Most of you reading these lines can say you grew up between the city and the village. You know how freshly cut grass smells, how a herd sounds on its way back from pasture, and what it looks like when a child joyfully runs after chickens in the yard. Today's children experience that less and less. And what truly worries us is that we who know it are becoming parents, grandmothers, and grandfathers from the city.
The child of the future more and more often sees a domestic animal only on a screen, through a cartoon, a social network, or, luckily, with those who found a reason to stay in the village and live as they can and as they are used to, allowing tourism to ease their days, bring new perspectives, and teach us to value what is homemade, local, and indigenous.
Neskovic Nursery – Bratunac
And that is why this is not only a story about the village, but about us. About whether we will forever close the door on one world, or turn it into an experience that changes and preserves.
Today, when a cow by the roadside is photographed as an attraction, and an egg from the henhouse becomes an "authentic experience," it is clear how far we have moved away. What used to be life is today a tourism product.
Photos: Kajmak from a sheepskin bag – Gacko, Gastro brochure – TORS, Nana Kaas goat farm, Gatacko cattle
And that is exactly where our chance lies. Small, but we have it. While most nations lose their connection with what is natural and real, we can preserve it through tourism. It is neglected, but not lost. Let us not let it fall apart; let us use it. Rural, the village.
Let us put the spotlight on those people. Let us build an offer of the authentic, and not because of a trend and the folklore of the crowd, but to meet the needs of the modern traveler and at the same time strengthen the economy of the person on their own land.
Photos: Velika Greda – Manjaca, Kovacevic Beekeeping – Trebinje, Canyoning on the Korana – Pecka/Mrkonjic Grad
The real value of tourism is not in what we can act out, but in what we truly are.
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Visegrad. Between stone and words.
I am currently working on the Tourism Development Strategy for the municipality of Visegrad. When you deal with the strategic planning of a destination, you inevitably face numbers, capacities and infrastructure. Visegrad has weight. Visegrad is anything but ordinary. That is why, for the first time since secondary school, I took The Bridge on the Drina down from the shelf. This time, I admit, not superficially and out of duty, not as a student, but as a tourism professional with decades of experience. And I realised one thing: Ivo Andric wrote the most important branding guide for this place that we will ever have. In school, Andric was an obligation — pages you flipped through with resistance, whether we admit it or not. Those were sentences whose weight I could not carry, because I was not old enough to understand what “duration” means. Then it was an assignment. Today, as I think about the concept of Visegrad’s tourism product, I read the same book with different eyes. The eyes of someone who understands that a destination must also be an emotion. Fotografija: Marko Radić The bridge of Visegrad, the masterpiece of Mehmed Pasa Sokolovic, is for some passers-by only a photogenic spot; for others it is proof that an individual can leave a work that outlives politics, borders and time. UNESCO recognition, which will soon mark twenty years, is an obligation, a status, and today also a marketing tool. Why an obligation? Because we are obliged to tell visitors about encounters, suffering and hope. We are obliged to pass on the emotion. Visegrad is anything but ordinary. We often forget the power of the fact that we have a Nobel laureate. That prestigious award, never repeated in these parts, confirms that the story of the Drina is universal — and Andric becomes the translator of our complex history into a language the world can understand. “A people remembers and retells what it can grasp and what it manages to turn into legend. Everything else passes it by without a deeper trace, with the indifference of nameless natural phenomena; it does not stir the imagination and does not remain in memory.” When a foreign visitor comes to Visegrad, they want to feel the universality of a small place and a great story. That is the essence of what we call “storytelling” in tourism. Andric left us a gold mine of stories; it is up to us to tell them in a way today’s guest understands. As I walk through Visegrad, I see layers that sometimes conflict, yet together form a complete offer. On one side there is the modest house of Andric’s childhood and his classroom — authentic witnesses to the forming of a genius. And there is the powerful green Drina. Fotografija: Marko Radić On the other side, at the mouth of the Rzav, stands Andricgrad. Emir Kusturica’s vision. Tourism today asks for content. Critics say Andricgrad commercialises the myth, but visitors find an experience there. Visegrad is anything but ordinary. Visegrad will not spoil you with a simple story. It offers the bridge as authenticity and Andricgrad as content. And it is precisely that blend of old and new, the silence of the bridge and the bustle of the town, that keeps the destination alive. As I write, I keep asking myself — and answering — the same questions. What is tourism, and what are we actually selling? Tourism does not ask for sterile beauty. It asks for authenticity. Depth. Emotion. Returning to Andric, I realised that a tourism development strategy must not be only about beds and roads. It must be about a return to understanding. Our task is to bring the guest to the bridge not for a selfie, but to feel what Andric wrote in the silence of wartime Belgrade: that, as he says, “life is an incomprehensible miracle that is constantly spent and worn away, and yet endures and stands firm, like the bridge on the Drina.” That is the value Visegrad holds. That is the value we must offer the world we want to bring here. And you — have you visited Visegrad lately, and have you felt the “weight” of time that Andric writes about?
