When I booked my trip to Bosnia and Herzegovina earlier this year, I imagined the usual: wandering through Sarajevo with a heavy bag of camera gear, trying to capture the Ottoman streets and the mountains that cradle the city. It had been years since I’d travelled abroad, and I was eager to get back to a place where history and landscape feel so tangled together.
But as soon as I started packing, reality hit. Without a car, I’d be at the mercy of buses, trams, and my own two feet. My full-frame Nikon suddenly felt like a lead weight. I spent days staring at my gear, trying on my backpack with various lens combinations, debating which were “essential” and which I could leave behind. Somehow, the whole kit was becoming a burden before I’d even left the house.
Then a thought surfaced—one that felt almost sacrilegious. What if I just left the camera at home entirely? The iPhone 17 Pro was already in my pocket. I’d always considered it a backup, but could its 48-megapixel cameras and clever computational tricks really be enough?
Curiosity won out. I watched YouTube videos on how to make the most of the iPhone’s camera system, packed it along with a small tripod, and left all my other gear behind. I headed for the Balkans feeling unusually light.
Sarajevo struck me the moment I arrived. Walking into the old bazaar, it was the rhythmic clatter of coppersmiths hammering in narrow alleys that caught my attention first—a sound that seems to define the Baščaršija district. Moving through the crowds with nothing but a phone in my pocket felt strange at first, like I’d forgotten my wallet or keys. But that unease melted the moment I started shooting. Just reaching into my pocket to capture a shot was infinitely easier than unzipping a backpack and fumbling for a camera.
Copperwear Street
Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina
Climbing to the Yellow Fortress viewpoint was a revelation. Without the 2kg weight of my usual camera and lens combo, every step felt lighter. The iPhone’s ultra-wide lens handled the Miljacka River and surrounding hills beautifully, and the 100mm telephoto surprised me, picking out architectural textures and minarets I would usually have needed a massive zoom for. Free from a heavy backpack, I kept climbing, exploring higher viewpoints, taking in the city from angles I’d often ignored before.
Back in the city centre, without that strap digging into my shoulder, I moved differently. I stopped more, looked up more, and spent less time fiddling with dials and more time noticing life around me. I smiled as I captured the streets with a phone rather than a camera, feeling a freedom in photography I hadn’t felt in years.
The real test came in Jajce, a town famous for the massive waterfall right in its centre. I’ve always loved long exposures, but that usually means a tripod, ND filters, and patience—things an iPhone isn’t “supposed” to handle.
But computational photography breaks the rules. Using apps like Reexpose and Reeheld, I stood at the viewpoint and watched the water turn into smooth, flowing ribbons right on my screen. The apps combine multiple exposures into a single image to create a long-exposure effect. For a moment, I wondered if I’d regret leaving my camera behind, but the results were better than I expected. It felt a little like cheating, and no ND filter required!
Jajce
Jajce, Bosnia and Herzegovina
I tried the same thing at Lovers’ Bridge and, later, the mossy channels of Vrelo Bosne. It was a strange relief not to wrestle with filters or repeatedly taking my backpack on and off. I found my composition, pressed the shutter, and let the software do the heavy lifting.
Of course, it wasn’t perfect. The images couldn’t match the detail of my Nikon, and waterfalls had a slightly textured, rather than silky, appearance. Computational captures were limited to 12MP, so the freedom to crop wherever I liked was gone. In Sarajevo’s dim, narrow alleys at dusk, the small sensor struggled, showing noise if I pushed the shadows too far.
Yet those limitations didn’t ruin the trip. If anything, they forced me to be more deliberate. I stopped worrying about the “perfect” file and focused on the frame. The simplicity of travelling light far outweighed the few moments I missed my Nikon’s dynamic range and larger sensor.
Vrelo Bosne
Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina
By the time I headed home, the iPhone had stopped being a “backup.” It had become a tool that encouraged spontaneity, removed the barrier between seeing a moment and capturing it, and added a lot more joy to my photography.
Bosnia and Herzegovina is a country of contrasts—Ottoman alleys, quiet mountain villages, and thundering waterfalls. The iPhone captured that diversity without turning me into a pack mule. The journey reminded me that photography isn’t really about the gear we carry; it’s about how we see the world and which stories we decide are worth telling.