Faces of Bosnia & Herzegovina
Most tourists visit Bosnia and Herzegovina as a quick day trip from Dubrovnik or Split in Croatia. But there is so much more to this country than just a brief stop at the iconic Stari Most Bridge in Mostar. I spent a week exploring Bosnia and Herzegovina and was fortunate to experience both its historic, culturally rich cities as well as its breathtaking natural landscapes: from the cascading Kravice Waterfalls to the remote highland mountains of Bjelašnica.
To capture more authentic moments, I joined two incredible local photographers during my journey. I spent a day spent exploring the capital city, Sarajevo, with Naida from Dharma Photography and an overnight trip to Bosnia’s most isolated village with Mustafa from Sarajevo Photography Tours. Guided by their local knowledge, I was able to connect with people on a human level through translated conversations. Along the way, strangers welcomed me with genuine curiosity, shared glasses of apple juice, and generously invited me into their daily lives.
Despite a harrowing recent history that still casts a shadow over the region, the people I met radiated warmth, humor, and a deep pride in their heritage. From master craftsmen preserving centuries-old traditions to everyday locals just going about their day, this series of portraits offers a glimpse into the enduring soul of Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Two things you’ll notice in these photos:
The Traditional Headscarf
Among older women, particularly in rural mountain areas and historical neighborhoods, you’ll frequently see lightweight headscarves (Šamija) tied under the chin or at the back of the neck. Unlike religious attire worn elsewhere, these scarves are a traditional staple of Slavic and Balkan regional heritage, worn daily to protect against the mountain elements, keep dust away while working, and preserve modesty.
The Coppersmith Trade and the Ritual of Ćejf
Throughout Sarajevo and local cafes, you’ll notice small copper coffee sets being sold and used, composed of the džezva (a small copper pot with a long handle), fildžan (a small ceramic cup), and tabla (a copper tray). The intricate floral and geometric designs are hammered entirely by hand, reflecting centuries of Ottoman metalworking heritage. More than just a drink, sipping coffee slowly is one representation of the Bosnian concept of ćejf: the art of slowing down, being present, and savoring a single moment without rush.
During my week in Bosnia and Herzegovina, I spent a night in its highest and most isolated village: Lukomir. I was there on an overnight photo tour with Mustafa from Sarajevo Photography Tours, capturing life in a community high above the clouds.
It’s a semi-nomadic settlement of about 100 people who live here just a few months a year. Outside of the months between May and October, heavy snows block the roads and force a move down to lower elevations for the winter.
Historically, life in Lukomir centered on high-altitude sheep herding, subsistence agriculture, and small-scale woodcraft. Today, while sheep still scale the steep hillsides, tourism has become the primary source of income for many families.
Local women use local sheep’s wool to spin, dye, and hand-knit socks, slippers, sweaters, and other garments. But these items aren’t just for tourists; they are everyday mountain wear. Even on a warm day in late July, I noticed an elders couple both wearing their own hand-knitted wool socks.
I met this woman early in the morning, as she was starting to set out her handiwork for the day’s visitors. She proudly showed off her collection, suggesting different color combinations and inviting me behind her fence for a closer look. Along with heavy woolen socks and hats, her display featured delicate embroidered doilies and hand-knitted baby clothes.
I left her “store,” right outside her house, with two pairs of slipper socks for myself and a few more as gifts, a small piece of Lukomir’s living heritage to take back home.
One of my favorite days of the week was spent walking around Sarajevo with Naida from Dharma Photography. Our first stop was to visit one of the city’s historic market, Gradska Tržnica Markale, where we met Hamza.
Hamza sat behind his meat counter with a warm, welcoming presence. He talked with Naida about his background and explained that during the Bosnian War in the 90s, he served as an army commandant, defending the besieged city.
He also shared that his ancestors originally came from Turkey 250 years ago during the Ottoman era, a heritage he honored with his bright red fez cap with “Türkiye” stitched across the front. While this type of hat is synonymous with Ottoman heritage, the fez has become an integral part of traditional Bosnian national dress, eventually evolving into an everyday symbol of local urban culture and identity.
Hanging on the wall directly behind Hamza was the flag featuring the Bosnian lily which served as the official emblem and coat of arms for the independent Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina from 1992 to 1998. For Hamza and many who lived through the siege, the shield likely remains a powerful symbol of historic sovereignty, survival, and national pride.
He gave me samples of thinly sliced cured meats, and in turn, I bought a few vacuum-sealed packs to bring home in my suitcase.