Storytelling the Yugoslav way
The famous series Nase malo misto , filmed in the late sixties and early seventies, is best remembered by the boomer generation. But a line spoken in one episode by Boris Dvornik , as Roko , the hotel director, has remained universal: “What does tourism care about historical truth? That is what Roko asked, criticising a professor who caused a scandal while guiding a group of Germans by telling them that Germans had burned the houses above the church. The professor replies that it is historical truth , and Roko tells him: “What does tourism care about historical truth — and remember this: when you guide Germans, say the Italians burned them; when you guide Italians, say the Germans burned them; when the group is mixed, say the Americans did it; and if every nationality is in there, you understand, then say we burned them ourselves, we Balkan people — who else?” Through satire and humour, this dialogue hides a deep truth about tourism: as a social activity it has never been only physical travel, but also a play of perception, expectation and interpretation. What we would today call storytelling in tourism. Even then, half a century ago, it was clear that tourism lives on the story and on the way reality is presented to the visitor. HRT1, youtube print screen Today, when 50–60 times more people travel than in that period, the message is just as relevant. People want to rest, see and experience something new, but few want their holiday complicated by uncomfortable facts or a sense of insecurity. That is why tourism is still, first and foremost, storytelling: choosing how history, culture, identity and the local way of life are best interpreted through the experience of conveying an impression to visitors. In that sense, authenticity is the key . Stories must be attractive and emotional, yet faithful enough to make a destination recognisable and distinctive. Precisely in that balance between comfort and truth, pleasure and knowledge, lies the greatest challenge of modern tourism. Although many, out of ignorance or an attempt to dismiss it, reduce tourism to mere transport and accommodation, it is far more than that. It is, in fact, a carefully designed combination of experience, education and emotion. Its true strength lies in interpretation — then, in the days of Nase malo misto , and today. The way we tell the story determines how visitors will experience it.
Example: Service with vision
There are two approaches to service in tourism, where I would put the emphasis less on business models and more on the philosophy of experience. One example could be, say, Cappadocia and a balloon flight. From the experience of those who have been there, it is a carefully designed experience in which many people take part. From the drivers who pick you up at dawn, the guides who bring you into the story, the photographers who know exactly when to catch the shot, to the teams who take care of safety and balloon preparation, and the hosts who greet you with breakfast and a smile. Everyone has a role. Everyone earns. Everyone contributes. In that chain, every person is a link of value. Photo: EyeEm/Getty Images And then you have those other examples, where one provider wants to do everything alone. Drive, greet, photograph, guide, offer lunch, sell souvenirs, and even do negative advertising against others. Everything under their logo, everything under their direction. Those are diametrically opposite approaches. And as much as I respect resourcefulness, I respect trust more. I respect it more when someone says, let's all earn together. Tourism is not a solo business. When, even in one experience, however short, space is left for everyone who made it possible to earn, then we are talking about a sustainable offer. Then tourism is what hosts live, not only what guests see. Also, when we offer a service in tourism, it must come with a vision of the tourist's final feeling. Because tourism is a process, continuity, and trust. Photo: fotografijesaraftinga.com And why service with vision? Because tourism is not only about what we offer, but about how we do it. Ideas can be small or large in size, but tourists value and count most on those that are large in the feeling they bring. Maybe the second example from the beginning of the text reminds you more of the "rules of work" here, but not everything is like that. There are ideas that simply deserve praise because they make a stay more practical. One of them is a creative offer that appeared on Tara rafting: " photos that are ready and waiting for you before you have even collected yourself after the impressions ". No rush. No complications and no question of "is there one where I look good?" Everything is already ready. It is enough to know when you will go down the river, which camp you are starting from, and with which skipper, and your most exciting moments will be waiting for you, because someone else captured what you will only later try to tell in words. This is the kind of detail from the beginning of the text that makes the difference. I love them. And that is why, as far as I am concerned, bravo for the idea of " rafting photos ". Not because of marketing, but because of the feeling that you have truly understood the people who come.