Via Dinarica in Bosnia and Herzegovina: When Veliki Vran Showed Us the Boundaries

Since June 11, 2016, the White Trail of the Via Dinarica has run through Bosnia and Herzegovina. I was there for the opening to climb Mount Veliki Vran in Blidinje. We didn’t reach the summit—nature showed us our limits.

“It’s great that you’re in Sarajevo right now! I have a fantastic outing planned for you,” Arzija Jusić tells me happily over the phone. “This Saturday, the White Trail of the Via Dinarica in Bosnia and Herzegovina is being inaugurated!” We’d been planning to go hiking together for months. Arzija, 57, has been hiking for 40 years and knows just about every Alpine club in Sarajevo and the surrounding area. I’m really looking forward to seeing her. With her short red hair and mischievous smile, she always brings a cheerful atmosphere to the group. Even though life hasn’t always been easy for her.

Off we go to Veliki Vran

The trip begins early in the morning at half past seven in Sarajevo—a reasonable time to start. It’s about 120 kilometers and a two-hour drive to Blidinje. The destination: Veliki Vran, at 2,070 meters. Since this is the opening event, several hundred hikers are expected. I’m excited. The last time I was in Bosnia and Herzegovina, I was hiking as a child—with my uncle Muhamed, who was himself the director of an alpine club. I spent every weekend during the holidays with him in the mountains. That experience still shapes me to this day!

We’re riding in a minibus. The driver, Senad Ćosić, is a hiking guide himself. Also along for the ride are 72-year-old Uncle Šefko, three guys on their mountain bikes, Arzija, her friend Nefa, and me. On the way there, we laugh nonstop—everyone is sharing their funniest stories. And I get my fair share of teasing, too.

Long pants, a rain jacket—and Bosnian humor

The day before the tour, I called Arzija and asked if I should wear short or long hiking pants. She laughed right over the phone and asked if I was joking. No—I was completely serious! After all, it was very warm in Sarajevo. “No! Go ahead and put on your long pants! They’ll protect you from insect bites. And bring your rain jacket! The weather here can change very quickly. We’re not in Germany here—we’re in Bosnia and Herzegovina.” I could sense her grin through the phone.

Our starting point: Lake Blidinje

After a pleasant two-hour drive (kudos to Senad!), we reach our destination. At an elevation of about 1,200 meters, we park at Blidinjsko Jezero, Lake Blidinje—the country’s largest mountain lake. Because it had rained heavily earlier, the water had overflowed its banks and stretched far into the valley. It’s windy and cold, and there’s still snow on the peaks of the surrounding mountains. Several hundred hikers, mountain bikers, and marathon runners have gathered for the big event.

Green, Blue, and White Trails: What Is the Via Dinarica?

With support from UNDP and USAID, the White Trail of the Via Dinarica now also runs through Bosnia and Herzegovina. Here alone, there are 334 kilometers of trail offering about 130 hours of hiking. The Via Dinarica consists of three routes: the Blue Trail, which offers ocean views along the coast; the Green Trail, which mostly runs through the forests of the lower Dinaric Alps; and the White Trail. At 1,260 kilometers, it is the longest of the three hiking trails and passes through the highest points of the Dinaric Alps—it also offers the most diverse scenery.

All three trails start in Slovenia and end in Albania. Although the marked trail is safe, you should not hike alone. This applies not only to inexperienced hikers but also to experienced ones who are unfamiliar with the area: For one thing, the weather can change very quickly; for another, there are still minefields in some areas near the trail. Anyone who gets lost risks fatal consequences.

More or less well-equipped

We set off, along with another hundred hikers of all ages—there are even a few dogs along for the ride. Several hiking guides accompany the long line. Right at the start, they pull some participants aside because they aren’t wearing proper hiking gear —they aren’t allowed to continue. “The climb to the summit of Veliki Vran is too dangerous. Especially when it rains. And it looks like it’s going to rain,” Arzija explains to me, glancing up at the sky. At 57, she’s in incredibly good shape—lean and muscular. You can tell she’s passionate about hiking.

The first few meters uphill

At first, the climb is gentle. I notice there’s no trail. We’re heading straight through nature. Even at this point, someone unfamiliar with the area would be lost on their own. So here’s my advice: always go with a hiking guide. It’s affordable, you feel safe—and along the way, you get to hear wonderful stories, anecdotes, and legends.

The climb is getting tougher and tougher. You have to concentrate really hard on where you put your feet. Now I realize why people wearing sneakers weren’t allowed to come along. “You’re keeping up pretty well,” Arzija grins at me. I’m actually a little proud—all that hiking in Bavaria and Austria is paying off. And so is the yoga, I suppose, because sometimes you have to twist your legs quite a bit to find a firm foothold.

But it’s fun! “Where are we actually heading?” I ask Arzija. “Up there,” she says, nodding toward the mountaintop. Up there? That’s far—very far! So we’ll be scrambling straight up, in the truest sense of the word. The hike is supposed to take about six hours, and the destination is a mountain restaurant where we’ll have a meal to wrap things up. But here’s the thing: we won’t make it there.

The Change in Weather at Veliki Vran

After about an hour, it starts to rain. I’m roughly in the middle of the line; the pros are already quite a bit ahead. Hiking guide Senad is with me and doesn’t take his eyes off me. He watches my every move closely, and on difficult sections, he goes ahead and I follow him. While he keeps a watchful eye on me like a lynx, he talks to me the whole time—his Bosnian sense of humor keeps making me laugh.

