An Englishman in the Balkans

David Pejčinović-Bailey MBE

An Englishman in the Balkans is a personal storytelling podcast from David Pejčinović-Bailey, a British broadcaster and former soldier who has made his home in Bosnia and Herzegovina. From village walks and quiet reflections to conversations about culture, history, travel, retirement abroad, and life after 70, this podcast offers a warm, honest and often thoughtful look at Bosnia and the wider Balkans through British eyes. This is not a glossy travel brochure, and it is not a relocation manual. It is a slower, more personal journey through everyday life in a country that is still too often misunderstood. Each episode brings you stories, observations and reflections from rural Bosnia, exploring what it means to start again later in life, live between cultures, and find meaning in small places, quiet roads, shared coffee, changing seasons and unexpected conversations. If you are interested in Bosnia and Herzegovina, the Balkans, retired life abroad, expat stories, slow travel, or simply thoughtful audio storytelling from a British voice in Southeast Europe, you are very welcome here. An Englishman in the Balkans, a British voice from Bosnia, telling stories from life beyond the usual headlines.

  1. A British Voice from Bosnia | Inside Tito’s Secret Bunker

    Episode 2

    A British Voice from Bosnia | Inside Tito’s Secret Bunker

    There are some places in Bosnia and Herzegovina that do not reveal themselves straight away. During a recent two-and-a-half-day road trip through Bosnia and Herzegovina with Tamara and my granddaughter Alice, we stopped near Konjic for what I thought would be a quick visit and a few photographs. Instead, within minutes, we were stepping through a doorway into one of the most secretive places ever built in the former Yugoslavia. Hidden beneath a mountain near Konjic lies Tito’s Bunker, officially known as ARK D-0. Built during the Cold War for Josip Broz Tito and Yugoslavia’s military and political leadership, it was designed as an underground atomic war command shelter. Above ground, life carried on as normal. The Neretva River flowed through Konjic, people drank coffee in cafés, and traffic moved along the road between Sarajevo and Mostar. Beneath the surface, though, was another world entirely. Construction began in 1953 and continued until 1979. Built in complete secrecy, the bunker was designed to shelter around 350 people for months in the event of nuclear war. From the outside, there is very little drama. That is part of what makes it so fascinating. The entrance appears almost ordinary, tucked into the landscape with no great military spectacle. Then you walk through the doors. Long corridors stretch ahead. Heavy doors separate room after room. Pipes run overhead. Offices, communications rooms, dormitories, generators, filtration systems, kitchens, and medical spaces sit deep inside the mountain. It feels less like a bunker and more like a secret underground city. What struck me most was that this was not simply a military installation. It was a mindset poured into concrete. A reminder of just how seriously the Cold War was taken in this part of the world. One of the things I often say about Bosnia and Herzegovina is that history here rarely sits politely behind glass. It presses in from all sides. Tito’s Bunker feels exactly like that. The small details stay with you: the telephones, the furniture, the faded colours on the walls, the offices frozen in time. You stop seeing history as something abstract and suddenly it becomes touchable and strangely human. Tito himself remains a complicated figure across the former Yugoslavia. To some, he represented stability and independence during a tense period of global politics. To others, he represented control and silence under a one-party state. That complexity hangs over the bunker. On one level, it is an astonishing feat of engineering. On another, it is a monument to fear. Today, Tito’s Bunker is no longer only a Cold War relic. Part of the site has been transformed into a contemporary art space, creating a strange but powerful contrast. A place once built to survive destruction now invites visitors to reflect on memory, power, secrecy, and history. As we walked through the tunnels, I found myself thinking less about military strategy and more about the people who built and maintained this hidden world. The engineers. The guards. The workers. The people who knew it existed. And perhaps just as importantly, all the people who didn’t. For me, visiting Tito’s Bunker was not simply about seeing an unusual tourist attraction. It was about stepping into another hidden layer of Bosnia and Herzegovina. This country has a habit of surprising you. You think you are just driving through mountains or stopping for coffee beside a river, and suddenly you find yourself standing inside a story connected to the fears and tensions of an entire era. Outside, Bosnia feels alive and warm and human. Inside the mountain, another world still waits quietly in the dark. Silent now. Preserved. And full of stories.

    14 min
  2. A British Voice from Bosnia | When a Broken Bridge Says Everything About Bosnia

