Sarajevo, Bosnia

After my all-night train ride from Ljubljana through Zagreb, I rolled into Sarajevo at 6:11am. I had looked online beforehand and knew there were two hostels in town (both pretty sketchy according to the reviews); however, I was also interested in staying in someone's home (a common accomodation in Sarajevo) to get the authentic experience. Knowing it was too early to head to the hostels, I walked around the train station for a couple minutes. Then, a middle-aged woman approached me and in broken English asked if I was looking for a room. I decided (perhaps against my better judgement) to go for it, in the name of the "authentic experience."

We caught a taxi to her place which was only a block or so away from downtown. I had expected to be staying in a small room in her home. Nope - her home was a small room. There was one bed, one couch, a small stove, small table, bookshelf, a few stuffed animals as decorations, and a window overlooking the bullet-ridden building across the street. In the place of what would have been a light fixture was a black burn mark. I have to say it was pretty depressing. And my host was a little disconcerting as well. Needless to say, I didn't feel 100% comfortable.

After a couple-hour nap on the couch, I headed out to see the sights, making a mental note that, rather than two nights, I would only spend one in this woman's home. First, I went to the suburbs around the airport where I walked along a dirt road to the remains of the "Sarajevo Tunnel." The Tunnel was built in the 1990s as a means of smugging food, electricity, gas, military personnel and munitions into the under-seige city of Sarajevo. The city was under seige for almost four years as Serbian snipers and paramilitaries camped out in the surrounding hills with sights ever locked on Sarajevo as they picked of pedestrians and launched mortars incessantly into the buildings. Locals attribute their survival to the Tunnel, which ran 800 meters under the UN-occupied airport into the still Bosnian-controlled stretch of land leading up to Croatia. Interesting stuff.

From there I headed back into the city, passing bullet-ridden and bombed out structures all the way. There were a few streets in the heart of the city that have been renovated pretty well. These present an optimistic face of a city still on a very slow road to reconstruction and recovery. The sidewalks are covered with "Sarajevo Roses" - craters left from mortar fire - some of which are filled in with red cement, but most of which remain holes.

Also in the center of Sarajevo is the Latin Bridge where the event precipitating World War I occured when a Serb assasinated the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne.

There is also a very nice Turkish quarter where many of the mosques are centered (Bosnia is heavily Muslim). The streets are polished stone, the buildings low and full of character, and the mosque spires enchanting. I had a turkish meal with wonderful yoghurt.

I then walked back toward the bus station to see how soon I would be able to leave Sarajevo. On the way, I was amazed at the evidences of death and destruction that accompanied every step. Museums were still bombed out with bulled-ridden facades. As I neared Sniper's Alley (by the Holiday Inn that served as home to the international journalist community during the war) I was surprised to see angled bullet holes throughout the sidewalk, left from the Serbian snipers who sat perched in high-rised killing pedestrians below. Earlier I had seen pictures of bodies laying all over this street. It was a poignant experience. As if the history of death alone wasn't enough, on the sidewalk I saw a worm frantically squirming. I looked down to see ants eating it alive. Then, as I arrived at the bus station, a crow swooped down and attacked a sparrow, carrying the squawking bird away in its beak. Yes, it was a pretty depressing walk.

At the trainstation I was met enthusiastically by my host who was stalking out the train and bus stations for other turists to try to get to stay in her place (how they would have fit, I have no idea). There were no tourists, though. And, similarly, no night buses to Belgrade. I would have to wait until morning. Oh well, at least the bus left at 6am so I would only have to sleep in her apartment for a few hours.

The woman and I then walked back into town together to determine a meeting place for the night so we could get back to her apartment. After determining the meeting place (a church) and time (11pm), I headed to the nicer street where cafes and bars had assembled masses of chairs, tables and tv's to watch the Bosnia-Turkey national teams football match. It was a great game and a much-appreciated reprieve from the sights of the city and the gloom it eminated. Bosnia scored in the 89th minute to take a 3-2 lead. A few minutes later, the game was over, and the drinking began. I think any excuse to celebrate is welcome here.

I still had around 30 minutes before I met up with the woman to go home, so I subdued my hunger with a couple slices of pizza at a small joint that was still open. Then I walked up to the Turkish Quarter to see it lit up at night, walked around the main mosque, and then headed back to the pre-determined meeting point to go home and get some sleep. I got to bed around 11:15 and, since there was no shower, was able to sleep in until 5am and still make it to the bus station in time for the 6am bus to Belgrade, Serbia.