically, around fifty rafts travel this same route, yet on that day, we had it all to ourselves.

Belinić, who had brought along his own kayak, demonstrated a neat trick. Taking a bite from his pear, he flipped his boat and reached under the water to place the pear on the capsized bottom. Moments later, he reemerged with a smiling face, pear still intact in his mouth. “In the summer,” he boasted cheerily, “I do this with a beer.” The Neretva at times glimmered calmly, while at others, it roared dramatically, the canyons around us exuberantly beautiful, with moss-covered limestone walls soaring above.

“Close your eyes,” suggested our cheerful rafting guide, Samir Krivić, a gym teacher from a nearby school. “When I do, I listen to the water and birds. I breathe deeply, and feel like someone is patting me on the back of my head.” He appeared tranquil. Following his advice, I closed my eyes and listened. His insight was accurate.

Your Bosnian Adventure Itinerary

Getting There

While there are no nonstop flights from the U.S., you can reach Sarajevo via major European hubs such as Istanbul, Munich, or Vienna.

Sarajevo

A unique lodging option is the Isa Begov Hotel, set in an 1890 building that once housed Sarajevo’s first public baths. Nearby are the Pino Nature Hotel and the new Tarčin Forest Resort & Spa, high-design spa resorts just outside town. Be sure to explore local boutiques like Kutcha and Bazerdžan showcasing local artists. A lively dinner option is Inat Kuća, serving Bosnian dishes accompanied by live folk music. Visitors to Sarajevo should gain insights into its tumultuous history; the War Tunnel Museum is essential, as is the very moving War Childhood Museum, which opened in 2017.

Mostar

Many hotels in Mostar occupy historic structures, such as the 18th-century Muslibegović House, a museum and national monument featuring 12 guest rooms. While the beautiful Old Town may be touristy, it retains a lively atmosphere filled with restaurants and bars. Nearby lies the tranquil Blagaj Tekija, a charming dervish monastery built in the 15th century at the base of a cliff along the Buna River, still housing a working Sufi order and open to visitors.

Outside the Cities

While I had a driver to transport me through the mountains to Lukomir, hikers may also trek to this popular destination, renowned as Bosnia’s highest-altitude community. Only adventurous souls should consider overnighting; inns resemble hostels with minimal amenities. I stayed at Guesthouse Letnja Basta. The bike ride from Lukomir to Boračko Lake requires roughly six picturesque hours, although it is accessible by car as well. Enclosed by green mountains, this glacial lake is a favorite summer destination. I stayed at Vila Sunce, a simple family-run hotel. The next day, I joined a guided tour with Europe Rafting down the Neretva River, which flows from the Dinaric Alps into the Adriatic Sea. While the Tara River also presents a rafting opportunity, I chose a jeep safari through Sutjeska National Park, camping in a one-room A-frame at Base Camp TaraSport, available only during summer for families and adventurous souls.

Tour Operator

This trip was organized by Ker & Downey, which recently expanded its Eastern European offerings to encompass Bosnia and Herzegovina. The 15-day itinerary, Experience the Balkans’ Heritage, also includes Croatia, Slovenia, and Serbia.

A version of this story first appeared in the July 2020 issue of iBestTravel under the headline “A Land Apart.” Ker & Downey provided support for the reporting of this story.