    Episode 3

    A British Voice from Bosnia | When a Broken Bridge Says Everything About Bosnia

    How a damaged border crossing at Gradiška became a symbol of political delay, economic frustration, and everyday life made harder than it needs to be in Bosnia and Herzegovina. The damaged bridge at Gradiška is one of those stories that seems to explain far more than the event itself. On the surface, it is about the old bridge over the Sava River between Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia. It is about stopped traffic, diverted lorries, long queues, and drivers losing hours at alternative crossings. But beneath that, it is about something bigger: politics, frustration, and the gap between what Bosnia and Herzegovina could do, and what its political system too often allows it to do. For those of us in the Banja Luka region, Gradiška is not just another border crossing. It is one of the main routes north into Croatia, the European Union, and the wider European road network. Families, hauliers, exporters, tourists, workers, and the Bosnian diaspora all depend on it. So when Gradiška stops working properly, it becomes more than a local inconvenience. It becomes an economic and human problem. On 19 May 2026, traffic was suspended at the Gradiška–Stara Gradiška crossing after part of the protective fence on the bridge over the Sava collapsed, creating a serious safety risk. Thankfully, no injuries were reported. But the disruption was immediate. Traffic was diverted, queues grew, and reports described trucks waiting up to 16 hours at alternative crossings. That means lost money, lost working time, delayed goods, missed appointments, and frustrated families. And this is where the story becomes especially frustrating. There is already a new Gradiška bridge and border crossing infrastructure. After the old bridge problem forced action, traffic was temporarily redirected there, valid until 19 August 2026. Which leaves the obvious question. If traffic could be moved there in an emergency, why did it take an emergency? Bosnia and Herzegovina is full of capable people who understand why a crossing like Gradiška matters. The problem is rarely a lack of intelligence. It is a political culture where practical solutions become trapped in arguments over institutions, authority, revenue, responsibility, and blame. A bridge is supposed to connect people. But at Gradiška, it has also shown the cost of delay, division, and political point scoring. And once again, the bill is not paid by those making the speeches. It is paid by the driver in the queue, the business waiting for goods, the family delayed at the border, and a country losing time it cannot afford to waste.

    14 min
  3. A British Voice from Bosnia | Bosnia Is Beautiful, But Walk Wisely - Landmines, Memory and Respect in 2026

    Episode 4

    A British Voice from Bosnia | Bosnia Is Beautiful, But Walk Wisely - Landmines, Memory and Respect in 2026

    Bosnia and Herzegovina is a beautiful, welcoming, deeply misunderstood country. It is a place of villages, rivers, mountains, cafés, festivals, family gatherings, hiking trails, and everyday life. But it is also a country where the recent past still leaves traces — sometimes visible, sometimes hidden, and sometimes buried in the ground. In this episode of An Englishman in the Balkans, I’m recording from the garden here in the village, with the ordinary sounds of rural Bosnia beneath my voice. Birds, dogs, maybe even the distant sound of a tractor. Peaceful sounds. Normal sounds. And that is important, because this is not an episode designed to frighten anyone away from visiting Bosnia and Herzegovina. Quite the opposite. This is a personal, honest, and practical conversation about landmines in Bosnia in 2026 — what visitors, hikers, photographers, cyclists, drone users, and slow travellers should understand before heading off the beaten track. I share a personal story from more than twenty years ago, when Tamara and I made a careless decision while walking near a former frontline area. It was a moment that reminded both of us how easily curiosity can lead you somewhere you should not be. Bosnia is not unsafe in the way some people imagine. Daily life here is ordinary, peaceful, and full of warmth. People live, farm, walk, travel, go to school, attend festivals, support local sports teams, and welcome visitors every day. But landmines and explosive remnants of war remain part of the country’s reality. The risk is not everywhere. It is not on every road, field, village lane, or mountain path. But former frontlines, abandoned land, remote woodland, overgrown areas, and unmarked tracks still require caution and respect. This episode is about balance. Not fear. Respect. Respect for local knowledge. Respect for warning signs. Respect for marked trails. Respect for the landscape. And respect for the long, slow work still being done to make Bosnia and Herzegovina safer, field by field, path by path, village by village. If you are planning to visit Bosnia, hike here, film here, cycle here, or explore rural areas, please listen carefully, use official resources, ask locally, and never treat the countryside casually. Bosnia is beautiful. But like many beautiful places, it asks us to pay attention. Useful resources mentioned in this episode: BH MAC - Bosnia and Herzegovina Mine Action Centre. EUFOR Mine Information Coordination Cell Mine Action Review. Bosnia and Herzegovina Official mine awareness and suspected hazardous area resources

    18 min

About

An Englishman in the Balkans is a personal storytelling podcast from David Pejčinović-Bailey, a British broadcaster and former soldier who has made his home in Bosnia and Herzegovina. From village walks and quiet reflections to conversations about culture, history, travel, retirement abroad, and life after 70, this podcast offers a warm, honest and often thoughtful look at Bosnia and the wider Balkans through British eyes. This is not a glossy travel brochure, and it is not a relocation manual. It is a slower, more personal journey through everyday life in a country that is still too often misunderstood. Each episode brings you stories, observations and reflections from rural Bosnia, exploring what it means to start again later in life, live between cultures, and find meaning in small places, quiet roads, shared coffee, changing seasons and unexpected conversations. If you are interested in Bosnia and Herzegovina, the Balkans, retired life abroad, expat stories, slow travel, or simply thoughtful audio storytelling from a British voice in Southeast Europe, you are very welcome here. An Englishman in the Balkans, a British voice from Bosnia, telling stories from life beyond the usual headlines.