Life in Bosnia – Slow Living & Retirement Reflections

David Pejčinović-Bailey MBE
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  1. A Sunday Walk to the River

    FEB 22

    A Sunday Walk to the River

    This episode was recorded on a late winter afternoon, walking down to the river and back. No studio polish. No music. No clever transitions. Just a smartphone, a small DJI microphone with its little wind muff attached (or “spoffle,” as I nearly called it), and a pair of slightly muddy boots that definitely needed cleaning before I stepped back into my tidy studio. I talk about the tractors I call “village taxis,” cleared storm drains after snow, the River Vrbas, and the fields lying bare before spring planting. I reflect on being 73, on starting (and restarting) creative projects, on YouTube ambitions that might only aim for £100 a month — but mean something very real here in Bosnia when converted into local currency. There’s also the familiar thread of village life: plum trees that haven’t fruited properly in years, the hope of distilling domaća šljivovica again, and the quiet privilege of being able to walk two kilometres on a Sunday afternoon and simply talk. This is what I’d sound like if you were staying upstairs in our apartment and we’d just had coffee together before heading down to the river. If you’re listening in London, Toronto, Sydney, or somewhere entirely different, I’d genuinely love to know. Send me a note and tell me where you are. From Bosnia and Herzegovina to your headphones, speaker, or kitchen radio — thank you for giving me your time. Stay safe. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe

    19 min
  2. Still Here

    JAN 28

    Still Here

    Postcards from Bosnia is an audio journey into the heart of Bosnia and Herzegovina, seen through the eyes of an Englishman who has made this place his home. Paid members get access to everything I create, including exclusive podcasts, behind-the-scenes reflections, photo essays, and more that I only share with my inner circle ☕✨Thanks so much in advance. Thank You Thank you for listening to these little slices of my life. If you’d like to get more stories, you can subscribe to my Substack, it’s free, and if you ever want to upgrade to paid but can’t afford it, just email me. I’ll sort it out, no questions asked. Here are 3 questions I have. * What would make you hit “play” on an audio post instead of just reading? * What makes a podcast episode feel personal or meaningful to you? * Would you like me to add audio versions of my blog posts so you can choose how to enjoy them? I’ll give a complimentary subscription to Coffee and Rakija for life for taking the time to answer. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe

    6 min
  3. If Time Wasn’t Unlimited, What Would You Do Differently

    JAN 21

    If Time Wasn’t Unlimited, What Would You Do Differently

    Postcards from Bosnia is an audio journey into the heart of Bosnia and Herzegovina, seen through the eyes of an Englishman who has made this place his home. Paid members get access to everything I create, including exclusive podcasts, behind-the-scenes reflections, photo essays, and more that I only share with my inner circle ☕✨Thanks so much in advance. Thank You Thank you for listening to these little slices of my life. If you’d like to get more stories, you can subscribe to my Substack, it’s free, and if you ever want to upgrade to paid but can’t afford it, just email me. I’ll sort it out, no questions asked. Here are 3 questions I have. * What would make you hit “play” on an audio post instead of just reading? * What makes a podcast episode feel personal or meaningful to you? * Would you like me to add audio versions of my blog posts so you can choose how to enjoy them? I’ll give a complimentary subscription to Coffee and Rakija for life for taking the time to answer. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe

    6 min
  4. Why Older People Are Talking to AI

    JAN 17

    Why Older People Are Talking to AI

    I’ve been watching retirement and over-70s content on YouTube recently, and something began to quietly trouble me. Many of the most popular videos aren’t made by people at all. They’re created by AI. And yet older viewers are watching, commenting, and sharing deeply personal stories, often speaking into what is, in reality, a silence. This isn’t a programme about technology. It’s a reflection on aging, loneliness, and what it means to be heard in later life. From my garden in northern Bosnia and Herzegovina, I talk about why calm AI voices feel familiar, why they feel safe, and why so many older people are reaching out, not because they’re gullible, but because they’re human. Because we still want to be seen. And we still want to matter. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe

    5 min
  5. Two Christmases, One Observer

    JAN 9

    Two Christmases, One Observer

    Let me say this upfront I’m not a Christian. I don’t belong to a church, I don’t follow doctrine, and I wouldn’t describe myself as religious in the traditional sense. If I’m honest, I’m a wayward, wannabe Buddhist, drawn to quiet reflection, to the idea of paying attention, but without the discipline to do it properly. So what follows isn’t theology. It’s observation. Because when you live in Bosnia and Herzegovina long enough, Christmas has a habit of showing up whether you believe in it or not. And here, rather wonderfully, it shows up twice. The Christmas most British people recognise For most of my life, Christmas meant one thing. The 25th of December. A tree in the corner of the room. Carols you could sing even if you hadn’t sung them for years. And far, far too much food. That was Christmas. End of story. The Christmas most British people grew up with, Anglican in shape, even if not always in conviction, is open and outward-facing. It fits neatly into national life. Advent drifts past, lights go up, music appears everywhere, and churches fill with people who don’t normally go. And nobody minds. That’s part of the deal. You don’t need strong belief to take part. You just need to turn up. Carols do a lot of the work, familiar words, familiar tunes, and at home, restraint is not the goal. Abundance is. From the perspective of someone who doesn’t believe, it feels welcoming. Inclusive. Almost forgiving. Christmas as a shared cultural moment rather than a test of faith. The Christmas that arrives quietly here Orthodox Christmas feels very different. I live in a Serbian Orthodox village in northern Bosnia, and Christmas here arrives on the 7th of January, following the older Julian calendar, long after Britain has packed Christmas away and January has started to bite. Here, Christmas begins with waiting. There’s a 40-day fast leading up to it. Christmas Eve “Badnji dan” is quiet, symbolic, and deliberate. The food is simple. The mood restrained. Instead of glitter, there’s straw under the table, a reminder of the stable. Instead of a Christmas tree, there’s an oak branch, the “Badnjak”, burned or placed in the home. Church services are darker. There’s more chanting than singing, less explanation, fewer words. Nobody is trying to make it accessible or attractive. And oddly enough, this is where my Buddhist leanings quietly kick in. Ritual over persuasion What strikes me most about Orthodox Christmas is its emphasis on ritual over words, on practice over persuasion. No one is trying to convince you of anything. No one is selling belief. You either show up… or you don’t. Even as a wannabe Buddhist who doesn’t practise nearly enough ritual himself, I recognise something familiar here. A respect for repetition. For silence. For doing, rather than explaining. It’s not inclusive in the modern sense, but it is deeply rooted. Breaking the fast When Christmas Day finally arrives, the fast is broken. The table fills. The mood lifts. A special bread, česnica, is shared, with a coin hidden inside. Whoever finds it is said to have good fortune in the year ahead. This year, Tamara found the coin, so fingers crossed we’re in for a good 2026. But the real point isn’t the coin. It’s who you’re sitting next to when the bread is broken. The greeting says everything: Christ is born. Truly He is born. They do say “Happy Christmas” as well, but there are no slogans. No cheerleading. Just statement. Same story, different energy Living between these two Christmases has taught me something. Anglican and Catholic Christmas tends to radiate outward. Orthodox Christmas draws inward. One celebrates openly. The other prepares quietly. Neither is better. Neither is more authentic. They are simply different ways of holding the same story. And perhaps because I don’t fully belong to either, I get to appreciate both more clearly. Living comfortably in between These days, I mark both Christmases. Lightly and respectfully. One reminds me where I come from. The other reminds me where I now live. And somewhere between carols and crackling oak wood, between abundance and restraint, I’ve learned something useful, even as a non-believer. Meaning doesn’t always need belief. Sometimes it just needs attention. Even from a wayward, wannabe Buddhist. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe

    5 min
  6. Yorkshire Pudding and the Western Balkans

    12/28/2025

    Yorkshire Pudding and the Western Balkans

    This isn’t really about Sunday lunch When most people hear the words Yorkshire pudding, they think of Sunday roast, gravy, and a very specific idea of England. It’s treated as tradition, almost ceremony. Something fixed. Something defended. But that’s not where Yorkshire pudding starts. It doesn’t begin with nostalgia or national pride. It begins with a problem that needed solving. A dish born of economy, not indulgence In eighteenth-century northern England, meat was expensive and fuel was precious. A joint of beef wasn’t an everyday meal. It was planned, stretched, and respected. Yorkshire pudding began as a simple batter, flour, eggs, milk, poured into a pan and placed beneath roasting meat to catch the dripping fat. The batter rose in the heat, filling stomachs cheaply and effectively. And here’s the detail many people forget: it was originally served before the meat. Gravy poured over it first. The beef came later. Yorkshire pudding wasn’t a side dish. It was strategy. Why that makes sense in the Balkans Living in Bosnia, this logic feels immediately familiar. Across the Western Balkans, there’s a deep understanding of food that fills rather than flatters. Batter-based dishes appear everywhere, not as treats, but as anchors. Uštipci at breakfast. Plain palačinke when cupboards are bare. Proja on a wooden table, sliced and shared. These foods aren’t identical to Yorkshire pudding, and they don’t need to be. The connection isn’t about copying recipes. It’s about responding to the same conditions. Cold winters. Hard work. Limited ingredients. Different kitchens, same instincts What strikes me most is how naturally Yorkshire pudding fits into a Bosnian kitchen. The ingredients are familiar. The technique, hot fat, confident timing, no hovering, makes immediate sense. Even the arguments feel familiar. How much fat is too much? Should it be crisp or soft? Big or small? Everyone has an opinion, and everyone trusts experience over instructions. That fierce protectiveness around simple food exists on both sides of the continent. Is there a direct historical connection? No. There’s no evidence that Yorkshire pudding travelled east or that Balkan batter dishes travelled west. But history isn’t always about movement. Sometimes it’s about parallel solutions. When people face similar problems, they often arrive at similar answers, even if they never meet. Flour, fat, and reassurance So this isn’t really a story about Yorkshire pudding at all. It’s about how ordinary food carries quiet wisdom. How it feeds people without asking for attention. How it reassures rather than impresses. Flour. Fat. Heat. Different names. Same human need. And the same promise, whether you’re in Yorkshire or the Western Balkans: You’ll be fed today. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe

