Life together indicator | Cim

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An Unexpected Tourist Guide

_{Author: Maja Knezović}

One scorching summer day, our friend Monika invited a group of us, a bunch of former high school kids, to escape the sweltering heat of Mostar and cool down at her front yard swimming pool. As Monika and I lived nearby and often hung out together, I was already a regular guest at her place. I was thrilled at the thought of reuniting with my school friends, as our lives had become consumed by university studies, and we hardly gathered anymore.
Once we were all together at Monika’s, we became engrossed in sharing memories of our high school days, filled with both troubles and laughter. The joy of seeing one another again was celebrated with copious amounts of alcohol, and in my case, my favorite drink, gin and tonic. I lost count of how many drinks I had, but whenever I felt it was overwhelming, I would plunge into the pool, instantly sobered by the refreshing water. We danced to our favorite songs and high school hits, sharing stories of our often reckless adventures. We even delved into old photo albums, laughing at our younger selves who thought we were already grown-ups.

Suddenly, a couple with a sunburnt complexion and fair skin, clearly affected by the relentless Mostar sun, appeared with their baby. Despite their hats, they couldn’t escape the notorious heat. They arrived at Monika’s house in a car with Dutch license plates, seemingly driving in silence due to our loud music. They waved at us, showing something on their phone and in their hand. Without hesitation, I approached them, and they asked me, “Basilica, basilica, where is it?” It struck me at that moment that I had no idea where the basilica was or anything about it. My friend Monika joined us and quickly grasped the situation. She mentioned that she would call her aunt, who happened to be a sculptor and was knowledgeable about the basilica. While we waited for her aunt, the couple explained that they had discovered an old map of Mostar, specifically the municipality of Cim, which marked an old guesthouse in the same location as their own house. Monika revealed that her grandfather used to manage that guesthouse a long time ago. Within a few minutes, Aunt Vera arrived, delighted to share her knowledge. However, there was a language barrier as she didn’t speak English fluently. Since I had already been conversing with the tourists for a while, and Monika needed to stay with her guests, the task of translating Aunt Vera’s words fell upon me.

Before I knew it, we were all sitting in the car, including their baby in the back seat, on our way to the basilica. It was then that I realized I was wearing only swimming trunks and had forgotten to bring a t-shirt or towel to cover up a bit. The absurdity of the situation struck me, and I burst out laughing. Within a few minutes, we arrived in Crkvine, near the basilica, and I had no choice but to venture out in my “speedos.” To reach the basilica, we passed through someone’s yard, where the laundry hanging there had already been scorched by the day’s intense heat. The Dutch tourists didn’t pay much attention to my attire, but Aunt Vera’s disapproving gaze didn’t escape my notice. She had realized that I had arrived at the basilica area half-naked. Under the influence of alcohol, my lack of shame prevailed, and I didn’t let it bother me too much. Aunt Vera began recounting the history of the basilica, and I translated her words simultaneously. Like the tourists, I too heard everything she said for the first time, and the fact that it was the oldest monument in the broader Mostar area fascinated me to the core.

Inspired, I embellished Aunt Vera’s story, transforming her from a sculptor into an archaeologist who had been inspired to study archaeology by playing near the basilica during her childhood. I’m not sure why I said that, but witnessing their enthusiasm amused me, and I wanted the story to have a final “wow” effect. They were completely captivated. After our tour, they expressed their gratitude and continued their journey to Goranci, while we returned to Monika’s house. It was only then that we realized we should have asked the tourists to take a picture of the old map they had with them. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find it anywhere online or otherwise.