The best podcasts for Life and Stories from Bosnia and Herzegovina and the Western Balkans

“The Women Shepherds of Lukomir – Life on Bosnia’s Timeless Mountain” is a story about one of the most extraordinary places in the Western Balkans. Lukomir, the highest and most remote village in Bosnia and Herzegovina, and the remarkable women who have kept its traditions alive for generations. The episode explores everyday life on the Bjelašnica plateau, where the rhythm of the seasons still dictates the pace of work, movement, and survival. You meet the women shepherds who manage flocks of sheep in landscapes that feel almost untouched by time. Their days are shaped by grazing cycles, weather patterns, and centuries-old knowledge passed down through mothers, grandmothers, and neighbours. It looks at how these women balance hard physical labour with a deep sense of pride and cultural identity. You hear about the challenges of isolation during the long winters, the sense of community that forms in small mountain households, and the traditions, weaving, cheese-making, storytelling — that anchor their lives high above the world below. The episode also uncovers Lukomir’s unique place in Bosnia’s cultural landscape: • its medieval roots, • the slow fading of its population, • the revival brought by hikers and curious travellers, • and the resilience of the families who refuse to let the village disappear. At its heart, this episode is about strength, resilience, and the quiet beauty of living close to the land. It’s an intimate look at women who rarely appear in mainstream stories, yet hold an essential piece of Bosnia’s cultural heritage. Through field recordings, interviews, and your own reflections, the listener gets to experience: • the sound of sheep bells in the wind, • footsteps on stone paths, • voices carried across the plateau, • and the calm, expansive silence of the mountains. It’s an invitation to slow down, breathe, and understand a part of Bosnia that most visitors never see, a world shaped by tradition, nature, and the remarkable women who continue to look after both.

I chose this episode for the playlist because it captures something essential about life in Bosnia and Herzegovina that often goes unseen and unheard: the way culture, heritage, and everyday identity are held together by ordinary people doing extraordinary work behind the scenes. This conversation with Dita Bayrami Verbanac isn’t just about traditional dance or costumes; it’s a window into the living heartbeat of Bosnia the values, stories, habits, and community ties that quietly define this country far more than any headline ever could. In many ways, this episode represents everything my playlist “Life and Stories from Bosnia and Herzegovina and the Western Balkans” aims to showcase: an honest, ground-level look at how culture survives, how people stay connected to their roots, and how traditions continue despite all the pressures of modern life. Dita has spent more than three decades keeping Bosnian folklore alive. That alone makes her an important guest, but what really struck me, and what makes this episode so fitting for the playlist — is the way she speaks about folklore not as a hobby, but as a way of life. She describes joining her troop as a child in 1989, instantly falling in love with the rhythms, stories, and community of it all. And she explains so beautifully how folklore is more than dance: it’s identity, belonging, family, continuity, and a shared memory passed from one generation to the next. For anyone trying to understand Bosnia, or the Balkans more broadly, this matters. These traditions shape the sense of who people are, how they see themselves, and how they connect to one another. The music, costumes, and choreography are visually striking, yes, but behind all of it is something very human: love, commitment, and the desire to preserve the past so future generations know where they’ve come from. This episode also shows the complexity behind something that, from the outside, can look effortless. The detailed costumes, the rehearsals, the struggles with funding, and the reliance on older generations who still possess traditional skills, all of this reveals an often invisible ecosystem of culture bearers. Dita talks about the old women who still know how to weave and stitch traditional costumes, and the very real danger that such skills might disappear if they aren’t passed on. That’s the sort of story you rarely hear unless you’re actually here in Bosnia, seeing it for yourself. Another reason I included this episode is because it highlights a tension familiar across the Western Balkans: modern life and digital technology pulling younger generations away from traditions. Dita speaks honestly about the challenge of getting children to commit to dancing, rehearsing, and learning steps when smartphones and social media consume their attention. Yet she also recognises how technology can actually help, photos, videos, and online sharing can strengthen awareness and interest in folklore too. This balanced view reflects the region’s reality today: old and new coexisting, sometimes uneasily, but always in conversation. Finally, this episode belongs in the playlist because it captures something I try to do with the podcast as a whole: invite listeners along on my own journey of learning, discovery, and curiosity. I approach Bosnia as someone who has lived here for decades, but who still experiences moments of wonder, like walking into that museum in Travnik and realising how much diversity exists in the costumes and dances around Vlašić. My chat with Dita reflects that sense of discovery, and I think it’s a feeling many listeners share. In short, I chose this episode because it represents the soul of Bosnia: its people, its traditions, its challenges, its humour, and its resilience. It’s a story of love — love for culture, for identity, for community, told by someone who lives and breathes it. And for a playlist dedicated to real stories from the Western Balkans, I can’t think of anything more fitting