The rain is getting heavier. On top of that, there’s a cold wind, and a wall of fog is descending from the summit toward us at an incredible speed. I feel a little like I’m in the horror movie *The Fog*. But just a little—despite the weather, the scenery is beautiful to behold! The hikers from Bosnia and Herzegovina passing me by have a calming effect; smoking, eating, and chatting nonstop, they seem to be climbing the mountain effortlessly.

Here in Germany, we have hiking trails, and there are barriers or railings at “dangerous” spots—so practically nothing can go wrong. Here, I really feel like I’m hiking. I have to be careful; it really challenges my mind—it really puts it to the test—and my whole body is engaged. And it feels great! There’s no time to think about the rain.

“We really don’t need to risk our lives.”

If you dare, look back: the path drops steeply. But the view of Lake Blidinje is incredibly beautiful, especially when a few rays of sunshine hit the water. The water shimmers a bright blue, framed by lush greenery and the white snow-capped peaks of the mountains.

The rain is getting heavier and heavier. Senad pauses: “I’ll call the guide at the front to find out what the weather’s like up there. There’s no point in continuing like this. We really don’t need to risk our lives.” Just at that moment, the message comes: turn back. The professionals report a heavy snowstorm and fog further up the mountain.

All right, let’s head back—the same steep path we scrambled up. Except that the descent is made more difficult by the increasingly heavy rain, slippery rocks, and the wall of fog rolling in. “Just follow me and put your feet down where I put mine,” Senad says casually, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, as he adjusts my hiking poles for the descent. My adrenaline levels skyrocket. A few others join us on the descent—and there’s plenty more talking and laughing.

I laugh along as the heavy raindrops lash my face. “Hey Mirella, come with me over to the tree—we’re taking a break, and you’ll get to meet some nice people.” Senad pulls me aside. Behind the tree trunk, three of his friends are sitting and enjoying their sandwiches while it’s pouring—only a few branches offer shelter. We share everything we have with us. That’s how we end up with a three-course meal. Uncle Šefko joins us. “He’s the bravest and quickest of us all,” Senad tells me.

Hiking: An Experience for and Across Generations

The elderly gentleman radiates kindness and is very calm. He accompanies us as we resume our descent. He started hiking when he was 16. I tell him about the hikes I took as a child during summer vacation with my uncle. He knew Uncle Muhamed and had gone on hikes with him himself. He’s touched to learn that I’m his niece—and deeply saddened when I have to tell him that my uncle has passed away.

Uncle Šefko explains to me that hiking has taught him to live in harmony with nature. It’s not us humans who set the rhythm—it’s Mother Nature! “Vran didn’t want us to reach its summit today. And that’s just as well. That way, we learn to accept things as they are—and to be grateful.” I nod. And I’m grateful for this man’s wisdom.

Off we go, full of energy

Halfway there, I run into Arzija and Nefa. We walk the last stretch to the lake and the Alpine Club hut together. We breathe in the scent of the flowers and trees, which is much more intense after the rain. Arzija turns toward the mountain: “Why, dear Vran, did you deny us the climb? Mirella from Germany is here to visit, and you wouldn’t let us go!” – “Who knows what good it did. Maybe he saved us from something terrible. Maybe we should just be grateful.” – “You’re right. Dear Vran, thank you!” Arzija bows.

Then she grins at me: “Well, still in the mood for a pair of short hiking pants? You’d probably be just as wet and cold as this guy!” A young hiker in shorts walks past us. The fact that she was wet wasn’t a big deal. But his goosebumps spoke volumes!

The White Trail also has its share of sad stories

Arzija tells me the sad story of Dragi, a hiking guide and extreme athlete who died in February of that same year at the age of just 25. He was a very good friend. During a guided hike, he tried to save a participant from falling—but she pulled him down with her. He died instantly; she survived but was seriously injured. Arzija cries and pulls his photo out of her pocket. She always carries it with her when she goes hiking. “This way, he’s always with us.”

One more to go before the finish line

“Before you finish the hike, you have to hug a tree!” Arzija is already running toward the next one and wrapping her arms around the trunk. I follow her example and kiss it gratefully. Grateful that I was able to experience this hike. Grateful for life. Grateful for the new friends I’ve made.

Soaked to the skin, we reach the cabin. We warm up by the stove with some hot tea; my cheeks are glowing pink. I’m exhausted and happy. Outside, we have a snack. I take a bite of the tomato—it tastes so intense, just like the smoked cheese in the somun. After refueling, we head back to Sarajevo.

We catch up with the mountain bikers along the way—they, too, got caught in the rain. We share our experiences. At the old Ottoman bridge in Konjic, we take a coffee break and enjoy the view of this historic cultural landmark. Bosnia and Herzegovina is so beautiful—I’m truly reminded of that once again. It’s this interplay of nature, culture, and warm-hearted people with their unique sense of humor.

At the finish line

I come home exhausted in the evening; it’s already dark. Arzija told me she once wrote: “The mountains are my second home. No—actually, they are my true home.” I can understand that. Mountains remind us that our home isn’t the so-called four walls, but Mother Earth. When we realize this, we’ll do a better job of protecting her from danger. And we’ll probably come a little closer to understanding the meaning of life.

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