    6 min
  7. When the Air Decides the Day

    12/19/2025

    When the Air Decides the Day

    When the Air Changes the Rhythm of the Day I knew the air was bad again before I checked any app. It was during my morning walk. Same route as always. Down from the village, along the familiar stretch where I usually settle into a steady rhythm. But this time, something felt off. The air felt heavy. Not cold-cold, just thick. I found myself breathing through my mouth sooner than usual, shortening the walk without really deciding to. That’s usually the sign. Learning to Read the Air Living in this part of the country, you get used to reading the air as much as the weather. Some days it’s clear and sharp, especially after a bit of wind. Other days, like recently, it just sits there. Grey, Yellow, Still. Unmoved. You can feel it before you see it. Before anyone mentions numbers or warnings. Winter Fires and Everyday Reality Winter is part of the story, of course. Around here, winter still means fires being lit. Wood stacked against walls. Stoves burning from early morning until late evening. Each one is doing what it needs to do, keeping a family warm, but together they fill the air with smoke that has nowhere to go. Cars, Cold Engines, and Short Journeys Then there’s the traffic. Cold starts. Short trips. Engines idling while someone pops into a shop. Multiply that by thousands and suddenly the air at street level feels tired before the day has properly begun. It’s not one big polluter. It’s all the small, ordinary ones added together. When the Weather Traps Everything And then the weather does its part. No wind. No movement. Sometimes fog that looks almost peaceful until you realise it’s holding everything in place. When that happens, nothing clears. The air just hangs around at breathing height. Exactly where we are. Not New, Just Felt More This isn’t a new problem. Anyone who’s spent a few winters here knows the pattern. December and January are often the worst. By spring, things usually improve and we forget about it again. Until next winter. Noticing It More With Age But when you’re in your seventies, you notice it more. The body is less forgiving. A walk that normally clears the head can feel like hard work. A cough lingers longer than it should. You start planning your day around how the air feels, not just what you want to do. Adjusting Without Making a Fuss On days like this, I shorten my walks. I choose quieter times. I stay in once the evening fires really get going. Windows closed. Not out of fear. Just common sense. Waiting for the Wind There’s a bigger conversation to be had about cleaner heating, insulation, public transport, and long-term change. But none of that fixes the air outside your door today. For now, we pay attention. We look after ourselves. We look out for neighbours.And we wait for that first proper wind that clears the sky and reminds us how good the air here can be. When the air feels heavy in Bosnia and Herzegovina, it isn’t a statistic. It’s something you feel in your lungs, in your pace, and in the quiet decision to turn back a little earlier than usual. And like everyone else, I’m watching the trees. Waiting. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe

    3 min
  8. Smoked Meat, Cowbells and Autumn Light

    12/03/2025

    Smoked Meat, Cowbells and Autumn Light

    Blue Skies and Cold Air The seasons are shifting here in northern Bosnia. The mornings have that crisp bite that tells you autumn has properly settled in. Yet the skies stay defiantly blue, almost glowing above the village. It’s the kind of weather that makes a simple walk around the block feel like a small adventure. And honestly, every time I step outside on a day like this, I find myself quietly grateful I’m not back in the UK under its familiar blanket of grey drizzle. Smoke on the Breeze Halfway along the lane, a thin column of smoke drifted from a neighbour’s little outbuilding. Here, that can only mean one thing: meat being smoked the traditional way. It’s a sight I rarely seem to catch. I’m always either away, busy, or simply too late. But today, there it was. A quiet reminder that so much of Bosnia’s heritage isn’t locked in museums; it’s lived, tended, and carried forward in people’s own backyards. Cowbells and Mountain Wisdom If you heard a soft bell during our walk, it wasn’t a stray cow joining us. That gentle clinking came from Tamara’s backpack, a mountain habit designed to keep predators at a distance. Wolves still roam the high forests, bears wander the ridges, and wild dogs can appear out of nowhere. The bell simply lets them know we’re passing through. A small sound with a practical purpose, shaped by the geography of this place. Tea, Sunlight, and the Simple Moments By the time we looped home, the sun had sunk low and fierce, the way it does in October and November, that sharp, blinding autumn glare you can never quite escape. And as always after a good walk, the day called for a cup of English tea. Two sugars. A splodge of milk. Just a simple moment. But one that anchors you, reminds you where you are, and why these small rituals matter. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.coffeeandrakija.com/subscribe

    7 min
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