Novi Grad // This is the Part

© John Bills

“We hate Newtown, we hate Newtown.” Walk into any pub in Welshpool on a Saturday night, and there is a good chance you’ll hear this familiar tune sung at some point. Heck, find a group of people from Welshpool anywhere in the country, and you can make friends by uttering such words. I’ve heard the song sung on trams in Manchester, on the London Underground, and in Milton Keynes. Yes, I was a part of the chorus.

Town monikers don’t come much more generic than Newtown, so I approached my visit to Novi Grad with a little trepidation. Would this little town on the Bosnian side of the border with Croatia bare any resemblance to its namesake in Mid Wales? Would I find an iconic retail store, a closed KFC and an undeniable sense of failure? I had been through Novi Grad once before, on a bus heading north, and all I remembered was a gorgeous building on the border and a particularly grim bus station.

We live in a world of spoilers, so here’s one; my experience in Novi Grad was a keen reminder of why we travel in the first place. We don’t travel for attractions, we don’t travel for architecture, we don’t even travel for food, drink and amazement.

We travel for people.

© John Bills

But before all that, back to the start. To the grim bus station, to be exact, a neglected terminus that was every bit as distressing as I remember. Despite my borderline-psychotic fascination with the things, we don’t travel for bus stations.

We travel because of people like Nebojša, local guide extraordinaire and my window into the life and times of Novi Grad. Nebojša met me at a nearby gas station, and we found common ground immediately, always an indicator of a good day ahead. Nebojša ticked all of the boxes one could want from someone working in local tourism, with an endless knowledge of the town around him and the affability to convey that knowledge. Needless to say, I was in very safe hands.

The history of Novi Grad is unremarkable. It was first mentioned in 1280 as Castrum Novum, but its position on the banks of the Una means you can pencil in habitation at an earlier date. Evliya Celebi, your travel-writing God, mentions that it was built by Croatian nobles, and the town was in the hands of ol’ Zrinjski until the Ottomans arrived. Fill in the blanks before the Austrians took over and started building bits and bobs. They called the town Bosanski Novi, a name that stuck until after the war when the Republika Srpska government removed that suffix from all towns bearing it. Bosanski Novi became Novi Grad.

© John Bills

We don’t travel because of history. History makes places what they are today, and this is especially true in Bosnia and Herzegovina. History is vital to these stories, but it isn’t why we travel. We travel because of people like Slavica, the brains behind Krajiški sir, a unique cheese factory on the outskirts of town. Well, mini cheese factory, to be exact, although that did make me imagine a factory turning out tiny cheese. This wasn’t the case, but Krajiški sir is making a name for itself by experimenting with its products, throwing things at the wall and creating new flavours in the process. Cheese with paprika? Cheese with oregano? Cheese with walnut? You damn right. We stopped at Krajiški sir briefly to try some cheese and chat with Slavica, a beacon of pride and conviviality if ever there was one. I tried to buy some cheese. I was told it was for free. Such is life, such is life. Slavica’s granddaughter waved us goodbye from the window, as adorable a sight as you’ll find.

The Austrians didn’t just leave behind a name; they also left behind a collection of buildings that tick the aesthetic boxes we expect from them. The structure I remembered from the previous border crossing was the City Hall, constructed in 1888 and a stunner quite unlike anything else in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Built along pseudo-Moorish lines, the City Hall has stood on the bank of the Una since 1888. It hasn’t had it easy, dealing with earthquakes and war, among other things, but damage hasn’t diminished its delights. It isn’t the biggest building in the country, but it is right up there with any other on the beauty front.

© John Bills

But hand on heart, we don’t travel for architecture. Beautiful buildings add layers to a town, but the joy of aesthetics is, by definition, fleeting. We travel because of people like Zoran and Jasna (Buba to her friends), lovingly referred to as The Boss. Zoran and Buba run Unske Terase, a small house-slash-hotel in town, with a stunning spot on the river and serenity for days. The location is nigh on perfect, but the affability and thoughtfulness of Zoran and Buba are what make it. We spoke about the brain drain, real estate, love and more. I promised to return in summer, a promise I will make good on.

Novi Grad’s City Hall isn’t the only stunner in town. The city library gives it more than a run for its money, with its corner entrance announcing itself with that special pride that only comes from architecture. We stopped by the library after considering the Majka Partizanka memorial, a monument built to honour the women who sacrificed life and limb to support the fight against fascism in World War II. The bronze statue of a mother with a diminished breast has stood in Novi Grad since 1964, one of many World War II monuments found throughout Bosnia and Herzegovina but very much of its own kind.

© John Bills

But again, to labour the point, we don’t travel because of monuments. We travel because of people like Alex, the waiter in the restaurant, an immediately affable man fluent in multiple languages who revelled in self-deprecation, the sort that draws an immediate line from the Balkans to Britain. Alex had travelled far and wide and displayed confusion and curiosity when we talked about my jaunts around Bosnia and Herzegovina. His final words were of his love for his home, despite its flaws, of how there really is no place like it. Whether you want it to be true or not, that is the case.

And whether you want it to be true or not, we travel for people. We travel for conversation, for conviviality. We travel for chance meetings with affable folks. Every country has its attractions, every town has its marvels, and every street has something waiting to be photographed. You can’t photograph conversation, and you can’t capture chatter. We travel because those moments make us human.