Spomenik (Monument) Hunt

Aug 26th-30th

We traded in our bikes for a van and set out from Zadar to tour some abandoned Yugoslavian monuments that we had read about in a book.

After some fly by the seat of our pants navigation (signs rarely indicate the road you are on, just various town names that the road happens to go to, and inconsistency is the theme!) we arrived at Petrova Gora.

A monument built after the second world war to memorialize some brave farmers, it was then used as a hospital during the more recent war in the 1990’s.  Now it’s completely abandoned and left for ruin.  

We came across other visitors, two architecture students, and a Brazilian/French/Bosnian film crew taking pictures of a person in a feathery pink monster suit.  The Brazilian woman was very Punk Rock in demeanor and between puffs on her cigarette she told us that the Croatian government was responsible for thieving many of the large stainless steel panels that adorn the monument.  

That night we slept at the foot of the Sisak memorial.  A white stone monument resembling the white wizard’s tower in The Lord of the Rings.  In the distance we heard an alarming number of shotgun blasts.  I awoke to Anna completely freaking out, thinking we were going to be run over by a tractor.  We then learned that the Sisak memorial is on the site of a children’s concentration camp.  I felt a little disrespectful, but more grateful that I wasn’t aware of that last night or there would have been a que of nightmares as long and trying as a DMV in a low income neighborhood.  

DAY 3

It was all burnouts and skidding stops out of Kljuce, Bosnia.  We spent the night on the side of a river in a defunkt river rafting center of operations.  It was a pleasant morning, complete with greeting snails and a car load of polish people waking up in a far less fresh state than us.  

We spoke with them briefly last night, exchanging stories they clearly wouldn’t remember.  There road trip, now in its final stages, stretched as far south as Macedonia.  

They were jovial and enthusiastic like us, but a major difference was there go-to trip motto.  Ours, the ever optimistic “everything is fine,” gets uttered 1,000 times a day after any endured inconvenience.  It propels us forward, preparing us to greet all obstacles as if they were somehow part of the plan.  Theirs, however, “It is not okay,” imbues their journey with a great sense of struggle and perhaps the greater rewards that come with such perceived avarice.  

None of this can be known.  We will not to to visit them no matter how loud they drunkenly yell, “UNITED STATES!”

Excited with my newly minted nickname ‘Van Daddy,’ we were speeding across the Bosnian countryside.  Apparently a little to factually, as we were flagged down by a Bosnian police officer with a dainty little paddle after posting some respectable numbers on their speed trap radar tripod binocular thing device.  

When he realized I was an idiot American who had no idea what they were saying, he asked me to get out of the car and come with him.

After some clandestine dealings, I returned to the car beaming with excitement.  I cooly reported that I had just bribed the cops and “everything is fine.”

It was a dream come true.  I’ve always wanted to be the kind of guy who bribes the cops, and now I was! Though, the act of it was far less smooth than I had made it sound.  In actuality, the cop kind of held my hand though the whole process.  I didn’t even realize I had bribed him until the whole transaction was over.  At any rate, both parties walked away from the experience extremely pleased.  

We pushed on, brake pedal to the metal at railroad crossings like RESPONSIBLE DRIVERS, in search of an abandoned spomenik in Knin.  The monument was not pinpointed on any internet GPS map that we could find, and when we asked around town, no one seemed to know what we were talking about.

We even flashed photos like we were searching for a young John Conner, only to be met with confused stares.  

Eventually, with the help of cappuccinos, wifi and satellite imagery, we pegged it to be on the top of one of the surrounding mountains.  One with a giant castle on it.  

Perplexed, we drove up to the castle where we asked all of the employees there about the monument.  Only one guy knew what we were talking about.  “Oh yeah, I’ve seen that, go up a trail 100 meters down the hill on the left.”

We found the somewhat overgrown trial and the subsequent hike was steep but short.

The monument had been toppled with trees and weeds growing up amongst the rubble.

It was so bizarre that this huge monument still in such a badass state of existence seems to be totally forgotten.  People who work mere meters away are oblivious to its existence, while we spend vast amounts of money, time, and physical exertion trying to reach it.

For the most part the monument is still intact lying on its side. The former top of the monument has an eyelet screwed into it with the remains of a rope still hanging from it.  It was clearly pulled down by the people, left to decay like structures of cement and rebar do, painfully slow and frequented by teenagers, stoners, and sexual adventurists.  

We never located the Sinj monument and moved on to the war torn and then rebuilt city of Mostar.  

Anna  fittingly wore the galaxy dress on the Stari Bridge.  Though, Stari in Bosnian just means old.