I chose “Nataša Konjević – The Muralist from Banja Luka” for this playlist because it captures something I’m always trying to share with listeners: Bosnia and Herzegovina is far more vibrant, creative, and surprising than many people realise. When you live here—really live here, as I have for more than two decades, you start to notice the quieter stories hidden in plain sight. This episode is one of those stories. My introduction to Nataša’s work wasn’t through an art gallery or a curated exhibition. It was in the most ordinary of places: standing in a queue for meat in a supermarket outside Banja Luka. I remember glancing up and seeing this striking, larger-than-life face looking down from the wall. It stopped me in my tracks. It was bold, elegant, modern, and yet somehow rooted in the spirit of this region. Moments later, I saw another mural in a small municipal town nearby, same style, same signature: Konja. That moment of curiosity, “Who is the artist behind this?”, became the spark for this conversation. And that spark is exactly why this episode belongs in a playlist about life and stories from Bosnia and the Western Balkans. Because here, art doesn’t just sit quietly in museums; it spills into markets, car parks, alleyways, schools, and city squares. It becomes part of daily life. And Nataša is one of the people making that happen. The episode offers more than an interview with a talented artist. It opens a window into what it means to create art in Bosnia today: the challenges, the logistics, the weather, the scaffolding, the fear of heights, the stubbornness, and the love. Nataša talks about learning on the job, stepping outside her comfort zone, building courage in small doses, and saying yes to opportunities that move her forward. There’s something wonderfully universal in that, even beyond art. But the conversation also highlights a part of Bosnia that many outsiders don’t realise exists: strong female creatives who are quietly, sometimes loudly, reshaping how their communities see themselves. Nataša is the only female muralist in the country who paints on buildings at this scale. She doesn’t announce that fact; she simply gets on with the work. Yet seeing her up on scaffolding, creating something massive and beautiful, has a powerful effect, especially on young girls who watch her paint and suddenly see the possibility of becoming artists themselves. Her work celebrates people, stories, and identities that deserve to be seen, women who made history, local symbols like the stork in Gradiška, and characters who carry cultural meaning. Choosing her episode for this playlist felt natural because she is part of the living tapestry of the country. Her murals have become waypoints on the landscape, markers of a contemporary Bosnia that’s creative, expressive, and confidently taking up public space. This playlist is meant to help listeners discover the human side of Bosnia and the wider Western Balkans, the voices, the passions, the unexpected talents, the everyday magic. Nataša embodies all of that. Her story sits at the intersection of tradition and modernity, personal courage and public art, local identity and wider Balkan creativity. In many ways, she represents exactly what I hope people take from this playlist: that Bosnia is not just history, not just scenery, not just food or tradition, though we have plenty of those. It’s also a place of modern creativity, emerging voices, and people doing extraordinary things far from the spotlight. This episode is a reminder that you never know when a story will find you. Sometimes it’s while you’re travelling. Sometimes it’s during a conversation. And sometimes it’s when you’re simply waiting in line for a bit of meat, looking up, quite literally, at inspiration. That’s why this conversation with Nataša deserves a place on the playlist. It reflects the heart of the Balkans: unexpected, artistic, resilient, and full of character.

