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Bosnia, in September 1996, was in a similar situation that Kosovo is in now. The war was over and the clean-up had started. In fact by the time I arrived there had been relative peace in the country for over a year. An International peacekeeping force (IFOR) was in place. I was a member of The 1st Battalion the Royal Greenjackets,  a British Infantry Unit, and we’d flown to Split on the Croatian coast from the UK before being transported over the mountains into Bosnia. One very conspicuous purple paragliding rucksack was loaded onto the airfreight with all the green combat kit. The RAF had not batted an eye.
War-torn and mine-strewn, the former Republic of Yugoslavia was not the most likely of paragliding venues but then leaving the glider behind for six months would have been unthinkable. Gornji Vakuf, where we were based and living in portacabins, is a town that had been at the heart of the war zone, the scene of intense and bitter fighting between neighbouring ethnic groups. (It is at the top of a triangle between Mostar and Sarajevo). One year on and a surreal peace was in place. The contrasts between the horse drawn farm carts being driven along rough country tracks with burnt out houses full of bullet holes at every turn and gleaming Mercedes driven by men in suits along perfect tarmac roads to their and new, three-story chalets was a bizarre one to behold. The statistics said that more British troops are injured in road accidents than by any other cause. When we had carefully provided security for the first round of democratic elections and not even a stone had been thrown, let alone hostilities been restarted, the peacekeeping force was able to settle down into a more sedate way of life doing what it could to help the community rebuild itself. In the first couple of weeks I had been on patrol and identified what looked like a perfect paragliding site: A 2000 ft ridge line several kilometres long overlooking a spectacular lake near Prozor. The only problem was the threat of mines. It was estimated that approximately 3,000,000 mines had been laid in Bosnia since the start of the war and only 25% of those were in marked mine-fields. The rest, we were told in our briefings could be anywhere. So the only safe tactic to adopt was to stick to the tarmac. Take off sites would be limited, I thought. After a month in the country and having watched business as usual on the farm tracks that the locals used to take their produce to market, some new 'Rules of thumb' had begun to be developed. These were :
The second step was to get permission to fly. We needed the nod from the local mayor, the police and the commander of the Army barracks nearby. It housed some very disgruntled soldiers, confined to barracks by the Dayton peace agreement. The last thing I needed was holes in the canopy from a trigger  happy soldier on guard duty. It took a month of meetings at which I brandished a photo of a paraglider in flight and was accompanied by an interpreter. I got a variety of laughs and bemused looks but agreement from all so far. The Army commander wanted an assurance that I could land on the football pitch outside his headquarters. "Oh Yes" I glibly said having worked out that my glide angle would only get me there from my proposed take off site if I could gain at least 1000 ft ATO.
Step three was organising the weather which conveniently took about the same amount of time as permission from HQ. Rain, rain, and more rain until 30th September, when the morning mist cleared to a crystal clear sky, a blue day. By lunchtime I'd hoped that the ground would have warmed up enough to be producing a decent bit of breeze on the front of the slope and so we set off in a green army landrover with the standard fully armed escorts and radios. We drove to the take off and laid out while watching the leaves on the trees below until a good thermal came through. And then it was fly time. Soaring out over the front of the ridge I was soon in an 8-up monster that took me relatively smoothly (not even tip closures on an Apco Xtra) to 2800ft ATO a ceiling of 6870ft. An everyday landscape spread itself out underneath me but for, on closer inspection, a number of burnt out houses without roofs and more disconcertingly a number of overgrown, weedy fields.... Happily there was lift everywhere and the number of nicely cultivated fields in reach grew until 5kms due South East, I found myself circling down over the Prozor playing field and landing after an exhilarating 55 minutes of air time, in front of an amazed crowd of young kids. Ashamed at not being able to utter more than a "Dobra Dan" (hello) and "Keep off the lines", I was soon packed up and heading back to base, with a huge grin and an experience for the logbook! I flew several more times but never really explored the site potential. Take off site : N52.42'19.3, E016,02'09.7 Prozor, Bosnia Herzegovina Thanks, Tim for the great story! Sadly, alot of mines will be found by humans and animals, giving this place a fate worse than a toxic waste dump. It's hard to believe what people do when at war. Good to hear the flying was fun!
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