Our driver, Nenad, suggests we make a detour to Višegrad. The famous bridge lies just across the border in Bosnia.
We are visiting Mokra Gora in western Serbia with Tanja’s friend, also named Tanja, who is visiting us from Italy.
Before heading to Mokra Gora, we had already decided to visit Višegrad if we had the time and energy after riding the Šargan Eight heritage railway — so we readily agreed.
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If you prefer to read in Finnish, continue here / Jos luet mieluummin suomeksi, jatka tänne:
Drina-joen silta peilaa Višegradin veristä historiaa
The Bridge on the Drina Reflects the Bloody History of Višegrad
The Bridge on the Drina is not only the most famous novel by Yugoslav Nobel Prize winner Ivo Andrić —it is also a real stone bridge that has been listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
The bridge made the town of Višegrad, located on the border between Bosnia and Serbia, well-known.
The Mehmed Pasha Sokolović Bridge remains an impressive sight, though today it is open only to pedestrians.
The Drina River, which flows into the Sava, marks the border between Bosnia and Serbia, nestled near the Tara mountains.
It’s a fairly fast-flowing river, popular with whitewater rafters.
At Višegrad, the current slows somewhat, but the river widens. There it is also joined by the smaller Rzav River.
About the author of The Bridge on the Drina
Ivo Andrić was born in 1892 to Catholic Croat parents in Bosnia, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and spent much of his childhood in Višegrad.
In his work, he wrote extensively about his homeland — and in *The Bridge on the Drina, about his former hometown in particular.
Andrić also had a long career as a diplomat for the Kingdom of Yugoslavia. He considered himself Yugoslav and wrote in Serbian.
Because of the latter “offense,” his work was once banned in Croatia. In Bosnia, his perceived anti-Muslim attitudes have drawn harsh criticism. That ban, at least, has since been lifted.
Andrić is said to have seen the Drina bridge as a symbol of Serbia, a country situated between two cultural worlds.
The Grand Vizier Who Commissioned the Bridge on the Drina
In the novel that won him the Nobel Prize, Andrić describes how the Ottomans, who ruled both Bosnia and Serbia, built the bridge across the Drina between 1571 and 1577 — through sweat and blood, though not their own.
The laborers were locals, recruited — or rather forced — into service and often treated harshly, especially in the early stages.
The construction was ordered by the powerful Ottoman Grand Vizier Mehmed Pasha Sokolović. He was one of thousands of Christian Bosnian children who were systematically taken from their parents and brought to Istanbul.
Most ended up in the elite Janissary army, but many became civil servants.
Mehmed Pasha rose higher than any of them. Serving under three different sultans, he at times effectively governed the empire.
The Višegrad bridge became a symbol of Ottoman power, a tribute to Mehmed Pasha’s homeland, and his personal monument.
The architect was Mimar Sinan, whose works are said to rival the finest achievements of the Italian Renaissance.
But the bridge wasn’t built over six years merely as a monument. Višegrad sat on the road from Sarajevo to Istanbul, and the bridge replaced an earlier ferry crossing over the Drina — a river that, especially during spring floods, could be dangerously unpredictable.
Now, it could be crossed at any time, via a sturdy stone bridge — on foot, on horseback, or in a wagon. Even the movement of troops was far easier.
One Ethno-Village a Day Is Enough
We clear the border formalities fairly quickly — there isn’t much of a queue this late in the afternoon.
The road winds through mountainous terrain, as is typical in this region of Serbia and Bosnia.
Eventually, the town and the river come into view.
Nenad assumes we’d like to visit Andrićgrad, the ethno-village created by filmmaker Emir Kusturica, dedicated to the writer Ivo Andrić and his vision of old Višegrad.
But one ethno-village per day is our limit, as we have already visited Kusturica’s other one, Drvengrad. Right now, we just want to see the bridge that has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
The Bridge on the Drina Awaits
We park the car in the town center and head down to the riverbank.
Before long, the Bridge on the Drina stands before us — and it certainly does not disappoint.
The Drina is indeed wide, but the equally wide bridge, resting on eleven graceful arches, spans the river with calm confidence.
We set out to cross it.
Kapija Was a Gathering Place
At the center of the bridge is a widened section called kapija, or gate.
On either side are stone benches where, according to Andrić, the village men would sit in the evenings, chatting.
Later, women were also allowed to join — but that took about three hundred years.
Even so, kapija was a meeting place from the beginning, always following the customs of the time.
This was also where people — especially the elderly — could pause to rest, as the 179.5-meter crossing could be too much to handle in one go, particularly when burdened.
During wartime, kapija served as a checkpoint. Under Ottoman rule, it also functioned as an execution site. Heads were displayed above the gate.
On one side of kapija, a plaque in Turkish still marks the bridge’s founding.
We sit on the stone benches for a moment, soaking in the atmosphere and watching the shimmering water below.
There’s no need to dodge vehicles anymore. The main road between Belgrade and Sarajevo was rerouted long ago, and the old bridge is no longer the only way across the Drina.
Now, people can stroll across it as they did centuries ago — without fear of being trampled by a four-legged mode of transport.
The bridge has undergone many repairs. Some were due to age, others due to war.
It suffered heavily during both World Wars. Because of its strategic importance, the outmatched Austro-Hungarian forces even blew it up early in World War I.
Some visitors choose a very different way to cross the Drina.
From a hill on the far side of the river, a zipline runs across to the town center, allowing thrill-seekers to fly over the river.
It spans several hundred meters, so an adrenaline rush is practically guaranteed.
We’re almost tempted to try it ourselves — our first and only time was in the jungles of Guadeloupe.
Višegrad’s Share of Violence
Višegrad’s strategic location has often made it a hotspot for conflict and unrest.
Unfortunately, even in times without open battle, civilians have suffered terribly in war.
The Drina has many times run red with blood, and bodies have washed ashore far downstream.
In World War II, the Croatian Ustaše regime massacred thousands of local Serbs. Later, royalist Chetniks killed large numbers of Muslim Bosniaks in return.
During the Bosnian War of the 1990s, those same horrors repeated themselves. After the Yugoslav army withdrew, Bosnian Serb forces committed some of the war’s worst atrocities in Višegrad.
Srebrenica, another site of mass killing, is not far to the north.
In all these cases, the victims’ bodies were often thrown into the river.
Only the Market Vendors Disturb the Peaceful Evening
But in August 2019, the town is peaceful. The Drina flows gently under the bridge, as it has for centuries.
A newly built mosque, replacing the one destroyed in the war, stands with a Bosnian flag flying from its roof — instead of the more common Serbian flags in the area.
We are in the Republika Srpska, the Serb-administered part of Bosnia.
After a walk on the bridge, we return toward our car, passing the small evening market.
Only a few stalls remain open, selling typical tourist trinkets.
When we show no interest in the first vendor’s goods, he shouts something down the row, visibly annoyed.
“He told them to catch you as customers before you slip away without buying anything,” Nenad translates quietly.
He’s not impressed — and mutters something unkind about the Bosnian Serbs.
We’ve noticed before that on the Serbian side of the border, their western cousins aren’t always held in high regard.
Such behavior would be unheard of at a Serbian market.
The shouting doesn’t help anyway. We’re no more inclined to shop at the far end of the row than we were at the beginning.
We’ve now seen Višegrad — at least on the surface — and dusk is settling.
It’s time to return to Serbia.
Not back home, Belgrade, yet, but Mokra Gora and another river, Uvać.
The border crossing doesn’t take long, though the wait always feels longer than it is.
Especially when dinner is waiting.