I chose “A Bosnian in Zimbabwe – Ramajana’s Story” for my Goodpods playlist because it does something I absolutely love in this project: it takes Bosnia way beyond its borders, without losing it for a second. Ramajana is, on paper, “just” a Bosnian abroad, but in reality she’s a wonderful example of what happens when you mix Bosnia, Germany, Belgium and Africa into one life. In this conversation she talks about growing up in Kakanj, becoming a refugee in Germany, returning to Bosnia, then building a new life around her husband’s diplomatic career. By the time we reach Zimbabwe and Madagascar, you can really feel how all those layers have shaped who she is and how she sees the world. I also picked this episode because of how honestly she explains everyday life in Harare. It’s not just “Africa is beautiful”, she walks us through power cuts, water from boreholes, confusing currencies, stickers on plugs so you don’t blow the solar system, and trying to cook Bosnian food when you can’t find sour cabbage. It’s funny, warm and very human, and you realise quickly that this isn’t an Instagram fantasy, it’s real life, told with humour and heart. Another reason it belongs in the playlist is the way she compares Zimbabwe and Bosnia. She talks about potholes, hyperinflation, resilience, and that familiar Balkan ability to laugh when things really shouldn’t be funny. Hearing a Bosnian woman find parallels between Sarajevo, Kakanj and Harare is exactly the kind of unexpected bridge I want An Englishman in the Balkans to build. It reminds us that “difficult countries” are still full of capable, educated, welcoming people who are just trying to get on with life. I also love her openness to culture, the African fashion, the local food (including the caterpillars she doesn’t eat), the music, and the way she uses Instagram to tell nuanced stories about Zimbabwe instead of repeating tired media clichés. She’s not just passing through; she’s emotionally invested in the place. By the end she’s openly admitting she’s left a piece of her heart in Madagascar and will probably leave another in Zimbabwe. Finally, this episode fits perfectly with the spirit of the playlist: it’s about movement, identity and belonging. I’m a Brit who stayed in Bosnia; she’s a Bosnian who might one day retire in Africa. Between us, we’re gently challenging the idea that you only “belong” where you were born. If you’re curious about what life is really like for a Bosnian woman in southern Africa – beyond the headlines and clichés, this conversation is a lovely place to start.

This episode of An Englishman in the Balkans dives into one of the most quietly powerful threads woven through daily life in Bosnia and Herzegovina: superstitions. These aren’t dusty old folk tales tucked away in history books. They’re alive. They influence how people open windows, hand over scissors, leave their homes, bless their children, and make sense of the world. Joined by Tamara, we explore the beliefs that sit just beneath the surface of Bosnian life, sometimes humorous, sometimes deeply symbolic, but always connected to a long lineage of tradition, weathered wisdom, and cultural memory. We start with perhaps the most infamous: Promaja, the dreaded Balkan draft. If you’re new to life here, you might raise an eyebrow at the idea that a cross-breeze could take you out, but as Tamara explains with a seriousness passed down over generations, Promaja is treated like an unseen threat you avoid with the same urgency as a real foe. A breeze through two open windows becomes a force capable of sparking neck pain, infections, and days of misery, at least according to folklore. And yes, even children protest the opening of car windows with absolute conviction. From there, we explore everyday rituals tied to good luck and bad luck, including one that catches many foreigners by surprise: returning home after you’ve already set off. In Bosnia, turning back, for your phone, your wallet, anything, is seen as an omen that the journey may not end well. Some families still insist you sit down for a moment before leaving again, to “reset” the energy of the trip. We also unravel the caution around passing sharp objects. Handing someone a knife or scissors directly from palm to palm is believed to “cut” the friendship or damage the relationship. So, the proper etiquette is simple: place the object on a table, let the other person pick it up, and keep the bond intact. Of course, superstitions here carry a beautiful blend of Ottoman heritage, rural practicality, and old-world symbolism. The evil eye, the “uruk”, still plays a role in protecting children and homes from envy and negativity. Small blue charms, glass beads, and even Qur’anic verses folded into pockets or tucked behind doors are quiet reminders of how intertwined spirituality and protection are in Bosnian households. Tamara shares personal stories: the tiny Qur’an she once carried everywhere, charms given to her as a child, and even the glowing blue evil-eye pendant that hangs in your own home, an accidental souvenir from a Turkish Airlines flight that became a household talisman. From there, the conversation shifts to seasonal rituals, like the New Year tradition of making česnica, the ceremonial bread baked with pockets full of household money, all tucked into the baker’s apron to attract prosperity for the year ahead. Somewhere in the loaf, a hidden coin waits to crown one lucky family member with the promise of a successful year (even if, as you joke, your personal winning streak remains at zero after 24 years). And then there’s the charm of itchy palms, the idea that the left palm signals incoming money, while the right warns you’ll soon be paying something out. Even those who dismiss superstitions still feel a tiny spark of curiosity when their hand tingles. What emerges through all these stories is something deeper: superstitions in Bosnia aren’t just irrational beliefs. They’re a shared cultural language, a way of linking past and present, family and community, the seen and the unseen. They add ritual to the everyday. They help people make sense of uncertainty, pass down inherited wisdom, and maintain a sense of balance with the natural and spiritual world. In this episode, you and Tamara gently peel back these layers, illuminating how even the smallest habits, throwing water behind someone for luck, making a wish in all four corners of a new room, pausing before stepping outside, all speak to a culture rich in symbolism, meaning, humour, and heart.