Bosnian

Thousands of Bosnia fans turned Toronto blue as they marched to the chants of ‘Free Palestine’ in Toronto.

Toronto, Canada — Nadia, a Bosnia and Herzegovina supporter who did not share her surname, stood out in her deep blue shirt as a sea of red-adorned Canada fans swarmed around her outside the Toronto Stadium an hour before kickoff to their FIFA World Cup 2026 opening game.

With the blue and yellow Bosnian flag draped around her, she found herself among the minority of “away” fans on Canadian soil on Thursday, less than two weeks after her team was given a warm welcome to the World Cup cohost nation.

It reminded Nadia, an immigrant, of her arrival in Canada in the mid-1990s when her family fled the Bosnian genocide that killed about 100,000 people and displaced more than two million.

“I wish I had space for two hearts so I could properly support both my countries,” Nadia told Al Jazeera when asked about her allegiance as loud roars of the crowd spilled out of the stadium behind her.

Nadia admitted her heart was ultimately with Bosnia, but the Canada cap she sported was a nod to the country that became home when she had to flee hers.

Earlier in the day, thousands of Bosnia supporters turned Toronto into a sea of blue as they marched towards the match venue in the city’s downtown while chanting “Free Palestine” to thunderous claps.

“They [Palestinians] should be free, enough with the wars and genocide,” Nadia said as her eyes welled up with tears. She took a deep breath before adding: “There is so much suffering, especially for the children.”

Cultures blend in Toronto

Dan, a Bosnia supporter in his 40s, was the same age as his primary school-aged son when he fled the genocide in his country.

The father-and-son duo enjoyed the game and soaked in the atmosphere among the 45,000-plus fans at the stadium before heading back slightly upset with the draw.

The day Canada opened its first World Cup became an amalgamation of immigrant Bosnian fans’ identities as they shared high fives and traded jerseys with their opposing numbers.

Every shade of skin colour and a multitude of mother tongues made the stadium and a nearby fan festival a microcosm of Toronto’s reputation as a multicultural hotspot.

The fan festival boasted the full spectrum of football enthusiasts — the hardcore supporters with expert analyses, laced with expletives at missed chances, and those in attendance purely for the vibes.

Football aside, several Canadian fans abhorred the immigration policies of their neighbour to the south. They were proud to be known for their hospitality at the 48-nation tournament across North America.

Admir, a travelling Bosnian fan, was full of praise for Canadian hospitality when he arrived from New Jersey.

“Everyone from ordinary people to stadium support staff to restaurant owners have been so accommodating since we got here,” he told Al Jazeera ahead of kickoff.

Compared with the barrage of immigration nightmare stories of World Cup supporters trying to enter the US, his journey to Canada was seamless.

Despite his home state hosting eight World Cup matches, Admir chose to pay an exorbitant price for tickets to see Bosnia, who returned to the World Cup after 12 years following a fairytale qualification.

The sun had drained most fans of their energy after the match, but not Tanya, who drove seven hours from New York to Toronto on Thursday morning.

“The atmosphere at the fan festival was amazing; Toronto has been great.”

“I think our boys played pretty well,” she said of the match. “We didn’t win, but it wasn’t a loss either.”

‘I know this bear. He knows me. We’ve met several times.” Our guide for the day points to a damaged sign in Sutjeska national park, at the beginning of the trail that descends to the forest of Perućica in south-east Bosnia. The wooden post is covered in scratches from large claws. “Bears are the sharks of the land, because they have the keenest sense of smell on the mountain. They are highly intelligent. I’m deeply persuaded that they know who is a friend and who is a foe. I come often to the forest, so this guy knows my smell. But there was one incident, a hunter who came here to kill, and a bear peeled off his face like an orange.”

With that image, Dejan Elez commands our full attention. A Bosnian Serb law graduate turned ranger and now mountain guide, he is a born storyteller and raconteur. My travel companion, Chris, and I are rapt as he describes the famous battle that was fought near here, when Yugoslav partisans broke through a German encirclement in 1943, taking the Wehrmacht by surprise under cover of a violent storm – “the wind was rising and the lightning was like a strobe” – but after that, Dejan’s narrative leads much further back in time, into the depths of one of Europe’s most ancient forests.