Wandering through the old town streets of Sarajevo, I stepped into a colorful and cozy shop called Bosnian Fairy Tale. Inside, I met Sara who was busy painting at a desk. The first thing I noticed was the heavy metal music playing in the room, which she quickly turned down. And although it was a striking contrast to the fairytale aesthetic, it seemed fitting for Sara’s edgy style, with her barbed-wire chain necklaces, stud piercings, and an acoustic guitar hanging on the wall. She’s a great representation of the vibrant youth culture that thrives alongside Sarajevo’s deep historical roots (and she happens to be the only young person included in my “Faces” series here).
Sara was focused on meticulously hand-painting intricate miniature wooden doors. She explained that traditional Bosnian houses, particularly during the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian eras, were characterized by stark white walls paired with vibrant, colorful wooden doors and window shutters. This lovely shop crafts and paints these decorative wooden doors to honor that historic architecture.
As we were talking, Sara showed a genuine interest in my photography, after noticing the camera strapped across my chest. I shared a few shots from earlier that day, and although I hadn’t initially planned on asking for a portrait, our conversation created a natural opening. She happily agreed to let me capture her at work surrounded by her painting supplies, before I purchased one of the small wooden doors to take home.
In the heart of Sarajevo’s old town, Naida and I met Abdullah, the owner and master craftsman behind Manufaktura, easily one of the cutest stores in town. While most visitors naturally seek out copper goods along Kazandžiluk, Sarajevo’s famous “Coppersmith Street,” Abdullah’s shop sits just across the road from the iconic Sebilj fountain.
For centuries in Bosnia (and in particular in Sarajevo), artisans shaped raw copper into essential household items, such as coffee sets and ornate serving trays. Today, genuine hand-chiseled copper is an increasingly rare art, as cheaper, factory-made versions have flooded tourist shops.
Abdullah warmly invited us inside and gave us a live demonstration of his craft. It was interesting to watch the tedious nature of his work. By using a small hammer and chisels, he tapped intricate, delicate patterns directly into the metal, completely by hand. The finished copper plates framed on his walls—including the etching of the Sebilj fountain seen behind him, are a reminder of the patience, skill, and soul that goes into genuine local craftsmanship. Before leaving, I bought a copper bracelet featuring one of his handmade designs as a special keepsake for myself.
On the path back through Lukomir, Mustafa and I ran into Vejsil, an elderly villager sitting on a block of wood beside a massive pile of timber. He was focused on a simple, precise task: stretching a tape measure around a log to calculate exactly how many traditional wooden spoons he could carve from it. He explained that crafting a single spoon now takes him an entire day of painstaking hand labor.
Vejsil and his wife, Rahima, have lived in these mountains their whole lives, marrying back in 1962. Vesil recounted how, in his youth, he and his friends would traverse the pitch-black mountain canyons at night to visit a nearby village for social gatherings and to court Rahima. They carried burning wooden logs to light their path along the way. While the couple now moves down to a lower-elevation village during the harsh winter months to be near their six children, Lukomir remains their true home.
While Rahima knits wool gloves and slippers for visitors, Vejsil continues the handmade tradition of mountain woodworking. As we walked away, Rahima was stepping in to help him chop the log—a sweet moment showing a partnership built over six decades of shared mountain life.
(Read my full article on Vajsil, Rahima, and their life in Lukomir here).
Walking through the picturesque town of Konjic just after 9:00 in the morning, I spotted a scene that made me pause. A local man sat comfortably at an outdoor cafe, contentedly smoking a cigarette and sipping a cold beer. Underneath his seat lay a black dog, relaxing just as comfortably as the man was.
Initially, I just walked on by. But wandering back through the area about ten minutes later, he caught my eye and gave a friendly wave. That warm gesture was all the encouragement I needed to stop, chat, and ask if I could take his portrait. He quietly agreed.
His relaxed posture exemplifies a cultural concept in Bosnia and Herzegovina called ćejf (pronounced ch-eyf). This word doesn’t have a good English translation, but essentially, it’s about doing something purely for your own personal enjoyment, at your own pace, without care for productivity, schedules, or the judgment of others.
Whether it’s taking two hours to drink a single cup of coffee, sitting by the river in complete silence, or enjoying a cold morning beer, ćejf is a way to be intentional and present for Bosnians.
