rafting on the naretva river | herzegovina

There's one thing that any person interested in a career in the Foreign Service will hear often and from just about every officer they meet: It's not just a job; it's a lifestyle.

When I was a kid, I asked my mom if she dreamed of being an accountant when she was my age. Was it her dream job? She kind of laughed and said no. That she had a good job that she enjoyed doing that earned her enough money to make the best living she could for us. And that was enough. But I didn't like that answer. I wanted a career that I would be passionate about. I looked at careers like I did love at that age - I figured there was one perfect job for everyone. That it was just meant to be and you'd know when you know.

I remember reading a magazine in high school - or college, maybe. I paged through what I think was a celebrity interview. The A-lister said that above all else, everyone should find what they were born to do and pursue it with all they have. It doesn't sound like very special advice, but I lingered on those words, and I've thought of them often in the years since. What was I born to do? I've searched for that answer. Even if we're not celebrities or known around the world for being the very best at something - I do believe that we're all born to do something, that we have something unique to give.

I've learned a lot this summer. I've learned about what the day-to-day job is like for a Foreign Service Officer. I've learned about Embassy life - how you should always make friends with your IT officers and with the kitchen staff. I've learned that the people you work with probably matter far more than where you're posted. I've learned that "hierarchy" and "bureaucracy" are two of the most defining - and reviled - words of this industry. I've learned that getting out of the office makes the work we do at the computer infinitely stronger and more valuable. I've learned that no matter what happens in the office, everyone - for the most part - is there for each other outside of it.

But mostly, I've learned that I was born to be a Foreign Service Officer. Writing it feels self-indulgent, but it's a feeling that I don't ever want to shake. I love doing this work. I love getting up every day and going to the office. I love being busy. I love learning about a country - the ins and outs of its political system and its history, its breathtaking beauty and it's cringe-worthy flaws. I love being a part of something bigger than I am, of serving my country, of improving diplomatic relations, of interacting with local people in cultures that are brand new to me.

I've only been doing this for two and half months, and I won't be an official officer for another year. I have so, so much more to learn. But that piece of advice that everyone gives - I get it. It isn't just a job. It is a lifestyle. To leave your home and family and friends behind. To miss birthdays and funerals and weddings and births and so many big life events back in the States. To move every 2-3 years. To struggle through learning new languages and adapting to foreign cultures. It's a sacrifice and a privilege and most certainly a lifestyle. It's a lifestyle that fills me up, that brings out my best self, that allows me to revel in my thirst for life and adventure and new experiences. It's a job that I'm passionate about in part because it's a lifestyle I love.

Rafting on the Naretva River a few weeks ago with colleagues and friends, I found myself thinking over and over, "This life is pretty damn good."

all sorts of terrain | mostar

In all the years that Ellie and I have been friends - 11 of them! - we only traveled together for the first time a few weeks ago. When I shot her an email at the beginning of the summer singing Bosnia's praises and saying she should come visit, I didn't expect her to jump at the chance like she did. She found a ticket from New York to Zagreb, Croatia for just over $600, and we started planning a weekend in this neck of the world together.

We met up in Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina's crown jewel. Lucky for us, her sister Christian decided to come last minute, and my roommate this summer Ana joined us, too. The four of us had a rough itinerary - a handful of places and sights we knew we wanted to see. They were all incredible - from the ruins of Poticelj to the truly awe-inspiring Dervish Monastery in Blagaj to the out of this world beauty of Kravice Waterfalls. But my favorite things weren't in the guidebooks or on our itinerary. We stumbled upon them while wandering, while walking and talking and drinking wine and making memories.

One was an old red truck parked in front of Nuic Winery. The red was in perfect sync with the green of the vines behind it and the fading blue of mountains in the distance. There was construction off to the side and a mechanic's shop around the corner. The truck wasn't intentionally left there to add to the image of a rustic winery. It was there to haul things, to make it over the uneven terrain to get work done in the fields and in the shops. As we were reminded at another winery that day - most things that look romantic at a vineyard, at least at a vineyard here in BiH - take an extraordinary amount of hard work - of manual labor. That truck was perfect because it wasn't posed. Wineries here are a work in progress. I found being at the beginning of something, seeing it raw and dirty and rough around the edges, absolutely captivating.

On Saturday evening we walked through Mostar to find a craft beer festival we had heard about. The walk took us by the famous Stari Most bridge and near war-torn buildings and through a market area. Ana and I were drawn to a little shop run by a local artist. His paintings lined the shelves. We each bought one, and it felt personal - a very special souvenir by an artist I'll remember. We missed the beer festival, but we saw sidewalk popcorn stands and two brothers peddling pedicabs, the older holding the younger's hand across the space between their steering wheels, making sure he could keep up.

