Jajce // A Panda and the Catacombs
The entrance to the catacombs in Jajce // © SZ Media // Shutterstock.com
“You know, I didn’t drink for 40 days. Not a drop! I didn’t even miss it! I could do it again easily, but this morning the weather is not so good, I have come to see my friend, I am giving myself this drink. Cheers!”
I’m paraphrasing, but that was the general gist of it all. I was sitting in an old house next to Jajce’s Bear Tower, where a friendly chap called Pashaga had offered to make me coffee while I waited for the catacombs to open. I was more than happy to take him up on his offer, and the woodworker went about his business as a somewhat dishevelled man in an orange windbreaker and a red cap came in. Pashaga poured the man a šljiva, who then asked if I wanted one. I told him that it was too early for me (it was 9:50am) and declined. Hence, the conversation above.
The šljiva didn’t last long, and the acidic-hued man was on his way, leaving Pashaga and me alone in the cabin. That sounds sinister, but it was far from the case, and we had a brief conversation about tourism in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Of course, this conversation was tempered by my inability to talk in anything other than the present tense (not to mention by, you know, lack of vocabulary), but there was an understanding. Positivity was required, actionable influence and cooperation.
Pashaga told me that his family had been living in the house for over 400 years, making them a very real part of Jajce’s heritage. His son had left for better money in Europe, his daughter ran a nearby hairdresser, but there was a tranquil sense of accomplishment emanating from this friendly man. He looked a bit like Eddie Guerrero to me, although that could be because I sort of want everyone to look a bit like Eddie Guerrero. The walls of the room were covered in old photos and Yugonostalgia, before I noticed a small panda teddy on one wall. I remarked that I used to have one just like that, and for a brief moment a childhood on Salop Road in Welshpool was no different to childhood in Jajce’s old town.
The Bear Tower and Pashaga’s home // © Shevchenko Andrey // Shutterstock.com
All good conversations come to an end, so I sauntered over to the catacombs, buying a ticket and making a joke about getting lost before heading underground, to embrace the final resting place of Jajce’s founder.
Probably born in Kotor Varoš, probably born in 1350, there are plenty of question marks around the early years of Hrvoje Vukčić Hrvatinić. As there should be, what with that being 670+ years ago at this point. People argue about conversations they are having at the moment, so expecting clarity and birth certificates from medieval times is naive at best, dull at worst. Hrvoje Vukčić Hrvatinić was born somewhere at some time, but history isn’t and has never been about dates. Whoever told you that was trying to sabotage your interest in history.
Anyway, who was this Hrvoje Vukčić Hrvatinić, of whom I’ve heard so much yet learnt so little? A dude from the past, clearly, but an important dude? Absolutely. The eldest son of Duke Vukac Hrvatinić, Hrvoje grew up to become one of the most influential individuals during the Kingdom of Bosnia’s most influential periods. In many ways, Hrvoje Vukčić Hrvatinić was one of those historic figures who would be played by Alan Rickman in a film, a handsome yet incredibly sneaky and sinister number two who provides incredible support and expertise to the man in charge, but viewers will be convinced that he is going to make a play for the throne at some point.
Yes, I did just compare Hrvoje Vukčić Hrvatinić to Alan Rickman.
Hrvoje Vukčić Hrvatinić was a medieval Bosnian nobleman who was never far from the seat of power, the man who helped the Kingdom of Bosnia become a regional power and the man who kept leaders on the throne for the greater good. The indefatigable Tvrtko I made Hrvoje Grand Duke of Bosnia in 1380 and the man outlasted the first Bosnian king, serving under three leaders before eventually becoming too entangled in the tentacles of power. Hrvoje made enemies of the Hungarians and thus turned to the Ottomans for help, but he died before living to see what the fast-growing Turkish Empire did in his beloved Bosnia. For the sake of letting the dead lay peacefully, let us say the Ottomans made everything ace and everyone was happy and all lived peacefully ever after.
Spooky spooky // © SZ Media // Shutterstock.com
Hrvoje Vukčić Hrvatinić didn’t live peacefully ever after, being dead and all that, but he did get to rest peacefully in his very own catacombs. I found myself alone in those catacombs, an underground church and crypt specifically created for Hrvoje and his family. Excavated into the solid rock below Jajce’s fortress, the catacombs were all bare walls, raised seats, altars and peace, the only sound being a slow dripping of water that would render prisoners insane. There were no prisoners here, only a curious tourist and an intangible sense of history that brought him here in the first place.
It would be disingenuine to single out a particular part of the catacombs as being more interesting than any other. The whole thing is curious, after all, it is a crypt, but there was something about the lower level altar that took the proverbial biscuit. Carved into the altar were a cross, a crescent and the sun. What more was needed? You can draw lines from all of the above to whatever you like, this was 15th century Bosnia after all, but the assumptions regarding the country’s multi-faith makeup couldn’t be denied. For all we know, Hrvoje might have just been into them as symbols.
A crescent, a cross, and the sun // © marketa 1982 // Shutterstock.com
It is said that Tito hid here during World War II, but I had little interest in this side of the story. Not everything needs to come back to Yugoslavia, after all, especially in Jajce, where there is a museum specifically designed to celebrate the town’s role in the birth of Yugoslavia. I was here for the last resting place of Hrvoje Vukčić Hrvatinić, although that had since taken on secondary importance to the story of Pashaga and his hand-carved souvenirs. I nipped back to the family home and picked up something to take home, muttering something to myself about language learning while thinking of a long lost panda teddy some 1,374 miles away.
