Novi Travnik // When I Breathe, I’m Excellent
© John Bills
They told me that the classics never go out of style, but they do, they do. Somehow baby, I never thought that we’d do too.
The idea was clear in my head. I had wanted to stop and check out the massive lion head for years but had always been afflicted with a chronic case of laziness whenever the opportunity arose. Travnik is beautiful, why traipse all the way to a nightclub on the side of the road? People have told you how shitty it is. The stupidity of the idea was blindingly clear.
But the idea itself was just as clear. You see, Tron is a nightclub on the road out of Travnik, in the village of Nova Bila. As a rule, I hate nightclubs, and my infrequent visits to Moltos have only ever accentuated this distaste. I have no desire to go to Tron and throw shapes, as much because of my shapelessness as my hatred of nightclubs. I am an adult. I want to have conversations.
Alas, the lure of a massive lion head is strong. The idea? Okay, hear me out. Tron has a massive lion head, maybe it is the entrance, maybe it is not. It looks ridiculous, but once upon a time, it was probably considered super cool. Novi Travnik isn’t too far away from Tron, and the use of the word ‘novi’ (Bosnian for ‘new’, buddy) isn’t ironic. Novi Travnik is one of the newest towns in Bosnia and Herzegovina, essentially a 20th-century creation built to house workers from the surrounding factories.
© John Bills
You see where I’m going with this, right? The lion head, super cool when made, super lame today. The worker's city, innovative and forward-thinking when devised, out of place and derided in the modern age. Ideas go out of style. You can easily draw a link between bombastic nightclub appendages and socialist town-building. Throw in a picture of the lion, a couple of pictures of brutalist architecture and, hey presto, you’ve got yourself an article.
About 25 minutes into the walk from Tron to Novi Travnik, it was growing ever more apparent just how stupid an idea this was. What did I expect? I got a taxi from Travnik to Tron, took a couple of photos of the lion and then realised how dumb the whole endeavour was. What now? Up close, the lion didn’t look like a stylistic relic from a different time. It didn’t look like a ridiculous gesture of opulence out of place with current trends. It looked sad.
And the walk? Sure, a long straight line, but a straight line of busy traffic with the sun blaring directly into my face. A couple of lorries went past me early, so I was at least prepared for the heaviest of vehicles. The further I walked, the more thankful I became for the traffic, as the steady stream of cars was the only thing between me and being mauled by a series of increasingly angry dogs.
© John Bills
So no, I didn’t feel clever. I felt stupid, ridiculed by my own false interpretation of life. I passed the time by having imaginary conversations with you, your family, my friends. Conversations that will never happen. Nothing really happens as we hope it will, nor as we fear it will. After an hour or so of walking, I made it to Novi Travnik.
What did I find? A town. That’s it. To je to. A town with people living in it. Buildings made out of materials. Cars, also made out of materials. Cafes, pizzerias, restaurants, shops. A town. I wasn’t transported into the not-too-distant past. I wasn’t hit by inspiration, outside of the crushing realisation that my ideas aren’t worth much. I’ve tried so hard to make the costume fit, but it is clear that my heart is not in it.
John, make an effort. Novi Travnik is home to around 9,000 people, although that has diminished as people leave in search of opportunities. The opposite was true during its conception, as people moved here from all over the region for work and a better standard of life. Novi Travnik was founded in 1949, ostensibly as a residence for the employees of MMK Bratstvo, an industrial company pumping out the usual. The town was known as Pucarevo between 1980 and 1992, after Partisan and politician Đuro Pucar.
© John Bills
And yes, the building of such cities was all the rage. Industrial cities sprung up with all the bells and whistles that workers and their families could need. They were attractive places to live, as much for the consistency of work as the comforts of life. But then, the end of history. The functional became drab, although this would have been less of a problem if the factories weren’t privatised and sold off into oblivion. Today, Novi Travnik is a relic.
Tron? Well, that is just a big lion’s head. But the point, if there is one, is an emotional one. I’m not going to imbue Tron’s lion with emotion, I promise, but bear with me a moment. I struggle with flea markets for a similar reason. I can’t look at the mass of dusty relics without feeling sad. Once upon a time, someone saved up for ages to buy a tape recorder, a walkman, whatever. Now, it gathers dust under the sniggers of tourists. Someone poured their heart into a postcard to a loved one, only for that postcard to be on sale for approximately bugger all. I sometimes buy these postcards, in the vain hope that the loving sentiments expressed on them won’t be neglected any further. See, that wasn’t so hard? Nonsense. The concept is half-baked, delivered in a half-baked way. When I breathe, I am excellent, but I am running out of air. Life is becoming the Labyrinth Zone.
I sat down at Pivnica Stella and thought it was wise to tell the konobar that I had just walked from Tron and that it was a stupid idea. He agreed, telling me it was very stupid. The penny dropped. The clang was deafening. The current is pitiless.