We passed a cemetery on a quiet residential street. I noticed after the first few graves that each life ended in 1992, the year of the siege of Mostar. Some tombstones were elaborate and others nothing but a bed of rocks to quietly mark the loss of a loved one. A fresh bouquet of flowers rested on one plot that was overrun with weeds, no tombstone present. The wounds of the war are fresh still, scars still visible. I hoped for peace for the families and a new, beautiful future for this country - one that honors those who died in the atrocious fight to carve it up.

I loved, too, a lunch that Ellie, Christian, Ana, and I had on a cloudy, rainy morning. We found a sidewalk grill and ordered burgers and cevapi. We ate at a table under the cover of an umbrella. "A one-star meal with a 5-star view," Christian said, echoing a sentiment Ellie's and her parents often expressed on trips growing up. We sat by a bridge, the view spanning the dramatic, crystal clear Naretva River and mountains for days.

It was a weekend of making new friends and catching up with old ones. Of drinking wine straight from the barrel and acting silly, having serious conversations, exploring new places, and eating new foods. Mostar easily wormed its way into my heart, but this weekend was all about the company. 

my voice of fearlessness | kravice waterfalls

I always experience a moment of fear before jumping into a new-to-me body of water. A lake, a river, a swimming hole - there's a moment of hesitation, like taking the plunge means more than literally diving into the water. I had that moment at Kravice - a stunning, truly spectacular series of waterfalls that form a near semicircle around a translucent, tealish blue-green swimming hole.

I found the perfect spot to enter the water. I know people swim there often - they cliff jump, too, off the moss and grass covered rocks that jut out several feet from the various falls. But nobody was in the water - yet - that morning. There was no "I will if you will." It was just me. The water was ice cold and so clear that Christian - my college roommate Ellie's sister - saw a water snake slither through cracks in the rocks below. That didn't calm my nerves.

I joked to Ellie that were my mom with us, she'd have already dove in . She'd be teasing us for our unfounded nerves and our fear of - watch out! - cold water. With that thought - my mom's fearless voice in my head, I finally jumped in.

I spent the morning swimming, taking photos in the falls, carefully sidestepping rocks and navigating slippery boulders, and just taking in the entire experience. It was profoundly special to be in that water alone - just the falls and the fish and the moss and me. It felt like one of those truly once-in-a-lifetime experiences. It was every reason why I travel, why I explore. It felt hidden, nearly secret, like a place so special I wanted to shout it to the world and keep it all for the four of us there that day.

I knew I had to cliff jump. I say it's an activity I love - and I had talked up my excitement over doing it here. Climbing up the giant boulder to get to the jumping point made me reconsider. My heart pounded as I crept up slowly - barefoot, literally rock climbing, the path slippery and wild, brush and weeds sliding up my shins and mud and dirt creeping between my toes. If I slipped - a possibility that felt too real in the moment - the only option was falling straight down to treacherous rocks - not a fun natural waterslide but a painful pinball game in which my head is the ball.

At the top, finally, I couldn't see down to the water, couldn't see where I would land when I jumped. It was only a 7-meter jump or so, maybe 25 feet. But for about the millionth time this summer, I had the realization that 29 is not at all like 21 - or even 24. Or however old I was the last time I thought these shenanigans were a good idea. I hesitated so long at the top that a local guy who was rowing Ana out to the rock in a canoe to grab a photo of me doing said jump stripped down and scaled that "treacherous" rock in about 10 seconds flat to show me how it's done... Twice. He had to demonstrate it twice for me. That's embarrassing - but it was comforting to see him survive.

As I hemmed and hawed, trying to psych myself up, my mom's voice popped in my head again. If she were there, she'd have swam out to watch and be yelling for me to jump - to be careful! - but to jump. With that thought - my mom's fearless voice in my head - I finally jumped in. Maybe 29 isn't so far from 21 after all.

After all my moments of hesitation - getting into the water initially and jumping into it from that rock - I couldn't will myself out of it at the end of the day. I couldn't pull myself away from the up-close sight of those spectacular falls. I kept dunking my head in the water - telling myself I'd get out and dry off this time - only to swim right back out towards those thundering falls.

Swimming - mostly alone again, I kept thinking about my mom's fearlessness. She has an uncanny way of making things seem safe and normal that give me pause and make my heart pound faster. She's never met a body of water she's scared to jump into. It's her ability to chart her own course, to get into - and out of - sticky situations, and her contagious, big spirit that give me permission - encourage me - tell me it's okay - to set off into the unknown. I live for adventure not because I'm fearless but because she constantly shows me that most of the very best things in life require us to take a deep breath and just dive in.  

right here right now | a cafe in mostar

Lately, I've often found myself wistfully thinking, "I wish this were it. I with it weren't an internship. I wish this were my job, my first post. I wish this were real life."