Here was a man with absolutely no rush to his day and no self-consciousness about a morning beer. He was simply living in the moment, fully immersed in his morning ritual along the Neretva River.
Just across from Sarajevo’s historic Latin Bridge on the banks of the Miljacka River, I stumbled upon a park where men were gathered to play a game of chess. There, in At Mejdan Park, there was a giant outdoor chessboard painted on the pavement.
I stopped to watch a match in progress and caught this man frozen mid-decision, hand resting against his cheek as he carefully calculated his next move. It was towards the end of the game, and at this point, I think he realized he was doomed. With a small crowd watching his every step, he made his move, picking up one of the oversized pieces.
In the end, he lost the game, but he remained a good sport, shaking the hand of his opponent. He then stepped aside as the next challenger got up from the nearby bench and moved towards the board.
Capturing this deliberative moment was a reminder of how these public games aren’t really about winning or losing. They’re about community and friendship, shared laughter, and the timeless rhythm of everyday life in Bosnia and Herzegovina’s capital city.
While exploring the historic streets of Mostar, just a few steps from my Airbnb, I stumbled upon a warm and inviting bakery called Palestinska kuća (Palestinian House). Behind the counter stood a woman with a gentle, welcoming smile, serving freshly baked goods that bring a taste of Middle Eastern culinary tradition to Herzegovina.
The relatively new bakery has quickly carved out a unique space in Mostar’s food scene, offering a distinct contrast to the city’s traditional local pekaras. They are particularly famous for their gooey cinnamon rolls (apparently available in six different flavors), alongside a variety of savory specialty breads. When I arrived around 1:20 PM on a scorching 104°F (40°C) Friday, every type of cinnamon roll was already sold out except for vanilla. She explained with a laugh that despite the relentless heatwave outside, visitors had been steadily coming in all morning.
I ordered a flatbread seasoned with za’atar, an aromatic blend of wild thyme, sesame, and sumac that offered a unique flavor profile I’ve only encountered a few times in my travels. And, of course, I couldn’t skip the famous cinnamon roll, which was possibly one of the best I’ve ever had. The woman behind the counter proudly showed me the Palestinian artwork decorating the walls, and before I left, she kindly agreed to pose for a portrait behind her display case.
While exploring the bustling bazaar in Mostar’s old town, I walked into an art studio located right along the main thoroughfare, among rows of souvenir shops. After walking in, I met Salko Batlak, a lifelong Mostar painter quietly working at a table coated in years of dried paint splatters.
Salko didn’t speak much English, but an assistant greeted me and allowed me to look around. The man explained to me that Salko works steadily, often averaging 10 to 15 original watercolors a day. Most of these paintings feature the emblematic Stari Most Bridge.
This was actually my second time stepping into the shop. The night before, a woman working the desk explained that art runs deep in Salko’s blood: his late father, Nijaz Batlak (1932–2004) was also a renowned local artist who spent decades painting Mostar in rich oils on canvas.
Carrying on his family’s creative legacy, Salko chose watercolors. Framing his workbench were certificates from the Mostar Association of Artists, recognizing decades of his contributions to the city’s living cultural landscape. He is the real deal.
After watching him work for a short time, I bought one of his original watercolors of the Old Bridge: a tangible piece of Mostar crafted by an artist whose family has documented the beauty of this city for generations.
During my photo tour of Sarajevo with Naida, we made an important historic stop at Markale Market. Stepping inside, it looked like any other bustling farmer’s market: rows of fruit stands, produce piled high, and colorful flowers brightening up the stalls. As we wandered, a few locals also moved between stalls shopping for their daily groceries.
If you just stepped in off the street, you’d never guess the tragic history of this space. Naida explained that twice during the Siege of Sarajevo (first on February 5, 1994, and again on August 28, 1995), mortar shells fired from the surrounding hills struck this market, claiming the lives of over 100 civilians who were simply trying to buy food for their families during a perilous time.
I stopped to buy some bananas and nectarines from this fruit seller. Directly behind him stood a striking red glass memorial wall, etched with the names of the massacre victims.
Today, Markale remains a functioning marketplace rather than a silent monument. Life, community, and trade continue exactly where tragedy once occurred. Seeing vendors like this man who set up their stalls every morning against a heartbreaking backdrop is a powerful testament to Sarajevo’s enduring spirit. Here, history is deeply remembered, but daily life moves still forward.
In Bosnia and Herzegovina, every bridge, cobblestone street, and coffee cup carries a story waiting to be heard.