Mostar // The Lučkiest Bridge in the World
Mostar’s Stari Most, from the direction of Lučki Most // © Boris Stroujko / Shutterstock
Social media has defanged travel. A little dramatic, sure, but the prevalence of heavily-filtered aesthetics means that most of our “wish you were there” desires are based on not entirely authentic imagery. The glistening blue river, the impossibly verdant greenery, the pin-drop quiet old towns. It all looks so perfect, but the use of the word ‘impossibly’ there isn’t throwaway. It is all impossible. The editing of photography has gotten so good that it now supersedes the capabilities of the natural eye, and the travel experience is all the worse for it.
Except it isn’t, because our brains aren’t really wired to seek perfection. Sure, we can get all gooey-eyed at filtered images of frustratingly beautiful people leading the anonymous photographer into some sort of nirvana, and we might even believe for a moment that we want that very same experience, but we don’t. Our hearts and, yes, our souls are more interested in the impossible to predict chemistry that only rears its head when it chooses. No matter how excited you might be about going somewhere, you won’t know if you’ve found your favourite place until, for want of a less obvious approach, you find it.
This brings me to Mostar. More specifically, it brings me to the Stari Most, the Old Bridge. The word “impossible” is apt here as well, albeit in a much more affecting way. A rickety wooden bridge stood here initially, connecting what would become the two banks of Mostar, conquering the Neretva in the name of trade, communication and Instagram. Except not Instagram, obviously.
The wooden bridge wouldn’t do, especially once the Ottomans came in and began to develop the city, so the exquisitely named Suleiman the Magnificent took it upon himself to build a better bridge, a transcendental construction that people would flock to see. Of course, by “took it upon himself”, I actually mean “brought in architects and builders”, but you get the point. Mr. the Magnificent drew up plans and roped in a poor sucker by the name of Mimar Hayruddin to bring those plans to life.
Why “poor sucker”, you cry? Well, the bridge Suleiman had designed was, for all intents and purposes, impossible. There’s that word again. The dimensions were such that there was no way it could stand, and Mimar’s situation wasn’t helped by being told that failing to get this right would result in his execution. There’s pressure, and then there’s Ottoman execution pressure.
The “death by mau-mau” scene always springs to mind.
It took nine years to build, and opening day brought excitement and trepidation in equal measure, although realistically, there was probably more of the latter. Legend has it that Mimar wasn’t around to see it, so fearful was he of the bridge failing to stand that he ran away the night before in the hope of escaping what he believed was an inevitable execution. Some stories take this further, claiming that he blinded himself because he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his failure. I’m not going to plant my flag behind either story, what with history being open to interpretation and all that, but let’s go ahead and say that the first of those is 100% true, and anyone who says differently is a spoilsport.
Not only did the bridge stand, but it stood for 427 years. It was the widest manmade arch in the world at the time, and travellers came from far and wide to gaze at its majesty and commit the image to memory, deprived of the short-term approach to beauty that photography has wrought on modern travel.
And then, it came down. Much has been written about the destruction of the Stari Most, obliterated by HVO forces during the war of the ‘90s. The people of Mostar referred to it as the “old man”, but such was the ferocity of Yugoslavia’s death that not even spiritual grandparents were spared. The fateful blow came on November 9, 1993, at around 10:15 in the morning.
The view from Lučki Most // © John Bills
I’m dragging myself off course somewhat. On November 9, 2021, I waddled across Lučki Most and was faced once more with the realisation that all is not lost in the world of travel and beauty experienced by the combination of eyesight, memory, and the heart will forever transcend the development of modern photo editing. Lučki Most affords those lucky enough (yes, a pun that only one other person might get) to cross it a stunning view of the Stari Most (rebuilt at the beginning of the century, for the record), one that I continuously turned towards as I made my way across the bridge. It is a sight that never, ever, gets old, one that is as impactful today as it was during my first forays into Mostar with Eric and Casey back in 2008.
Lučki Most is never long enough. No matter how tired my legs, no matter the troublesome build-up of lactic acid in my lower extremities. Crossing the old customs bridge slows my step, eager as I am to look north towards the more famous bridge, to drink in a sight that stands tall above all others that I have been lucky to experience. There is nothing like it, there will never be anything like it. There can’t be. It is a miracle that such a thing was constructed once, let alone twice. Mimar Hayruddin did himself a disservice in his fearful pessimism, although it was understandable under the circumstances.
What I’m trying to say, in a roundabout way that has taken way too many words and covered way too many centuries, is that travel is wonderful. Allow the potential for disappointment into your life, and you’ll eventually come across something that makes your heart sing melodies that you didn’t think it capable of. This isn’t an analogy for love, but feel free to presume as much. There isn’t a filter in the world that can make the Stari Most look any more enchanting than it does to the naked eye.
