Bosnia: A hidden gem

Text: Tamara Milakovic -  Photo: Đorđe Pandurević on Unsplash

Daniel once asked me to write a story about my country for his travel blog. I hesitated.

Not because I had nothing to say—quite the opposite—but because I wasn’t sure I could write like a tourist. You know, with that lightness, that openness, that excitement of discovering something new.

I was born in Yugoslavia, and when I was a teenager, the war began. For four years, my world was defined by something no travel guide could ever capture. So the idea of describing this region from a purely touristic point of view felt… complicated.

And yet, I wanted to try.

So I stretched my imagination and set out on a different kind of journey—the Balkan route, seen through gentler eyes.

I would begin in Ljubljana, a city I’ve always thought of as a small Vienna: elegant, calm, quietly charming. From there, I’d make my way to Zagreb, stopping for a coffee and a slow walk through the old town, where history feels both grand and intimate at once.

Then I’d continue to my hometown, Banja Luka, and stay for a few days. I would wander through its streets, noticing the unique blend of influences—the Ottoman past intertwined with the legacy of the Habsburg monarchy. East and West meeting, not in conflict, but in coexistence.

From there, I would head toward one of my favorite places in Bosnia: Štrbački Buk. Its raw natural beauty, the sound of rushing water, the sense of untouched wilderness—it’s the kind of place that reminds you how small and how alive you are at the same time.

Next stop: Sarajevo. A city where cultures and eras overlap in the most fascinating ways. I would sit down for ćevapčići, followed by strong Turkish coffee and something sweet—baklava or hurmašice—and simply watch life unfold around me.

Then I’d travel south to Trebinje, a sun-soaked town not far from the Adriatic coast. From there, it’s only a short journey to Dubrovnik, where stone walls meet the sea in breathtaking harmony.

Continuing along the coast, I would enter Montenegro, visiting Kotor and the small, picturesque town of Perast—places that seem almost suspended in time.

Turning inland again, I would visit the Mileševo Monastery to see the famous fresco of the White Angel—one of the most remarkable works in European medieval art.

And finally, I would end this journey in Belgrade—a city that feels like a crossroads of everything: history, cultures, contradictions, and energy.

If I had just a little more time, I would take one last flight to Ohrid. I’ve been told there is something special there—a rare, peaceful energy. The kind of peace that stays with you.

And perhaps that is what I would wish for the Balkans in the years to come: Not to forget its past, but to grow into a place where that peaceful energy becomes the future.