Hello, I’m David, a storyteller, wanderer, and long-time “in-betweener” living a slower, more thoughtful life here in the heart of the Balkans.
Free subscribers can enjoy regular posts about life in Bosnia and Herzegovina, slices of local culture, stories that I come across, and the little everyday moments that make this place so special.
Curious to go deeper? Paid members get access to everything I create, including exclusive podcasts, behind-the-scenes reflections, photo essays, and more that I only share with my inner circle.
Fancy joining me? Click subscribe and let’s explore this unique corner of the world together, one Coffee and Rakija at a time. ☕✨
There’s a place high above the Neretva Valley where time moves differently.
Not slower exactly, but with more intention, like it has nothing to prove. That place is Lukomir, Bosnia and Herzegovina’s highest and most remote village, perched some 1,500 metres up on the shoulder of Bjelašnica Mountain.
The road there twists through a changing landscape, pine forest giving way to open grassland, then nothing but rock, sky, and wind.
By the time you reach the final bend, the modern world has already slipped off your shoulders.
A Village Built from the Mountain Itself
The first thing you notice about Lukomir is that it doesn’t look built, it looks grown.
Stone walls rise from the earth as if the mountain itself decided to make homes.
The roofs, stitched with rough wooden shingles, sit steep and narrow to shrug off the winter snow. These houses have survived more storms than most of us have birthdays.
There are no bright shopfronts or tourist queues here, just a handful of homes, a scattering of stećci (medieval tombstones), and a silence that seems to hum with history.
The air feels thick with memory, of shepherds, families, laughter, and the quiet discipline of mountain life.
The Edge of the Rakitnica Canyon
Walk a little further and the land simply falls away.
The Rakitnica Canyon opens beneath your feet, a wild, 800-metre-deep cut through the limestone, shaped by centuries of snowmelt and time.
The view is staggering. It makes you feel small, but in the best possible way, the kind of small that reminds you the world doesn’t need your noise to keep turning.
It’s here that Lukomir earns its reputation. Not just a village, but a reminder. A reminder to breathe, to listen, to stand still for a while.
A Living Village, Not a Museum
Sometimes you’ll hear Lukomir described as a “living ethnological museum.”
It’s a poetic label, but slightly misleading, because this is no frozen relic. It’s a home.
People still live here, still farm, still knit socks in bold colours to sell from their doorsteps.
When the snow comes, they move down to lower ground; when spring returns, so do they.
That rhythm, up in summer, down in winter, is the heartbeat of this mountain.
What I Took Home
I left Lukomir with my drone and camera full and my head quiet.
There’s something humbling about a place that asks nothing from you but attention. In a world obsessed with speed, Lukomir teaches slowness, not as an indulgence, but as a way of seeing.
If you ever find yourself in Bosnia and Herzegovina, make the journey.
Come kindly, walk gently, and bring curiosity instead of expectations.
The mountain will meet you halfway.
