18 October, Medugorje, Bosnia.





So I got a late start leaving from Split today, but it was time well spent, having lunch with Sinead (I finally found that great restaurant in Split! Or at least a really great pasta with vegetables in comfortable chairs outside and service that had a lighter in front of Sinead’s cigarette before she could find one for herself) then the two of us walking around a bit, taking some pictures of a fountain and the pigeons bathing there, then half heartedly looking for a jacket for me, so I don't freeze in Bosnia.



I actually left her at around two, wanting to get to Medugorje as the sun was going down, but then remembered like an idiot that I hadn’t ever gone to the internet store to see if they had my notebook. So by the time I went there and then took care of a couple errands online (accommodation reservations in Sarajevo, touching base with the group there to confirm time and place on Friday) I knew there was no way I was going to make it to Medugorje before nightfall. I did the drive here anyway, managing the last hour or so in the dark, and even stopping off on the coast as the sun was going down to get a repeat of the amazing sunset I saw in Pula three weeks ago.



This one didn’t have the Fazana fishing harbor as a setting, but it had the islands, the soft clouds that let the light through, the intense colors, and a few boats, and I blew through about thirty shots – all I had left on the card in the camera - working to get the right one. Yet another chance to love this new camera…not that it takes much, at this point.



Allow me to emphasize at this point that I am not manipulating these photos at all, other than resizing them to make them web friendly. What you see is as closely reproduced as possible, what I saw through the viewfinder. Yes... the colors are real.

I found a reasonably priced hotel about five minutes walk from the main street, which wasn’t a problem since the town seems to be nothing but pansions and hotels. The woman at the desk kept smiling at me like I was either doing something wrong and being the typical tourist or was really cute, and for some reason her smile and demeanor just infected me. Maybe it was the town, too, which was nothing but shops selling clothes and rosaries and Mary and Jesus kitsch,



I have no idea, all I know is that I was practically giddy the entire night, and went to sleep wondering if this was what it felt like to be a in place where good things happen (see the entry for Krakow, and Auschwitz). It wasn’t an eventful evening… I walked around looking at the souvenir shops, then made my way to the church, which has some sort of services pretty much every evening and morning (and masses in multiple languages on weekends) and at least judging from tonight, seems to have trouble handling the demand even with that schedule. The building, which has to hold a couple thousand people, at least, was full, with people in the aisles, out the doors, and sitting on pews which were arranged around the outer walls several layers deep, and including the back, which has a large tent with a stage for outdoor services (in the summers though, tonight was a bit chilly) can probably handle services for close to 20,000 people. I can’t imagine being in this small town when it’s that full, but it clearly happens. The service was an Adoration for Mary, I think (it was in Italian, I believe) and there wasn’t much to it but talking. Since I couldn’t see anything (standing in the doorway, getting elbowed by old Italian women determined to get inside) I made my way back through the town after a while, stopping at the grocery to get some bread and sausage and some breakfast for the morning, then heading back to the hotel and writing this. The giddy happiness that I felt on arriving was lessened by the rudeness of the crowds trying to get into the church, but hasn’t disappeared entirely. I’m curious what sort of feelings tomorrow morning will bring, hiking up the hill to the place where six teenagers saw visions of Mary twenty five years ago. (Truth be known, I don't know that much about the history here, and what I do know I've read as much in articles and books about the investigation of UFO's as miracles. Because of the similarities, UFO researchers often deal with religions visions, at least if they are witnessed by many people. I think the visions in Fatima are better documented, as several thousand people saw some very strange things there, but I think that Medagorje has been discussed as well... )

19 October, Sarajevo, Bosnia

Its been a full day and then some. Three cities, lots of driving, but no miracles, unfortunately.

I started the day by getting up early and checking out of the hotel. The same desk clerk was there, though not as happy as the night before… I wondered if it was me, or her. She did try to get me to stay though, since I’d paid for breakfast (requisite in most places, there’s no way around it, even if you don’t want it), wanting me to at least go to the restaurant and get a snack. I had plans though, and was on a tight schedule, so I declined and went outside to find frost on my windshield. The cold temperatures had come as promised, and obviously the mountain elevations had made it even colder than the 1 degree Celsius forecast I’d seen a few days ago (0 C = freezing = 32 F). It wasn’t just a light frost either. I had to start the car and let it run for a while, and even then the wipers weren’t doing anything. I got out and used my fingers to rub as much of it off as I could, then used the windshield washer fluid to deal with what was left. It was a bit after seven am, and my plan was to hike up the hill, taking pictures of anything interesting with the morning light, then drive north, to Mostar and spend the late morning hours there. It was a good plan aside from the fact that I discovered Medugorje is possibly the least well marked tourist town in the entire world.