Sitting at a cafe in Mostar - often called Bosnia and Herzegovina's most beautiful city, potted plants on the walkway trellis, a tea in my hand, I thought it again. I felt that way again. And I have got to stop.

If that were true, I'd have wished this summer away - wished right past the work I'm enjoying, the relationships I'm building. I would've wished past Zan's and my two-week trip through Croatia later this summer. I would've wished past solo traveling through Slovenia. I'd have wished through Scandal nights with girlfriends this fall and patio brunches after the snow melts and the sun sneaks out next spring. I would've wished past my 30th birthday - and my god, I may forget that it happens for other reasons, but I certainly don't want to wish it away. I would've wished past the classes I can't wait to take and all the learning I have left to do. I would've wished past A-100, the basic training for Foreign Service Officers. I would've wished past the emotion of receiving my first bid list and combing through it with Zan, imagining what our lives would be like in dozens of different countries. I would've wished past my first flag day - that day, with my mom and Zan, my friends and my family, with my heart pounding, butterflies fluttering - when I'll find out where my first post will be.

I'm in love with this summer. It's a summer romance with Sarajevo, a passionate affair with the mountains of Bosnia and the vineyards of Herzegovina. I'm crazy about every bit of this experience and this place - about how I feel more me and more confident than I've been in too long. I'm at peace, and it's easy to cling to this incredible moment right now and wish it could last longer than it will. But all that wishing washes away too much damn life I have to live between now and this time next year.

So I'm embracing right here and right now. Next year will come fast - and I want to focus on living it instead of wishing it away. 

your life story in 4 minutes

"It's one of those days when it'll rain if we go, and it won't if we go home."

So we did both.

We hailed a cab, the wine bottles clinking in our backpacks and totes - an anticipatory toast. We rode all the way to the Yellow Fortress. Those heavy, dark clouds followed us up, greeting us with hints of raindrops at the top. My favorite spot in the city, with that view that held me captive just a few weeks ago, that view that tugged at me to stay all day, to make a home out of dirt and trees and ground and sky - it was a restaurant. That small cafe I had smiled at then was now an institution, tables lining the length of the semicircle ruins. As it was days before Ramadan in a predominantly Muslim area, we drank in the view instead of the wine, then made our way down the steep road back to town, into a taxi, and all the way to the gazebo in our yard.

We poured wine and ate meats and cheeses and turned the 36 questions on the way to love into a game. We asked and answered - finding our commonalities and enjoying our differences. We told our life stories in 4 minutes, falling in love with friendship and the shared experience of this summer, of being in this place - this city with its fortress cafes and sidewalk cafes and homemade patio cafes.

To know each other gave context for our ticks and neuroses, our actions and inaction. Knowing each other, I realized that night, replaces judgment with understanding, eye rolls with compassion. To know someone is to create space for them in our hearts, to more easily forgive because we know their motivations. We start to defend them instead of assume the worst. To get to know someone is to call them friend.

Only the clouds were gray that night.

{photos: a monday night at kino bosna}

the moments that fill me up

More than adrenaline or adventure, more than a new story or a stamp in my passport, I chase the moments that fill me up. It's those moments that make me feel like a little balloon is inflating right in my heart. Everything comes more alive in me. It's a high. A spiritual, emotional, and mental high. It's emotional. I'm emotional. It's like an endorphin rush. Like the almost dizzy, out of focus, fuzzy head feeling of falling in love. It's happiness that can't be contained, and you'd never want to try. It's the last few minutes of a long run, when I can spot the finish line - or a hard workout when my vision clears and I get pumped up, determined to finish strong. It's a long weekend reunion with friends I haven't seen for years, around whom it's impossible to be anything but wholly and imperfectly myself. It's those friendships that are so deep they feel like a part of my soul. It's what my friend Melanie calls a happiness hangover. It's the moment at the top of a roller coaster before the sudden drop - that one incredible instant of anticipation. It's the silly "I love everyone" phase of a wine night with close friends. It's recognition for killing it at work, after it felt like the work might kill me. It's receiving the admission letter to my dream school. It's holidays with my family after being away for so long. It's emerging out of a forest onto a mountain peak - that first view around me.

