Ice, Rock, and Winter Light
After the recent snowfall, I took the familiar road from Mostar toward Konjic, a drive I’ve done countless times, yet one that never really feels the same twice. This time, winter had quietly reshaped everything. The snow had already begun to melt, but the cold lingered, turning runoff into ice and decorating the landscape in a way that felt both raw and fragile. Almost immediately after leaving Mostar, the scenery started to shift. The bare rock faces of the Neretva canyon stood tall and imposing, their layered limestone walls dusted with snow. Above them, Cvrsnica and Prenj mountains rose sharply against a deep blue sky, their ridgelines white and clean, catching the low winter sun.
Driving through the tunnels was like entering another world. Inside, long icicles hung from the concrete arches, formed by days of melting snow followed by freezing nights. Some were thin and delicate, others thick and heavy, shimmering faintly in the filtered daylight at the tunnel exits. Water still dripped in places, instantly freezing where it touched cold surfaces, a reminder that winter wasn’t quite ready to let go.
As the road wound deeper into the canyon, the landscape opened up in moments. The Neretva flowed quietly below. Old railway bridges and viaducts clung to the rock faces, dusted with snow, blending history and nature into one frozen scene. It’s impossible not to slow down here, not just because of the road, but because every turn feels worth looking at twice.
What struck me most was the silence. Even with cars passing, the mountains felt still. Snow clung to ledges and trees on Prenj’s slopes, while darker rock cut through the white in sharp lines. This in-between moment has its own kind of beauty. Everything feels temporary, as if the landscape knows it will soon change again.
By the time I reached Konjic, the light had softened and the ice began to glisten more than sparkle. Winter was already loosening its grip, but traces of it remained everywhere, in the tunnels, on the cliffs, high on the mountains. It was a reminder of why this stretch of road never gets old: it doesn’t just take you from one place to another, it tells a different story every time you pass through it.