Scientists estimate Perućica – which spreads across the slopes of a canyon in Republika Srpska, the autonomous Serb-majority region of Bosnia and Herzegovina – has grown without human interference for 20,000 years. Along with Białowieża, which straddles Poland and Belarus, it is considered the last true remnant of the primeval wildwood that once covered the continent. But Perućica, says Dejan, is much better preserved. It has never been inhabited, and rough terrain and precipitous slopes have saved its trees from logging. Its 1,434 hectares (3,543 acres) are now under strict protection – no one can enter without a guide – and the site’s importance is recognised by Unesco.

From a viewpoint on a rocky ridge, dense greenery spreads below, clinging to the sheer canyon walls above a river. The river is fed by Skakavac, a 75-metre waterfall thundering into a mist of spray, and far above shines the white summit of a mountain. Originally, Chris and I had hoped to climb Maglić – at 2,386 metres, the highest peak in Bosnia – but it snowed a couple of weeks ago and we have been warned that conditions in early spring are perilous. We’ll save going up for another time. Today we are going down.

Dejan leads the way along the winding trail through groves of mixed beech, fir, spruce, pine and maple. He admits he does not know the names of all the trees, but what he does know, intimately, are the tracks of animals. The forest, he says, is “legible”, and he reads it like a book. Circular patches where the humus has been grubbed away are made by chamois foraging nutritious roots. Roe deer do the same, but their holes are precise and deep. “Look” – Dejan points to a wet log – “those scratch marks were made by a canine, either fox or wolf. But there, on the same log, something even more exciting.” The wider, deeper scratches were made by a passing brown bear. Nearby is a larger hole where a bear has raided a honeybee hive. Of course, sightings are never guaranteed, but they are always possible at this time of year, when bears emerge from hibernation to gorge on wild garlic – known in many Balkan languages as “bear’s garlic”. “If I stop, you stop! Now we are in stealth mode.”

Every few minutes of descent seems to bring us to a different realm as the temperate rainforest grows taller and more tangled. Deadwood lies everywhere – paradoxically a sign of health. Lichen, moss and fungus drip from the branches. The astonishing biodiversity protects Perućica from epidemics such as spruce bark beetle infestation, which has devastated old-growth forests elsewhere. With about 170 species of tree and shrub and more than 1,000 plants, it’s little wonder that our guide doesn’t know them all.

During the last ice age, Perućica escaped the freeze, acting as a refugium, an isolated region in which many species were preserved. From here, the trees expanded their range northwards when it thawed. The forest’s name, Dejan believes, is connected with Perun, the pre-Christian and pre-Islamic Slavic god of lightning. Certainly, it feels as if we are wandering in a temple.

He has packed sandwiches – cheese and ham in thick white buns – which we eat on a grassy ledge overlooking the waterfall. Chamois clearly dine here too, as their droppings are everywhere. We don’t see the herd – neither do we see the wildcats, lynx or wolves that also call the forest their home – but the knowledge that they are here, perhaps even very close to us, brings a sensation I can only describe as reverence. Each of us goes quiet with awe. Maglić and the other mountains disappear behind white cloud and it begins to rain. The wetness doesn’t matter.

With his legal background, Dejan is clear-eyed about the threats. The ancient forest may be safe, but hunters come to the wider national park and the rangers are sometimes bribed to look the other way. Most visitors to Sutjeska stay in the village of Tjentište, a scattering of guesthouses and modest restaurants along the main road, but increasingly there is encroachment at the borders of the park. Even our cosy timber-frame cabin near the entrance gate is, in his opinion, too close.

It’s not that people shouldn’t come here, he tells us as we walk back up. What matters is how they come, as respectful guests. We are not the owners of the forest, not even the owners of this trail, which is walked by and shared with many other feet. He stoops to brush aside some leaves and identifies flecks of bone that have passed through a wolf’s digestive tract, and further on, wolf excrement filled with chamois hair. “This was left on the trail deliberately to tell us it’s their territory. They don’t do anything by accident. Everything has a meaning.”

After almost five hours, we emerge on the gravel road that leads towards Tjentište. The absence of so much tangled life is vaguely shocking. Both of us feel changed by our glimpse into Europe’s wild past – and perhaps we have been subtly changed on a biological level, too. Dejan announces when we part: “You two gentlemen have been exposed to a universe of micro-organisms you will never find in England. This forest gets inside you.” Perućica clings to us as we leave the national park and return to Sarajevo, a two and a half hour drive, going north as the trees once did when the ice age ended.

Guided tours of Perućica with Outdoor Bosnia or Wild Balkan Trails from £50pp. Mountain View, Tjentište, sleeps two, from £44 a night. Alternatively, Apartmani Šarović, also in Tjentište, sleeps two, from £47 a night