Gornji Vakuf // Overstayer
© John Bills
My main fear on the bus to Gornji Vakuf was that it would be too hot. That I might burn. Oh, John, naive boy of hope, what could you expect except the crushing disappointment of the opposite? Romance is disappointment, remember, you already told her that. It wasn’t going to be hot in Gornji Vakuf. It was going to rain.
Jurassic Park rain, no less, giving me a fresh opportunity to use a phrase that comes up more often than you’d think. I wasn’t about to happen upon a curious Dilophosaurus and a rotund American Postal Service worker, but I was walking in torrential rain without a coat for safety. Hoodies aren’t made for the rain.
What was I doing in Gornji Vakuf anyway? Is it possible for a joke to go too far? Yes, it is, but it wasn’t as if this was really a joke. Gornji Vakuf is a town with history, a strategically vital spot on the map. What’s more, it is a Vakuf, and I’ve long claimed an insane desire to, for want of a better word, ‘complete’ the Vakufs. With Donji Vakuf and Kulen Vakuf under my belt, Gornji was next up.
© John Bills
Well, Gornji Vakuf-Uskoplje, to be exact. The town is divided along its central artery, Bosniaks on one side, Croats on the other. The former call the town Gornji Vakuf, the latter Uskopolje. The former refers to the town’s origins in the 16th century as it developed alongside various endowments (hence the ‘Vakuf’ part of the name), and the latter refers to the wider parish, an area covering the upper course of the Vrbas river. It might mean ‘narrow field’, but nobody is really sure. The middle ground was achieved in 2001 when the town became known officially as Gornji Vakuf-Uskopolje.
But what was I doing here? It isn’t as if there is anything for a tourist to do in Gornji Vakuf-Uskopolje, no matter the weather. In the rain? The only thing to do is find cover, stand around, and chuckle. That is hardly enough to enrapture the soul, hardly enough to inspire 750-1,000 words of expression.
‘Uskopolje’ outdates ‘Gornji Vakuf’, although that is no surprise. Areas predate empires, after all. Uskopolje was mentioned by the Hungarians in 1244 and then by sources from Dubrovnik a few decades later, and we can go ahead and assume that the mentions weren’t overly friendly. The entire parish was dominated by mining in the hills, and a general assumption that it was a strategically important point for the region. Look at a map, you’ll be hard-pushed to disagree. The Ottomans conquered the area in 1465, there or thereabouts.
But still, John, focus, listen to me. What are you doing here? Not literally, we have established that. You are standing in the rain. Encouraging pneumonia, or something. The question is about more than that. What are you doing in Gornji Vakuf-Uskopolje? What purpose does this trip have in the grand scheme of existence? Is that even a question worth entertaining? There is no point, and that is the point, right? Maybe the rain was dragging an existential crisis out of me, although the term ‘existential crisis’ has been hammered into the ground to the point of meaninglessness by now. I had no issues with my existence. I’m not 24 anymore. Working out why I exist is way above my pay grade.
© John Bills
The Ottomans followed their usual M.O. when it came to the development of towns. They built a mosque on the main square, and the town grew around it. Gornji Vakuf (or Gornji Skoplje, in some sources) was ruled by Mehmed-beg Stočanin in the late 16th century, but little is known about him. Maybe it is better that way? History is very rarely kind to those it remembers. Besides, his mosque kept getting destroyed, so make of that what you will. Everyone wanted Gornji Vakuf, surrounded as it was (and is) by fertile land, forests and rich hills. A cursory glance at the Bosnia and Herzegovina timeline shows the Austro-Hungarians in the late 19th century, and they exploited it. As had everyone who came before, as will those who come here in the future.
But, John, mate, seriously. Okay, we’ll put it in terms you can understand, with a musical reference. “What in the fuck am I doing here? Why did the rapture not take me in? It is my curse to carry on.” Those toms, oh my, those toms. Don’t get distracted now, little man, we’re trying to get to the bottom of why you are traipsing around small towns in Bosnia and Herzegovina. You aren’t looking for any epiphanies. Dragging history and thought together isn’t impressing anyone, least of all the people you want to impress. We have a limited time on this Earth, and the answers to your questions aren’t going to be found in Gornji Vakuf-Uskopolje. If they weren’t waiting with Drunk Tony the Kuwaiti in Donji Vakuf, they definitely won’t be here. What are you doing here? “I should have drowned in the flood with the rest, I had the chance, the current was pitiless, and proof of man was wiped from the face of the Earth. The song, the dance, yeah, I should have gone with it, alas I’m stranded alone in the wake, and I have lost all sight of the grave. When did I ever say that I want to be saved?” What was I doing in Gornji Vakuf-Uskopolje? Even if I had found the answer, the deafening roar of the question would have swallowed it whole. No question worth asking is ever truly answered.
I slunk back to the station and waited for the bus to Jablanica. A couple of kids were skateboarding in the rain, oblivious to the downpour. I muttered a half-hearted ‘parkour’ to myself, no longer entertained by my whimsical repetition.
