We woke on our second morning in Mostar (read part one here) after a somewhat unsettled night. Our aparthotel, though smart and comfortable, had walls so thin that every cough, shuffle and whispered conversation in the corridor seeped straight into our bedroom. The complex was, in effect, one large apartment pretending very hard to be several smaller ones via the magic of dubious plasterboard walls.
Still, spirits were restored by breakfast burek from the bakery across the street – flaky, oily and comforting in the way only Balkan pastries can be. Matt returned delighted, not only with his purchase, but also by managing to navigate the buying process in Bosnian – the novelty never wears off.
We had a full day planned: a daylight wander around Mostar’s old town, followed by a bus trip to nearby Blagaj, home to a picturesque Dervish monastery improbably wedged beneath a vertical limestone cliff.
We planned to catch the bus just after midday, leaving the morning free for a slow wander through the bazaar – an entirely different experience from the nighttime stroll of the previous evening. By the time we slung on our bags for the day, the streets of Mostar were already teeming with life.
A Morning Walk before the Mostar crowds descend
Our morning stroll through the old bazaar took us past Mostar’s greatest hits. The first stop was, inevitably, the famous Stari Most. We arrived just after 9am, fully expecting crowds, selfie sticks and competitive posing. Instead, we found ourselves almost alone on the bridge, the pale stone arch soaring peacefully over the swirling emerald waters of the Neretva, minarets rising behind us and mountains looming in the distance.
Below, the river churned theatrically. Around us, the town was only just waking up: shutters creaked open, scarves and copper coffee sets appeared on hooks, and shopkeepers shuffled into place – they knew the crowds were about to come.
After the obligatory photos, we ducked under the Tara Tower and wandered along the cobbled lane flanked by cafes. This was the busiest part of the old town that morning – most tables were already occupied by small groups nursing coffees. One table had beers, which felt bold. Drinking at 9am is generally reserved for airports or – back in the day – a tragic Wetherspoons breakfast.
The Crooked Bridge and a Lesson in Persistence
One place we’d glimpsed the night before was the Crooked Bridge – Kriva Ćuprija – a smaller, older cousin of Stari Most. Built in the late 16th century, it’s thought to have served as some sort of dress rehearsal for the big bridge downstream. It collapsed in 2000 after years of flood damage, was painstakingly rebuilt using original stones, and reopened in 2001 – making it both ancient and relatively newborn.
We turned left past a restaurant terrace and, barely thirty seconds later, it appeared. The scene was like a fairytale: gentle water flowing towards the Neretva, restaurant terraces stacked high, a slender minaret rising above it all, and rocky mountains completing the backdrop. Perfect.
From there, we detoured towards our hotel for the next two nights, taking the direct route under the main road. En route, we were intercepted by a man wearing a dubiously shabby tour guide badge. He was friendly enough at first, asking where we were from and recounting – at length – an anecdote about meeting Prince (now King) Charles.
So far, so pleasant. Then came the hook – did we want a tour? We politely explained that this was our fourth visit to Mostar, and we were happy exploring alone. Undeterred, he asked for money anyway. A shame – but not enough to dent the morning.
Coffee. Just Coffee.
When visiting Mostar, indulging in Bosnian coffee is not optional. After some diligent research, Matt had shortlisted two cafes. The first – instagram-friendly and perched above Stari Most – was busy. The second – Café de Alma – was hidden in a quiet courtyard near the old hammam museum.
We chose to sit outside, overlooking the courtyard. The café was simple and unassuming: wooden benches, stone walls, and a feeling that nothing had changed much in decades. The owner emerged to greet us.
“Bosnian coffee, please,” I asked.
“Here, it is just called coffee,” he smiled.
A few minutes later, he returned with a traditional copper tray: a džezva filled with thick black coffee, a tiny handle-less cup, a glass of water, and a small copper bowl holding a sugar cube and a piece of lokum. He talked us through the ritual – sip water first, crumble sugar rather than stir it in, drink slowly and savour the break from the frantic nature of everyday life – and gestured proudly toward the old roasting machine inside the tiny room, surrounded by old photographs.
There would be no takeaway cups or laptops found at this cafe. It was coffee as a ceremony, a ritual – a perfect break on a warm Mostar morning. We can’t recommend this spot enough – we loved it.
Blagaj: where the River Buna begins
Just after midday, we headed for the bus to Blagaj, a village about 30 minutes from Mostar and one of Herzegovina’s most popular day-trip spots. Blagaj sits at the source of the Buna River, where water spills out from a cave beneath a towering cliff, clear and ice-cold.
Our lunchtime adventure nearly faltered at the first hurdle when we assumed the local bus would leave from Mostar bus station itself. A rookie error. We should have remembered that in the Balkans, the main bus stations are often for long-distance routes only. Local buses seem to prefer the anonymity of a humble stop on a nearby street. But which nearby street?
Eventually, we found the correct stop: a single, unassuming shelter across the busy main road from the train station. We were reassured by the presence of a handful of other tourists nervously checking their phones with the same expression of slightly panicked hope.
