The distance is not even that far in kilometers. Yet the difficult road through the mountains makes for quite a travel time. We travel from Mostar to Sarajevo. Just before Sarajevo we take a turn to the right. The excellent two-lane road was exchanged for a narrow and bumpy road. Miles later all that is left of this road is a gravel path. The surroundings become surrealistic because of the clear blue sky with strange 'UFO' shaped clouds. Deep abysses alternate with open plains full of rocks. The sun shines brightly and the surroundings feel like a movie set. We don't meet anyone

We travel from Mostar to Sarajevo. Just before Sarajevo we take a turn to the right. The excellent two-lane road was exchanged for a narrow and bumpy road. Miles later all that is left of this road is a gravel path. The surroundings become surrealistic because of the clear blue sky with strange 'UFO' shaped clouds. Deep abysses alternate with open plains full of rocks. The sun shines brightly and the surroundings feel like a movie set. We don't meet anyone. We don't see a single house ...just our interpreter and us on a gravel path through the mountains on our way to Lukomir.

The boulders in the distance seem to move. As we get closer, the rocks protruding from the grass turn out to be sheep. Lukomir, after hours of driving, can't be far now because the inhabitants of Lukomir have lived off their cattle for centuries. The sheep's wool is woven into traditional clothing and countless socks and gloves are knitted from it. We have read about it and are very curious about the people who have lived their lives there undisturbed for some 400 years. A life that seems hardly influenced by the world around them. In front of us lie huge mountains. Suddenly, a wooden sign tells us we have reached our destination. The houses with their rusted metal roofs blend almost seamlessly into the surroundings. We drive into the village and after 150 meters we can go no further

Lukomir, after hours of driving, can't be far now because the inhabitants of Lukomir have lived off their cattle for centuries. The sheep's wool is woven into traditional clothing and countless socks and gloves are knitted from it. We have read about it and are very curious about the people who have lived their lives there undisturbed for some 400 years. A life that seems hardly influenced by the world around them. In front of us lie huge mountains. Suddenly, a wooden sign tells us we have reached our destination. The houses with their rusted metal roofs blend almost seamlessly into the surroundings. We drive into the village and after 150 meters we can go no further. The view of the mountain peaks across a deep valley makes you feel like you've arrived at the end of the world. We are standing on a huge boulder, the mountains on the other side seem to be covered with a blanket of moss. In the backlight, the mountain ridges seem soft as silk. The view is breathtakingly beautiful. To our left is the old cemetery as a silent witness to the history of Lukomir.

The village has about 30 houses built of gray stones. Some houses have been visibly restored. There are no streets but paths that were created by frequent use. The village seems deserted yet we feel that we have not gone unnoticed. Not that much happens on a weekday in Lukomir! We take our luggage to the house where we are staying. Amela a young woman is our hostess and welcomes us. She takes us to the kitchen where she is preparing our dinner. In Bosnia, a girl cannot marry until she can cook and bake. Amela is married and has baking in her fingers. In the kitchen she continues her work

There are no streets but paths that were created by frequent use. The village seems deserted yet we feel that we have not gone unnoticed. Not that much happens on a weekday in Lukomir! We take our luggage to the house where we are staying. Amela a young woman is our hostess and welcomes us. She takes us to the kitchen where she is preparing our dinner. In Bosnia, a girl cannot marry until she can cook and bake. Amela is married and has baking in her fingers. In the kitchen she continues her work. She kneads and rolls out dough into a wafer-thin pancake more than a meter in diameter. The dough is cut into strips and filled with sheep's cheese. Each strip is rolled up and spiraled onto a large baking sheet. Meanwhile, Amela's father has lit the wood-burning oven outside. The baking tray goes in and a large lid is put on. After 20 minutes we are sitting at the table. We drink tea with honey and Amela presents her sheep cheese dish. It tastes delicious. There seems to be no end to a pebble path and then you are sitting in a house in Lukomir having a good meal. The obvious hospitality feels like a warm blanket

The village seems deserted yet we feel that we have not gone unnoticed. Not that much happens on a weekday in Lukomir! We take our luggage to the house where we are staying. Amela a young woman is our hostess and welcomes us. She takes us to the kitchen where she is preparing our dinner. In Bosnia, a girl cannot marry until she can cook and bake. Amela is married and has baking in her fingers. In the kitchen she continues her work. She kneads and rolls out dough into a wafer-thin pancake more than a meter in diameter. The dough is cut into strips and filled with sheep's cheese. Each strip is rolled up and spiraled onto a large baking sheet. Meanwhile, Amela's father has lit the wood-burning oven outside. The baking tray goes in and a large lid is put on. After 20 minutes we are sitting at the table. We drink tea with honey and Amela presents her sheep cheese dish. It tastes delicious. There seems to be no end to a pebble path and then you are sitting in a house in Lukomir having a good meal. The obvious hospitality feels like a warm blanket. After dessert we go outside because we want to meet people.

