Bugojno // The Ballad of Bugojno
The sun rises over Bugojno // © John Bills
“Economic reasons, that’s it. I didn’t move here to work in a ćevabdžinica, I came here to earn more money. If I did the same job in Bugojno, I’d earn three times less money. There’s nothing for young people there.”
I’m paraphrasing, obviously, but that is only because the direct quote from a waiter in Mostar was far more scathing of Bugojno than I have any desire to be. Strolling around in the snow, there was a pleasant air to Bugojno that could be argued is lacking from other, more celebrated towns in Bosnia and Herzegovina. I sat in Sarajlić, ate some delicious ćevapi and had a fun conversation with the waiter about how disgraceful snow is. I sat on the terrace of a cafe, took my time over an espresso and watched families walk by outside, adults grimacing in the cold while children threw themselves around with the gay abandon of youth. Generally, in Bugojno, I sat. The cafe was busy, as popular with beautiful young people as it was with the busy-mouthed of previous generations. In many ways, the stereotypical BiH cafe experience was more alive here than in Sarajevo, Mostar and the rest. More authentic, if you’ll allow that tired term to weasel a way into the piece.
Walking around the city centre didn’t result in a cavalcade of sightseeing and photography, but why would it? People live here, after all. The world isn’t a tourism playground for the amusement of patronising foreigners. A town shouldn’t be judged on how photogenic it may or may not be. Just because every other building wasn’t a museum, gallery or historic site doesn’t mean that Bugojno doesn’t deserve consideration. Quite the opposite, in fact, Bugojno is Bugojno. Cities should be judged on what they do for their citizens.
Bugojno’s beautiful Gymnasium // © John Bills
And therein lies the problem of Bugojno. It doesn’t do much for its citizens, it doesn’t work. By all metrics, Bugojno is one of the most stagnant towns in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Those that have gotten out don’t speak of it in glowing terms. Those that have stayed can be forgiven for formulating plans to get out when the first opportunity arises.
The exception to this? The taxi drivers. Maybe it is bluster, maybe it is boredom, but taxis drivers always seem to be happy with their towns. He asked where I was from and let out a burst of excitement when I replied with the customary ‘Wales’. I asked where he was from and bellowed “odavde” before I could finish, answering with the pride of someone who dearly wanted the question to be asked. Our conversation didn’t really go any further than that, but the gratification flowing from our one exchange was more than enough.
Bugojno’s architecture told a familiar story, one of the differing overlords and their design preferences for the structures they commissioned. The second half of the 20th century dominates, although this has more to do with size than anything else. The towering concrete structures of socialism stood tall over everything else, literally, although there was a jarring lack of uniformity even to them. Bugojno’s towers look like someone bought a variety of Lego sets without putting much thought into an overall look. The edges are sharp, and the structures are blocky, but they all come from different presets.
You’ll find plenty of street art around Bugojno // © John Bills
Then there are the few buildings built during the years of Austria-Hungary. This isn’t Vienna, obviously, but Bugojno offers up several structures clearly constructed by a Central European power looking to show a different way to rule, a facade of grace covering subjugation. Most of these buildings have been left to the wilds of history, all rotting foundations and faded paint. Still, as with all architecture from the old empire, their elegance shines through.
And then there were the working buildings of central Bugojno. Small structures that look to be on their last legs, but stand with cheeky confidence that comes from that being the case for a long time. You might think we’re about to fall down, but people have been saying that for years. For decades. For centuries.
There is beauty here. The central Gymnasium recalls the stunning Vijećnica of Brčko. The hulking Princess Al-Jawhara Mosque and Cultural Centre doesn’t turn heads, largely because a huge mural nearby steals the show. Bugojno’s street art is frequently surprising. The Church of St Anthony of Padua (the Patron Saint of Lisbon, barrenness, mariners and swineherds, among other things) is another blocky construction, but its main door is stunning, all sculpted scenes and finesse.
Various football teams from Bugojno over the decades // © John Bills
It all makes for a jarring image, but that is more on the viewer than the canvas. I nipped into a small photo studio slash bar for a quiet beer, where the walls feature old photographs of football teams, faces peering back at a camera before leaving heart and soul on the pitch. Ordinary people living ordinary lives, untouched by the expectations of modern tourism. Just playing football.
Truth be told, I don’t know what to make of Bugojno. On the one hand, it is the last of a dying breed, a town without tourism and seemingly no desire to give itself over to snap-happy visitors, and there should probably be more places like that. If you want authenticity in Bosnia and Herzegovina, go to Bugojno.
On the other hand, Bugojno is the poster child for modern economic stagnation in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Singing the praises of the town’s authenticity when its foundations are crumbling feels wrong. Confused and conflicted, I did what any self-respecting coward would do and ordered another beer.
