The August sun beat down mercilessly as we climbed the winding hill toward Lukomir, and all we could hear echoing through the Rakitnica Canyon were the bells strung around cows’ necks. A mere 15 families live in Bosnia and Herzegovina’s highest settlement, and while that might not sound like much, it’s a big jump up from the 1950s, when only two families did.
The village managed to get through the Bosnian War of the ‘90s relatively unscathed, so it functions almost like a time capsule—albeit one without essential amenities like a market, school, doctor, or shop. Each winter, heavy snowfall forces Lukomir’s inhabitants to abandon their mountain homes, a pattern of seasonal migration that began more than 600 years ago when semi-nomadic tribes of shepherds and their families would move to the village with their large flocks of sheep in search of water and warmth.
But over the last decade, the villagers have discovered tourism—or tourism has, at least, found them. And so when they return every summer to carry out medieval traditions and Muslim religious celebrations, they now also welcome hikers from around the world with beer and a special, flaky pastry called burek pie.
Burek, the national dish of Bosnia, is a snail-shaped filo pastry filled with everything from spinach and cheese to beef mince or potatoes. Burek pie, however, is slightly different. It’s traditionally filled with spinach or cheese and is cooked under a sač, which is something like a metal or ceramic lid.
It can be found in most restaurants and all Bosnian homes, but our tour guide said we needed to try it in Lukomir for the full experience.
Photo by Natasha Bazika
I was on an eight-day tour through Bosnia with Intrepid Travel, which launched its first group tour through the Balkan country in 2023. Unlike its more famous neighboring countries, Croatia and Slovenia, Bosnia is still finding its footing in the tourism industry as it recovers from the violent breakup of Yugoslavia.
Most of the country’s tourism comes from nearby countries, with Turkey and Saudi Arabia accounting for another 13%, according to a 2023 report. That being said, over the course of the last two years, Intrepid Travel, a small group adventure travel company, has seen an uptick in travelers from the US, Australia, and the UK, who are looking to get a taste of this overlooked destination.
Three hours earlier, we’d dropped our bags at Pansion Umoljani, one of four quaint guesthouses in the small village of Umoljani, where we planned on staying the night. The village flooded during the war but was quickly rebuilt by the government, who saw its tourism potential. Today, there are four cheat-style guesthouses and one charming a-frame cabin, all perched on rolling pastures, near mountain biking and hiking trails. It’s ridiculously picturesque and serves as an ideal starting point for the hike to Lukomir.
Photo by Natasha Bazika
The air grew colder as we trudged deeper into the mountains. The trail, while well-marked in some places, demanded the expert guidance of Robert Sertic, a Croatian-Bosnian, who leads tours through Bosnia and Herzegovina. For instance, a signpost indicated Lukomir was two-and-a-half hours away, though it was actually closer to three. Despite the rocky climbs and slippery descents, the mountain views were worth it, seeming to stretch on forever. That said, it was hard to avoid tripping over rocks or falling off the cliff as we navigated the uneven ground.
“We’re almost there!” Sertic encouraged, before gathering us in the shade for a brief respite. He pulled out a water bottle filled with rakija, a potent fruit brandy popular in the Balkans that some in our group thought tasted like straight ethanol. We took small sips and then poured some on our wrists, a technique Sertic explained could help cool our bodies.
Either it worked, or I had convinced myself it did.
Photo by Natasha Bazika
After scrambling up a rocky ledge, we surfaced at the village’s entrance, guarded by a stone shack with a roof made of stitched-together scrap metal. Behind it was a graveyard of stećci, 14th-century tombstones found throughout Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Today, the village itself has 50 homes, though only 21 are inhabited. The traditional structures, made from stone and maple trees, have steeply pitched roofs designed to shed snow, while the abandoned ones have collapsed roofs and hollowed insides. It’s a stark contrast to the main street which was teeming with life.
Lukomir’s villagers sat outside their homes, knitting socks and beanies under the sun. They strung them across fences and thresholds like Christmas ornaments, enticing hikers to buy their handmade products. A few members of our group purchased mittens as souvenirs.
Photo by Natasha Bazika
There are a handful of restaurants in the village, most of which are guesthouses, serving home-cooked Bosnian dishes to overnight hikers. But for day trippers, the best burek pie comes from the kitchen at Ljetnja Basat. Located on the outskirts of the village, close to where the sheep graze, this restaurant opened seven years ago, but a recent renovation transformed it into a cozy chalet with colorful rugs draped over honey-colored woods. Outside, there are picnic tables, with surrounding views of the mountains and pastures. Unfortunately, the rain had forced us to seek refuge indoors, where we joined a group of Croatian hikers enjoying beers and eagerly awaiting their own burek pie.
Everything served is homemade and sourced from the nearby gardens, except the beer, which is brought up from the city via an unkempt road, explained Sertic, who had pre-ordered our pies. As soon as we sat down, our host for the evening, Narsid, brought out the first one. Unlike the snail-shaped bureks we’d already tried in Sarajevo, this one resembled a Wi-Fi symbol and was arguably tastier. The pie was savory, salty, and crunchy, filled with potatoes and cheese. We wasted no time diving right in with a big silver spoon—a challenge in itself.
A few minutes later, Narsid returned, his forearms layered with pans filled with pie. We passed them around the table, each grabbing a slice. As rain hammered on the tin roof, we washed down the delicacies with glasses of homemade sage juice, as we would in a typical Bosnian home.
Photo by Natasha Bazika
After lunch, half our group decided to hitch a bumpy, hour-long ride back to Umoljani. Given the rain had cleared, I instead opted to explore the village solo, soaking in the simple rhythms of life. There, the toilets—or water closets as they call them— resemble birdhouses. I peeked into the one with a view of the canyon—it must be the most scenic toilet on Earth. That being said, I wasn’t brave enough to use it without toilet paper.
Behind the vista-view restroom was a lookout that jutted out into the canyon. I bumped into a few of our group members who said it was well worth the climb, so I ascended to the top, which offered a bird’s-eye view of Lukomir. The abandoned homes, decaying into the earth, were an eerie yet hauntingly beautiful scene. Standing on the edge of the precipice, I took in the views of the Rakitnica Canyon below, which seemed to have swallowed the world’s noise and chaos, leaving behind only the raw, essential elements of existence—elements that have sustained Lukomir and its people for centuries.
But my moment of quiet reflection didn’t last long; I was soon interrupted by the echoing shouts of hikers emerging from the trail below. They were headed straight to the restaurant, undoubtedly seeking their own delicious slice of burek pie.