At a little house further on. A little higher up than the house where we are staying, an older couple is sitting outside on a log. The woman gestures us to sit down, as there are plenty of logs. Thanks to our interpreter, we can start a conversation. The woman, who is long past eighty, goes inside and returns a little later with a tray of coffee. Coffee in Bosnia means making time for each other. First a sugar cube is placed in the small cups, then a spoonful of coffee grounds and only then is coffee served. Meanwhile, the man continues imperturbably with his woodcarving. While the coffee is being served according to tradition, the man has used a small axe to turn a block of wood into a wooden ladle. The woman picks up her knitting and, while talking, continues to knit a pair of socks

The woman gestures us to sit down, as there are plenty of logs. Thanks to our interpreter, we can start a conversation. The woman, who is long past eighty, goes inside and returns a little later with a tray of coffee. Coffee in Bosnia means making time for each other. First a sugar cube is placed in the small cups, then a spoonful of coffee grounds and only then is coffee served. Meanwhile, the man continues imperturbably with his woodcarving. While the coffee is being served according to tradition, the man has used a small axe to turn a block of wood into a wooden ladle. The woman picks up her knitting and, while talking, continues to knit a pair of socks. Life in a mountain village has few luxuries. Electricity has only been available for a few years and that is quite a change. People now have TV. Outside there are antennas on the ground that have to be aimed manually for any reception. In Lukomir everyone provides for their own livelihood. The endearing elderly couple has therefore built a vegetable garden next to their house. The man and woman radiate simplicity and cordiality. Outside in the sun, their wrinkled faces take on a golden glow. The many layers of clothing they wear make for a colorful whole. Up there, on the top of the mountain, the color of the woman's headscarf blends almost seamlessly into blue sky

Thanks to our interpreter, we can start a conversation. The woman, who is long past eighty, goes inside and returns a little later with a tray of coffee. Coffee in Bosnia means making time for each other. First a sugar cube is placed in the small cups, then a spoonful of coffee grounds and only then is coffee served. Meanwhile, the man continues imperturbably with his woodcarving. While the coffee is being served according to tradition, the man has used a small axe to turn a block of wood into a wooden ladle. The woman picks up her knitting and, while talking, continues to knit a pair of socks. Life in a mountain village has few luxuries. Electricity has only been available for a few years and that is quite a change. People now have TV. Outside there are antennas on the ground that have to be aimed manually for any reception. In Lukomir everyone provides for their own livelihood. The endearing elderly couple has therefore built a vegetable garden next to their house. The man and woman radiate simplicity and cordiality. Outside in the sun, their wrinkled faces take on a golden glow. The many layers of clothing they wear make for a colorful whole. Up there, on the top of the mountain, the color of the woman's headscarf blends almost seamlessly into blue sky. Two neighboring women come walking up and also take a seat on one of the logs. Of course they are in the mood for coffee. We are busy talking to each other about everyday things. Our interpreter bridges the language barrier. When we say goodbye, the man promises to make a few more ladles for us tomorrow.

The sun intends to say goodbye to us. For a photographer, the soft grazing light of the setting sun is something magical. This time of day is the moment we have been waiting for all day. We go to the spot in the village that we picked out in advance. Lukomir now lies in the beautiful light of the setting sun. From our spot on the hill we can see the shepherds with their flocks of sheep approaching from all sides. The wool seems to "roll" down the mountain. The village, with 27 more residents of 80 plus, gains 4.500 sheep and a few cows at that moment. Total concentration to capture the moment

This time of day is the moment we have been waiting for all day. We go to the spot in the village that we picked out in advance. Lukomir now lies in the beautiful light of the setting sun. From our spot on the hill we can see the shepherds with their flocks of sheep approaching from all sides. The wool seems to "roll" down the mountain. The village, with 27 more residents of 80 plus, gains 4.500 sheep and a few cows at that moment. Total concentration to capture the moment. Breathlessly, we watch as everyday life gets ready for darkness. Each shepherd brings his flock to the corral. The fences are being closed. The houses are now surrounded by hundreds of sheep. The color palette of this scene takes on a golden glow as if brushed over this setting by the sun. The shepherds are called inside for a well-deserved meal. Their sheepdogs take over and watch over the flock until dawn. All becomes quiet and only when the last ray of light disappears is the camera packed.

After a cold night, we see the people outside working early. The life of every day begins again. The shepherds leave one by one with their flock back into the mountains. The peace and quiet in which everything happens is enviable. An old woman calls out to us "...Kaffa..

The shepherds leave one by one with their flock back into the mountains. The peace and quiet in which everything happens is enviable. An old woman calls out to us "...Kaffa...?" Well, we would like that and in the cottage we drink coffee with her with a cookie. Being able to photograph people in their own environment and listen to their life stories always feels like a great privilege. When we leave a few hours later we have more luggage than on the way out. The promised ladles are ready. We get hand-knitted slippers, gloves and socks. We leave a pair of reading glasses for a woman who can now see her knitting perfectly well again. Our luggage also contains another beautiful experience. We are waved off by wrinkled hands. What will happen to Lukomir when the last female has knitted her last pair of socks?