Waiting for the road again

Winter has a different personality in Mostar. It’s not the postcard kind with heavy snow and fairy-tale rooftops. It’s quieter. Colder in a sharper, more stubborn way. The kind of cold that slips under your jacket when you cross the bridge too early in the morning, that hangs in the air above the Neretva like a pale mist. Some days the city feels almost paused. Bare trees. Empty cafés. That metallic winter light reflecting off the stone streets. I still go out, of course. Walks with Beni. Quick errands. Coffee stops. But everything feels slower. Heavier. Like the season is asking us to stay still for a while.

I catch myself daydreaming about open roads again, long drives, music playing, windows cracked just enough for warm air to rush in. Packing the car. Early morning departures. That feeling when the highway stretches out ahead and anything feels possible. I miss that. The movement. The sun. The simple freedom of traveling. So for now, I wait. I enjoy the quiet, the cold air, the smoky smell of chimneys in the evenings… but deep down I’m already counting the days until spring loosens its grip on the city.