Travnik // ‘All is Transient’ Has Proven to be True
Travnik is history, history is Travnik, blah blah blah. I am often asked to choose a favourite city in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Truth be told, I am never asked that question, but all travel writers are liars. We have been through that already. But yes, in the imaginary world where I am asked that question, my answer is habitually Mostar or Travnik. Mostar, because it was where all of this began. Travnik, because of Travnik.
“I really like Travnik. The history is awesome, the food is the best in the country, the people are great, and there are beautiful buildings. It is just a great place.”
We don’t need to discuss the food, because it truly is the best in the country. Seriously, if you read something that claims Sarajevo’s Baščaršija as Bosnia’s ćevapi pinnacle, you can sleep easy knowing that the author of the article has been to zero other towns. If you want ćevapi, go to Bugojno, Go to Živinice. Go to Cazin.
To eat the best ćevapi, go to Travnik. And no, not necessarily Hari’s.
But I said we don’t need to discuss the food, so we won’t. History? I often claim to like history, parroting “history is the best” with all the conviction of the hypochondriac, hoping that if I repeat it enough, it will become fact. History isn’t the best, because history is everything. It transcends lazy adjectives and opinions. History can’t be good, bad, great or evil, because history is all. My relationship with God grows ever complex with every prostration, but history is God, and God is history.
Yet, with all that in mind, I will try to talk about Travnik and its history. It is my favourite town in BiH, after all. People have lived here forever (you can tick that off on your Bills Bingo sheets), but it wasn’t until the Ottoman centuries that led became ink, that idle chatter became the legacy of a people. Ol’ Eugenie burned Sarajevo to the ground in 1699, and the Ottomans needed a new centre of administration in Bosnia. Look at the map, and pick a spot. You chose Travnik. Hopefully, unless you chose Busovača or something, which is close enough. And thus, Travnik became the capital of Ottoman Bosnia. The City of Viziers was born.
And despite what they would like you to believe, viziers were mere mortals. They were born from the womb, they grew up with clear minds and wide eyes. They shat, they pissed, and they bled. They died. But, unlike us mere mortals, viziers were often laid to rest in notable places, in notable tombs.
Or turbes, to be exact. There’s no need to get too complex there, türbe is essentially the Turkish word for tomb or mausoleum. And thus, the story comes back to Travnik, its history and its place as a city of utmost importance to Ottoman Bosnia.
Not everything in Travnik is old. The shopping centre and supermarket in the centre of the pedestrian street are very much of the modern world, or at least the modern world as it was a couple of decades ago. The building is, for want of a better word, grim, a metallic structure that looks like the welders have yet to start work. Not everything in Travnik is old, but maybe it should be.
Two turbes are showcased in the centre of Travnik, in front of a pharmacy and a new cafe. The first holds three tombs, the remains of Abdullah-Pasha Muhsinović (four-time governor, occasional Grand Vizier), Hafiz Ali Jalaluddin-Pasha (a strict and energetic ruler who was a fan of executions) and a small tomb for Fatima, of whom little is known. The turbe is the work of expert stonemasons from Istanbul, artists who adorned the tombs with classical motifs accentuated by the white limestone.
The second is almost a perfect hexagon, although mentioning that feels trivial. Perishan Mustafa-Pasha sleeps his eternal sleep here, and his epitaph describes him as a statesman of alert heart. Is that a good thing? I don’t know how he died, I shouldn’t speculate. The tomb is an altogether more understated affair, with a single red line accentuating the sophisticated arch.
The turbes are among the most notable attractions in Travnik, but what does that mean? Are we celebrating the dead or the design? If the former takes top billing, we should take a look at ourselves. We are all created equal in the eyes of God, but our opportunities and pathways are different. Plus, you know, the whole ‘fond of executions’ bit in parentheses up there. Celebrating the latter? Fabulous, have at it, but is it possible to admire a grave without contemplating the one lying underneath? Again, I know little about the deceased here, but the very notion of such things makes me uneasy. The turbes are beautiful constructions, and that is more than enough reason to celebrate them, but don’t be afraid to ask questions when you stop for coffee.
The fuck do I actually know? I write this at 08:25, with an espresso to my right and a smartphone to my left, in the comfortable surroundings of Konak. It wasn’t always Konak; this was once the Officer’s Club, the heart and soul of social life in Travnik, although maybe that says more about 20th-century culture than anything. We all remember Conservative Clubs.
Actually, I will dwell on that. This was never the heart of social life in Travnik. It may have been the heart of ‘a’ social life in Travnik, but that was the life of military officers and Austro-Hungarian elites. No social world takes the elite as a benchmark. Social life in Travnik centred around the lives of the people, not the affluent. This is true, everywhere.
But here I am, in Konak, still waiting to drink this espresso. It was served to me by a young lady, Mary Williamson transported into central Bosnia, a lady who initially approached me with reticence but warmed up after I spilt forth my usual mixture of Bosnian and English. Being an idiot has its perks, although it is sad that ‘receiving smiles’ is considered a perk. That should be the norm.
John, John, focus, this isn’t Gornji Vakuf, this is Travnik! The Officer’s Club was constructed in 1906, but the building I sit in is not the same as that one. Time and neglect are an efficient tag team. The building pays homage to its grand past with a refined grace that helps it stand out from the rest of the cafes in town. It has been an admin centre, a refugee centre, an army centre, a restaurant and more, but today it is a place for coffee, cakes and conversation. Where the wealthy once socialised, and now where the rest of us come to feel fancy.
Mary just offered me some ćevapi. It is 08:45 in the morning. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so fancy.
If someone offers you ćevapi in Travnik at 08:45, you say yes. Best food in the country, after all…