Predictably, the bus arrived a few minutes later. We paid the driver, shuffled onboard and watched Mostar thin out into a patchwork of fields, vineyards unfurling along the roadside and Mostar airport slipping quietly past. We bounced along a few smaller roads before – with barely any notice – the driver shouted “BLAGAJ, FINISH!” and we were deposited on the edge of the village.
Blagaj Tekke and the Source of the Buna
We followed the road past a car park jammed with tour buses, headed down a small street packed with souvenir stalls, and then – suddenly – the river appeared beneath us. The Blagaj Tekke soon followed: a 16th-century Dervish monastery clinging to the base of a sheer cliff. A seriously impressive sight.
Beside the Tekke, the Buna River surged out from a vast cave mouth, one of the strongest karst springs in Europe. A small boat ferried visitors briefly into the cave, disappearing into the blue-green darkness before bobbing back out again.
There was also the usual knot of influencers conducting elaborate photo shoots, one person posing, the other issuing strict instructions or despairing quietly. We dodged carefully, took a quick selfie and a few other standard photos, and retreated to grab a spot of lunch – the main reason why we were here. We had first visited Balgaj on a group tour from Sarajevo earlier in the year and had thoroughly enjoyed the lunch, so we were keen to return independently to see if it was as good the second time.
Lunch by the Buna River in Blagaj
We crossed back over the bridge to Mlinica, the riverside restaurant we’d loved on that previous visit. We secured a table beside the water, ordered traditional Balkan Coca-Colas – it’s always better when it comes in glass bottles – and watched ducks patrol for scraps.
Matt started with a traditional bowl of Bey’s čorb – a rich, lemony chicken soup thickened with egg and flour. It’s Ottoman in origin and deeply comforting, even on a warm afternoon like this one. We followed with fillets of Buna trout, wisely avoiding ordering a whole fish after witnessing a heroic but doomed deboning effort from a fellow traveller earlier in the year.
The trout was excellent. Coffee was ordered but never materialised as we became the last table standing. We lingered anyway, reluctant to leave.
Sniper Towers, Bruce Lee, and Cevapi with a View
But leave we did, heading back up the hill to wait patiently for the bus. After worrying it wouldn’t arrive (or we had headed to the wrong stop), it eventually trundled around the corner, much to our relief.
Back in Mostar, we set off to find two old landmarks that had stood out on previous visits : the abandoned sniper tower – once a front-line position during the 1990s siege – and the slightly bizarre statue of Bruce Lee.
The sniper tower still stood, scarred and hollow, graffiti layered exactly how we remembered it on our first visit in 2014. Around it, the city had changed – new buildings rising everywhere – but the tower remained a stark reminder of recent history.
The Bruce Lee statue, installed in 2005 in the park across the road from the sniper tower as a symbol of unity, was missing – removed for restoration, or perhaps for its own protection. Undeterred, Matt struck a Bruce Lee pose with his water bottle – the same pose he had struck on a warm summer’s day in 2015. It felt appropriate.
On the way back to town, we stopped at a small Palestinian bakery for cinnamon buns – soft, fragrant, and genuinely unforgettable – before conceding that buns were not, in fact, a substitute for an early dinner. We were, somehow, hungry again. It was ćevapi time.
Barely 20 minutes later, at a restaurant overlooking Stari Most, we ate grilled sausages and chips as tiny birds swooped dangerously close, and the bridge glowed gold in the afternoon light.
Waiting at a Mostar petrol station
If you’d told us ten years ago, on our first crossing of Stari Most, that we’d be back in 2025 meeting Lucy’s parents here, we’d never have believed you. But countries like Bosnia and Herzegovina have a way of getting under your skin, and we had obviously done a top-quality sales pitch after our last trip in March. So, half a year later, we found ourselves waiting by a petrol station for Lucy’s parents’ bus from Dubrovnik.
Yes, the rendezvous point – mysteriously, as always – was a petrol station rather than the actual bus station. A point of minor mischief from Mostar’s transport infrastructure.
We arrived early. The bus did not. It was due at 8pm. It did not arrive at 8pm. Or 8:30. Or, as memory has it, 9.
We passed the time pacing, watching headlights, resisting the urge to buy emergency Cedevita (Matt’s favourite Balkan soft drink). Call us old-fashioned, but we don’t use data abroad unless it’s included, and nor do we buy e-sims, so we didn’t have any means of getting an update on where the bus was. Nerve-wracking, but strangely liberating.
Finally, after many false dawns, a coach appeared. We spotted the “Visoko” sign in the window – we knew this was the end destination, so we were pretty sure it was the correct bus. Hurrah! The doors opened, weary travellers spilled out, and there were Lucy’s parents among the throng. Everyone had arrived.
Wrapping up the second day in Mostar
Rucksacks collected, we trundled our way back through the streets of Mostar, crossing the bridge once more before checking into our hotel and heading out for dinner at Šadrvan. A tourist hotspot? Yes – very busy, but with good reason. It’s an excellent introduction to Bosnian cuisine and the perfect spot for (yet another) portion of cevapi and some local drinks whilst planning our next couple of days in Mostar.
