Ključ // The Unlikeliest of Events
© John Bills
If there is magic on the planet, it is contained in water. Not my words, in fairness, but a quote from a 1953 essay called The Flow of the River, penned by American clever clogs Loren Eiseley. The sentiment is universal. I’m not sure if anyone has ever mentioned it, but did you know that the human body is made of around 60% water?
The quotes continue. Albert Szent-Györgi, the Hungarian scientist who first isolated vitamin C, famously stated that life is water dancing to the tune of solids. What a delightful phrase that is, right? Poetic. There are many ways to write about water. You can take a logical approach, a scientific one, or even a fantastical one, but maybe we should choose the poetic route a little more often.
These weren’t the thoughts running through my mind as I stood perilously close to the spring of the Sanica river. Sure, my mind was entertaining poetic imagery and notions of magic, but I was also a little nervous about, you know, not falling into the water. Azra had brought me to the spring, and I was in awe, as much of its beauty as its power, but every time I get close to immense water, I start to envisage my doom. I’m not the best swimmer.
© John Bills
Not that it would matter. The water was rushing out of the rocks at an incredible pace, escaping with the sort of velocity that perfectly marries speed with power. It was stunningly beautiful, but also somewhat terrifying.
Sanica is all about the former. The river (which eventually flows into the Sana near Sanski Most) gives its name to the nearby village, a gorgeous little place famous for domestic production. Bosnia and Herzegovina is covered in fecund land, but this village 15km north of Ključ is on the top tier. Sanica was the first village in Yugoslavia to be given official tourist village status, a testament to its triumphs.
Well-deserved epithets wouldn't help me if I fell into the water. No amount of domestic production would save me. Heck, the brown trout that this area is known for would probably make hay with my flesh, evolving into rapacious piranhas while a horrified crowd of onlookers debate the futility of an ambulance call. Not that there was anyone else here, of course, it was just Azra and me. What’s more, the little portion of scaling required to get close to the spring wasn’t treacherous. If I had fallen in, it would have been thanks to my own stupidity.
© John Bills
Water isn’t stupid. All water has a perfect memory. Toni Morrison, for the record. The spring of the Sanica was our first stop that day, and the lush forests at the foot of Mount Grmeč set a high bar. It wasn’t difficult to imagine a blazing sunny day by the river, hours spent sitting in one of those rickety fishing chairs with a conveyer belt of beer and all the grilled meat one could desire. Bosnia and Herzegovina is filled with gorgeous scenes perfect for tranquil escapes, and the spring of the Sanica was as breathtaking as any. Just don’t fall in.
Our day continued in the mountain village of Lanište, where pockmarked houses jutted out from the trees, coy and confident all at once. The winter weather made detailed exploration difficult, but we were able to drive around and marvel at the simplicity of it all. What does that mean? Trees are complex things, Johnny Boy, but ‘simplicity’ doesn’t always mean uncomplicated in design. The focus is on easily understood perfection. The flawless refinement. The permanent happiness of the multiplication table. If the goal of life is to live in harmony with nature (thanks, Zeno), the onus is on us to get it right.
© John Bills
We stopped at the site of a mass grave, where the remains of 188 Bosnians were discovered in October 1996. The dead were mostly from a village called Biljani, attacked in July 1992, with more than 250 murdered. The oldest victim was 85. The youngest was four-month-old Amila Džaferagić. Four months. Four.
Two deer scampered across the road as we continued on our way. Could there be bears nearby? You are never far from a bear, real or imaginary. One day, I will meet a bear in the wild, and the words of Alex Williams will ring through my skull; if you meet a bear in the wild, don’t meet a bear in the wild.
Onwards, with the water a constant by our sides. We drove up to a village called Crljeni, a hamlet in the hills that was every bit as gorgeous as you would assume a hamlet in the hills to be. On a clear day, you can see Sanski Most from Crljeni. My eyesight is abysmal, so seeing a town 30km or so in the distance wasn’t on the cards, but it didn’t matter. For the 59346th time, don’t worry about the extraordinary. The views from Crljeni were perfect. They were bewitching. They were calm.
If this is becoming a little bit of a hit parade, I can only apologise. You see, it takes a writer more accomplished than me to put into words the peace provided by these things. When you are in the hills, looking out onto the world, it becomes abundantly clear just how little we are. Nothing matters, in a most marvellous way. We are not the point here. We are the unlikeliest of events (tune).
© John Bills
And when you are by the riverside, that last point rings louder. Without water, we wouldn’t be here. No water, no life. No blue, no green. (Sylvia Earle, by the way). Our day was almost at an end, so we drove towards Hotel Kraljevac for a quiet evening coffee, passing through Sklop along the way, You may have heard of Sklop, the famous spot where the Titanic sank, where the greatest feat of naval engineering realised its impotence in the face of water. Indiana Jones did Indiana Jones things in the rocks above, but his feats of adventure paled in comparison to the excitement of hydrogen, oxygen and everything. Besides, Indiana Jones is an archaeologist, and archaeology sucks.
If there is magic on the planet, it is contained in water. If you choose to believe me, good. I woke up early and wandered around Ključ in search of nothing in particular, knowing full well that my heart was sated by the spring of the Sanica and a view that I couldn’t fully comprehend.