Literally. I looked at the map and figured out that all I needed to do was make a right out of the parking lot, a quick left, follow that road, and then turn right when it ended after a short time. That would take me right past the base of the hill where the teenagers saw the visions, which is presumably the focus of the entire town. Well, I still don’t know how this is possible, given the size of the town, but it took me over an hour to find the damn path. Once, earlier, I thought I’d found it, but was puzzled why there weren’t more people on it, and it ended up winding through the woods to a hotel. Finally I discovered the sign, and it turns out that its not a path at all, in the town, but a street. It only turns into a path once you get past another round of souvenir stores. In retrospect I shouldn’t have been surprised. I should have been looking for the biggest concentration of religious capitalism in the city, and worked my way out from there, but at the time it was very annoying, looking for what everyone described as a rocky path and having it be a brick street.

Maybe it was the annoyance of finding it, but once I got there, and climbed the hill, it wasn’t nearly as interesting as I’d hoped. Yes, it was incredibly rocky, very sharp, volcanic rocks that had been worn down in places, but mostly were still hard and pointed. Supposedly true Christian pilgrims walk this hill in their bare feet, but I wore my hiking shoes, and from what I saw, everyone else was wearing their shoes too. Of course most of them were Italian, so it was just as likely that the women had on heels as tennis shoes, much less true hiking footwear, but I didn’t see any true pilgrims.





The hill climbs steeply for about ten or fifteen minutes, with a trail worn down so that you can find your way, even on the rock. There were a few metal cast reliefs of scenes of Christ’s life, but no explanation as to why they were there, or why those particular scenes. There were a good number of people there, but as it turned out I just beat a tour group of some sort, who arrived as I was at the top. The trail didn’t actually go to the top of the hill, but rather turned to the right, and ended with a statue of the virgin marking the spot where they had seen the visions. Not surprisingly, it was probably also the best place for a view of the city, and sitting there and looking around, I couldn’t help thinking that it was probably a pretty typical hangout for the kids in the small city before the miracles happened. Just the type of place six kids would go to bitch about their parents, smoke cigarettes without getting caught, or heaven forbid, think up hoaxes to play on the town. I found myself wondering why most miracles seem to happen on the tops of mountains. Does divine power have a limited range, so that valleys are harder to reach? That’s very cynical, I know, but to be honest, this place didn’t have anything going for it but an okay view.



One thing that was interesting though, was the way people left mementos of themselves all around. Not right near the statue of Mary, but a bit up the hill, forty or fifty yards away. There were marble stones engraved with names, pictures, trinkets, wood with names carved with knives… just a variety of ways for people to leave something and say “I was here.”



Somehow I thought that was more interesting than the statue or the miracle, so I found a good rock, got out my pocket knife, and spent about ten minutes engraving S. Pruitt 19.10.06 on it, deep enough that it would at least take a few years to wear away. I found a suitable place to put it, then started back down the hill. Fifteen minutes later I was headed out of town, snacking on bread and fruit juice in the car.



All in all, while I was fascinated with the town of Medugorje, it didn’t feel like a place where a miracle had happened. At least not the miracle that they celebrate. Maybe it’s a miracle that they have created a place where so many people of different nationalities can come and find some common ground, where old women who can barely walk can find the strength to climb a steep, rocky hillside in fashionable shoes, or that so many people can make a living selling rosaries and crosses and statues of Christ and Mary. Maybe. All I know is that I’ve been to many, many places which I felt were more spiritual than this place: Yosemite National Park; Big Bend; Siauliai, Lithuania… hell, even Barton Springs and Enchanted Rock, in Austin. Of those, Siauliai was the only one that was really created by people, and its spirituality is based more on the determination of the people who created it, and their fortitude in the face of immense forces than a random vision on a hill with a good view of the city (Siauliai in fact has no view). Which is to say, I guess, that I wasn’t converted by Medugorje. I think at least for now, my churches will remain wild places that I need the four wheel drive to get to, or that at least have running rivers or enough darkness that the constellations become visible. I’m not a religious person, and I don’t believe in praying to a God who needs or wants to be worshipped, but I am spiritual, and I find great joy in laying on the ground miles from the nearest electric light, looking at stars that have existed for billions of years and knowing the light reaching my eyes has taken billions of years to get here. That is a miracle, and it’s one that I can see anytime I want.

I’ll write more about today, Mostar and Sarajevo, later on.

Stephen.

show me the way to go home... I'm tired and I want to go to bed.