Two days ago we walked the walls and streets of the old city of Dubrovnik, Croatia. It is positively humming with life, with every accent on the planet, good food, beautifully restored buildings, and stands as a proud testamant to the people of Croatia and all of its history. It is a beautiful old city. But, it bears the scars. Walls are pock-marked with bullet and shrapnel damage from the 1990’s war that the city was engulfed in, and maps show the extent of damage done during those days. The same city walls that were blasted from a seaborne assault now carry tourists, and cafes and bars. It’s a fascinating juxtaposition.

And then yesterday we visited the city of Mostar, in neighbouring Bosnia-Herzegovina. This city too, brims with life and energy, built along the banks of the beautiful Neretva River that flows through its centre (with a little more force today after fierce storms lashed the region overnight). We walked with a local guide visiting street art in the city, along the way encountering the damage still evident here from that same war – where opposing forces faced off across the river, hurling destruction at one another. Where Dubrovnik’s old city has been largely rebuilt, here that’s not yet always the case – streets and buildings stand as mere shells, bearing witness to the horrors that happened here in the 90’s. Beautiful street art calls the city to new life, right across the street from crumbling hulks that 30+ years on tell a story.

I’m not sure what to make of it all. The challenge of unpacking centuries of human cultural conflict? The ability of people all over the world to be violent and cruel in pursuit of power, or money, or ideology? Or the determination that means no matter what, we always find a way to emerge, and to pursue life and love and happiness?

The conflicts that engulf this region are still in living memory. One person we spoke to told us her mother was pregnant during the war. Another who escaped with their parents to Norway, only to return years later. These are real people who lived through things we barely understand.

I don’t have a nicely bound conclusion here, just the recognition that every place has a story, and a history. Some of it is cruel, and violent and shocking. And some tells of determination, and possibility and peace. Those themes are true all over the world, it seems. I pray to be part of the latter, not the former.

Turns out being a tourist is not only about beautiful views, good food, and fun times.