And it's some places in this world. It's without rhyme or reason. It doesn't usually happen at the Eiffel Towers or the Great Walls but at the taste of a local specialty, the warmth of strangers, the sight of an animal I never knew existed or had only seen in movies. It's the feel of the sun, that burns differently on each continent. It's the unexpected moments, the rural villages, the first time seeing a new landscape, the charming wine bar in a new city, the heart-stopping shock of plunging into an ice cold lake. 

I live in search of the moments and the people that fill me up. 

skakavac hiking guide, sorta

There's only one road towards Skakavac, Bosnia's tallest waterfall, situated just 7.5 miles outside Sarajevo. At 320 feet tall, the waterfall, whose name means "grasshopper" in Bosnian, is a quintessential destination for tourists and locals, alike. When I set out to hike it with a few friends, I had a difficult time finding a trail guide. So hey, I thought, why don't I write one?

Most hikers drive up the mountain, parking their cars in front of Dragan's - an incredible mountain hut restaurant and bar run by - you guesssed it - a man named Dragan. Without a car, the hike is doable but much more demanding. A taxi will take you from Sarajevo to Dragan's if you're exceptionally lucky and to about a mile below Dragan's on the mountain road if you're just a normal amount of lucky. If you're not lucky at all, it'll drop you as soon as the road gets steep and leave you to climb the mountain. The taxi costs around 15km, or maybe $8. An even cheaper option is to hop on local bus 69 from Sutjeska in Sarajevo and take it to the end of the line. It will drop you off in Nahorevo, the town closest to the waterfall. There's pretty much only one road, and it leads straight up the mountain.

From Dragan's, signs point to a few different trails, and a trailmap proves helpful in visualizing how the hike should go. It can be done as a loop, and I recommend doing it that way. From Dragan's, continue straight down the road to head towards Skakavac - the gravel road will eventually turn into a true forest trail. You'll pass a spring or two - natural water fountains that stream the freshest, cleanest water you'll ever taste. You can use these to fill up your water bottles or repeatedly splash your face and head and clothes, if you're like me. You'll also pass a few signs confirming you're on the right path to the waterfall, one in what looks like a pretty nice camping area, complete with yurts.

After an hour or so, you'll come to a sign directing you to the left to the falls. After maybe 300 feet, there's a fork in the trail without signs. If you head left first (highly recommended), the short path ends at a fenced in overlook point of the top of the waterfall. After drinking it all in, retrace your steps, and - like a choose your own adventure book - take the other route this time. I can't stress enough that you should do the top of the falls first!

This trail climbs for just a few minutes before leveling out and then going into a long, steep descent. There are stairs for a chunk of it and a well-trodden, if slightly nerve-wracking (especially for any newer hikers) trail the rest of the way down. You'll hear the roar of the waterfall before you see it. The trail flattens out at the base of the falls. The view here... well, you'll have to hike it to see it.

It's possible to get into the falls, so to speak, in a small pool at the base. It's ice cold! Either way, be prepared to get wet. The spray will hit you even at a distance and will cool you off nicely if you step onto a small bridge that passes right in front of the waterfall. When I went, the bridge was broken and half submerged and very slippery.

There are 3 options back: up the way you came (hell on earth) and onwards on the trail that crosses over the falls - over one of two bridges (much easier!). You can cross over the broken bridge in front of the falls or walk down a set of earthen steps to reach a bridge below the falls. I suggest the latter - from that lower bridge, the view is spectacular. The trail loops around, and after about an hour and a half or so, dumps you back in front of Dragan's, where grilled sausages, Bosnian fried bread, cheese, and homemade rakija wait for you. I have to pause to say that the food is hand's down the best I've had in Sarajevo, and Dragan's homemade rakija - don't get me started. Dragan and his son, who helps run the place, are friendly as can be and speak English! As Dragan told me, "Hikers come through here and drink rakija with me and just say 'ciao!' and take a piece of my heart."

Getting back to Sarajevo is equally doable and exhausting. Taxis won't come up to get you - even if you call one say, 15 times. We ended up walking down from Dragan's to within a mile of Kosevo Stadium in Sarajevo before finding a taxi. According to my Stepz app, that put the total hike at about 10.5 miles.

The total loop from Dragan's takes about 3-4 hours - or 5 if you're me and stop to take 1,000,000 photos. Starting from a mile or so below Dragan's and walking back as close to Sarajevo as we did took about 9 hours in total (including a leisurely, late lunch). There is a fair amount of elevation gain on this hike - particularly if you start from below Dragan's. All three of us in my group were thoroughly exhausted by the time we got home. I'd rate the hike as moderate to challenging, depending on where you start. If you start up at Dragan's, it might be on the lower end of moderate.

Shockingly, I wasn't sore the next day. But really - the world might be ending!