Blagaj // My Body Clock is Fast

Time stopped. Not literally, that would be a bit of a stretch, whether you look at time as an abstract concept or not. The world didn’t shudder to a halt. Nobody became a statue. This mortal coil of ours continued to turn, continued to hurtle through space towards what we all assume will be a catastrophic demise, but what will more than likely just be more hurtling. This isn’t the end of the world, people.

But I swear, time stopped. I’ve had a rough couple of weeks, allow me this literary fairytale. How long had I been in there? My eyes had been closed, deep in thought, lost to whatever my subconscious deemed of true value. Hilariously, that meant emptiness. Make of that what you will. Time passed and stopped all at once. I opened my eyes and was the only one left in the room.

I first visited Blagaj in 2009. It was my second day in Bosnia and Herzegovina, and we made it to the small town at the end of Bata’s famous tour. It was the first time I did the tour. It was the day I truly fell in love with this place, a place that has given me so much over the decade and change. It was the place that made me think seriously about writing. It was the place that I kept coming back to. Long story short (admittedly, this story will stretch for another 750 words or so), it was the place.

If you’ve seen a picture of the Tekija in Blagaj, some of this might make sense. It is one of the most astonishing sights in Bosnia and Herzegovina, a triumph of construction cuddling nature. The Dervish House (it isn’t a monastery, there are no monasteries in Islam), tucked into a sheer cliff face as the Buna river escapes below, coming from somewhere, going everywhere. I’m not an expert (you can put a full stop there, but I’ll continue), but the whole thing is impossible. The most magical things usually seem that way.

As we all know, you can’t spell ‘impossible’ without ‘idealistic house of education in the most beautiful setting’. I think that is how the saying goes, although my memory isn’t the best. Much like my memory of my first visit to the Blagaj Tekija, come to think of it. Excellent segue, excellent.

There are a lot of myths surrounding the building of the Tekija, and I’m not about to dispel any of them. Let the myths run free. This interpretation begins in the 16th century when a lodge of sorts was built on the site of a former Bogomil sanctuary. Bogo-what-now? In time, reader, in time. The primary purpose of the lodge was to be, well, a lodge, a place for tired travellers to rest their heads before continuing on their way, although it grew into so much more than that. It grew into a community space where people from distant lands worked together to keep things moving. It developed into a house of education, a haven of peacefulness, a shrine to serenity. The 16th century wasn’t the most peaceful in these parts, but the Tekija provided respite where it was sorely needed.

Alas, respite isn’t linear. The Tekija was in a constant state of renovation, because of the whole ‘being built into the side of a cliff’ thing. Rocks fall from cliffs, you see, and rocks falling from a great height are rarely good for the things they land on. The Tekija was constantly being rebuilt, but its status as a house of good meant there was never a shortage of helping hands.

Because when it came to the Tekija, the setting was everything. The very place it was constructed allowed for the silent worship of everything that makes this world beautiful. It allowed people to give thanks to the power and beauty of nature, the power and beauty of community, the power and beauty of thought. It grew despite the false starts, and mills were added to make the whole thing self-sustainable.

I wasn’t thinking about the mills. I wasn’t thinking about anything, in truth. For the first time in years, my mind was calm. The pain of a single image that I will take to my grave (I’ll be cremated, for the record) was, for the briefest moment, soothed. It was peaceful. I was peaceful. Now, peace of mind doesn’t magically happen, it requires work and a desire for the thing, but something about the Tekija allowed my brain to, for want of a better word, stop. It could have been five minutes, it could have been 20. Time melts away to nothing when everything is quiet.

And maybe that is why I am still in Bosnia and Herzegovina today. It wasn’t plain sailing from that point on, far from it, but Blagaj was the first place to give me what felt like space. It might not sound like much, but I owe Blagaj everything.

Admittedly, there is very little in this piece about the interior. If you’ll pardon the pun, that is somewhat by design. I know I can’t do it justice, and relying on my memories to do so would be disrespectful. My memories are fake, after all. My body clock is fast, and I am living in the future. But trust me, the Tekija in Blagaj is worth every brain that makes its way there.

Before leaving the complex, we were told that the water flowing below was potable. Yes, that is the drinking version of edible, if you didn’t know. A cup sat on the steps by the water, and we were instructed to go down, take a sip, and make a wish. I did so, and for the first time in a long time, choosing the content of my wish felt important. It wasn’t a time to wish for something fantastical, for something impossible. It was a time to think of what was truly important, to wish for something that matters. Of course, wishes must be kept to a faithful few, so I will not disclose what I wished for here. Every day, I pray that it comes true. I think it will.

Blagaj // My Body Clock is Fast

Zenica // There is an Elephant in the Room

Trebinje // A Cock and Balls Bridge