Čardaci // Ponds With Charming Quackers

What a darling spot // © Ellica // Shutterstock.com

Vitez never sounded like the name of a Bosnian town to me. Why? I don’t know, but there’s something about its syllables (yes, all two of them) that sound South American, that sounds like a rural town in a world inhabited by Spanish speakers. My opinion of a town’s moniker has nothing to do with a town’s value, so dismiss that as an opening gambit and allow us to move forward.

Besides, this piece has nothing to do with Vitez. It has everything to do with a slice of wonder a couple of kilometres from the centre of town, an etno-selo by the name of Čardaci. What does the name mean? I have no idea, truthfully, but monikers matter little in the grand scheme of things, only atmosphere and experience count. The atmosphere and experience at Čardaci? Delightful, in what is probably the most accurate use of the word you’ll find on this website.

Granted, I had a personal guide for my introduction to the village. Marina picked me up at the bus station and drove me out before showing me around the place, telling stories of her time working there and showcasing a genuine love and enthusiasm for a place that felt defined by it.

WickerCat // © John Bills

The history of Čardaci isn’t particularly eventful. A man with money decided to build an etno-selo on this piece of land, and Čardaci was born. That was it. History does not need to pervade everything, least of all human experiences embedded in relaxation and tranquillity. There were little cottages dotted around the grounds, ponds with charming quackers (ducks, John, ducks) and an undeniable quaintness to it all. Of course, that is ‘quaint’ in the most positive sense of the word.

I met Marina many years ago, and the whole thing remains very vivid in my memory. I was in OKC Abrašević, the darling cultural centre in Mostar, doing some idle-minded typing and minding my own business when the girl on the next table asked if she could borrow my lighter. She could, obviously, and we struck up a conversation, finding common ground in relaxed chit-chat. We kept in touch, in the modern sense of the word.

Fast forward a few years later, and I was doing more idle typing while sitting outside Caffe Stari Grad, in that very same Mostar. A notification popped up, a message from Marina (well, Psst Ja Sam, anonymity and all that), asking if I was in Mostar. I replied, saying I was, and asking if she was. She replied, telling me to look up in the direction of a nearby stall. Two plus two, four. The conversation continued, removed from the digital and propelled into the real world. Later that evening, I was drinking beers with Marina and Mladen, her soon-to-be-husband, talking about all sorts of things, many of which were of the watershed variety.

© John Bills

Fast forward even more years later, and the three of us were once again drinking beers together, this time in Čardaci’s pub, the charming Kod Črnog Mačka (Under the Black Cat). Again, the conversation was jumping from subject to subject, from the majesty of The Wire to the plight of the Roma. My greatest hits, for want of a less patronising term. You meet a lot of people when travelling, but a surprisingly small number of them because actual friends can pick up conversations with candour and confidence despite years existing between catch-ups. Marina and Mladen are absolutely in this bracket for me.

Of course, my experience of Čardaci was accentuated by the existence of friends and excellent conversation, but it is the sort of place that shimmers no matter your social circumstances. It isn’t large, quite the opposite, but it exudes village serenity at all points. Charming quackers (seriously John, ducks, you’re an adult) here, a sinister swan there, mills, bridges, art installations inspired by David Černy.

What once was // © John Bills

Ironically enough, I’m writing this up on David Černy’s 54th birthday. Happy birthday, wacky Czech artist.

The installation in question was titled ‘Sloga’, and it followed the idea of Černy’s famous sculpture outside the Kafka Museum in Prague. In this instance, three figures were standing over the map of Bosnia and Herzegovina, pissing into a pond.

The past tense isn’t coincidental, however, as the urination had long since stopped. Bosnia and Herzegovina is a country full of people with an incredible understanding of humour, satire especially, but that stops once you get into the corridors of power. The peeing stopped, and what remained was three figures standing over a map of Bosnia and Herzegovina, bladders empty, void of purpose.

You don’t need to see statues pissing into a pool to enjoy Čardaci. Quite the opposite, in fact, the enjoyment comes from the serenity of the surroundings, the quaintness of the buildings (all named after female Slavic deities, by the way), the organic feel of the architecture, the charming quacking of the ducks (finally), the deep relief of the massages and the peace that can only come from a good night’s sleep in darling surroundings.