First impressions of Sarajevo are most strongly of modernity. The old city, thoroughly reconstructed, is a pleasant collection of cafes, bars, and clothing shops, populated at every hour of every day by swathes of people. Although there isn’t much that survived the war, the reconstruction is tasteful and faithful, and the Ottoman quarter feels absolutely Turkish, from the whitewashed wooden beam houses to the stray cats, who predominate over the typical dogs only in this part of town. The mix of Orthodox churches, Austro-Hungarian row houses, and Turkish style mosques and market buildings reminds me of Bulgaria, though in a somehow more muted way. If anything, religion seems stronger here, and we’ve seen the mosque full at noon prayer, while minutes later a large group of nuns in habits wandered down the street.
It’s been a lazy visit in lots of ways. The Australian fellow I ventured here with and I lucked into a very comfortable hostel which we had to ourselves, joined one night later by a German girl working for a development agency. The hostel is unmanned, the proprietress only stopping by occasionally to check in, which gives it a very homey feel. Having a place entirely to ourselves is a very different kind of comfortable than even the most generous couchhost or well-run hostel, and we’ve been taking full advantage. Spent a day snowboarding, and though conditions were rather poor, it’s always nice to spend time on the hill. Though we missed our planned bus back and spent a hill hour trying to hitch a ride, the mini-bus we eventually tracked down turned out to be much more interesting. It was populated by a group of young Bosnians, and though they didn’t speak enough English to explain what was going on, they appeared to have chartered the entire bus, or at least known its owner, as they were lounging comfortably lounging around their skis and passing tea around. The bus rumbled through the mountain passes, with views of small farms hiding in just-greening valleys through the steamed glass. The trees on the gentle hills were leafless, but they had a tinge of red from the spring buds, only visible when massed in the distance. We passed small villages accessible only by winding gravel roads, new metal roofed farmsteads interspersed with crumbling brick mansions. The Bosnian music playing over the jovial conversation of our busmates was the perfect acoustic accompaniment to the beautiful mountainscape.
We were deposited beside a freeway overpass on the far side of the city from our hostel, but a short walk took us to the tram which chugged its way through steadily toward home. We passed through the new city centre, a mish-mash of tired looking residential block towers and glistening super modern skyscrapers blotting out the hills.
Our evenings have been a succession of cozy bars, in a constant search for decent beer, which we eventually found in the form of a dark from Slovenia. Along the way we found a few good watering holes, a decent cover band, and an excellent local group playing mostly what appeared to be local folk favourites, based on the audience`s reaction. Standing room only in a cramped Irish pub turns out to be an ideal setting for Bosnian folk music.
Today, while dodging scattered showers and looking for the half-ruined buildings I was hoping lurked here as in most other cities in this region, we made it our mission to eat all the crepes we could find, in the hope of thoroughly defeating the constant craving for their nutella-y goodness before departing this land of bounty. Both goals were thoroughly, if somewhat naseauatingly fulfilled, and the rest of the afternoon passed in a sugary doze in front of the heater in our `flat.` The rain`s returned, so tonight’s plans are slowly shifting from tireless adventure to Disney movies, but we shall see.
