Dubrovnik Dissapoints, but Sarajevo Saves the Day
So, shortly after my last post, it started raining, really, seriously raining, so I ended up spending zero time on the beach and the bulk of my time stuck indoors, since Dubrovnik doesn't have much in the way of museums. A resort town, it is mostly known for its gorgeous beaches and a nightlife that consists of eating and drinking at delightful, outdoor restaurants. Obviously, neither of these activities are suited to torrential downpour.
On a positive note, I found a bakery down the street from my apartment that makes the most amazing creamfilled, chocolate covered, drooltastic cakes, so I had a couple of those, some burek [cheese or meat filled rolls] and spent most of my time reading, resting up from my crazy schedule.
This morning, I took a bus to Sarajevo, which entailed driving up the Dalmatian coast, before veering inland through Mostar [known best for its historic and spectacular bridge that was destroyed during the war in 1993] and then on to Sarajevo. The Bosnian/Hercegovin [hereafter known as BiH] countryside is beautiful and the lush mountains and valleys are divided by numerous rivers that appear to merely be an extension of the clear, blue adriatic. They are sparkling and shockingly unpolluted.
About 20 miles into BiH, you begin to notice buildings that are pockmarked, missing windows or roofs or some that are barely standing. The war ended barely a decade ago, and the scars are still apparent. The further you drive into BiH, the more shell-ravaged structures you see, and by the time you reach Mostar, you are almost prepared for virtually an entire city of hollow, steel-hull remnants of apartment buildings and crumbling brick mosques and schools.
Initially, Sarajevo is equally appalling, since it seems to mirror the havoc seen in Mostar. The main bus station is located near the famous Holiday Inn where journalists were stationed during the war, on a street that used to be known as Sniper Alley, since Serb snipers would essentially pick off locals running from shelter to shelter. Of course, the street is perfectly safe now, but there is something eerie about it - people seem to walk a little faster and look over their shoulders. The first people I see on the street are policija in kevlar vests, which doesn't inspire me with confidence.
After a few minutes on a tram, I am in the center of old town, in a piazza colloquially known as Pigeon Square for the absurd amount of fowl congregating in the area. A far cry from the area near the bus station, this part of Sarajevo rivals Istanbul. There are at least half a dozen mosques in sight, charming storefronts selling scarves and copper coffee pots and dried spices. Outdoor restaurants and cafes serve Bosnian cusine, traditional [intensely strong] coffee and pastries. The streets are cobblestoned and narrow, extending for several blocks in every direction.
Surprisingly, more women wear the traditional moslem headscarf here than in Tirana, although only 40% of BiH is moslem, compared to 70% of Albania [both countries have a population of approximately 4 million]. Although moslem persecution was notoriously terrible in Sarajevo, some folks still seem to have a sense of humor. At one store, I see t-shirts that read, "Yes, I'm Muslim. Don't Be Afraid."
A few blocks away, the Miljacka river divides the city and the famous Latin bridge continues to unobtrusively bear the weight of passersby. Only about 50 feet across, it is hard to believe this is the site of Franz Ferdinand's assasination and the beginning of WWI. Following the river west, the architecture begins to morph, becoming increasingly less Eastern and more Baroque, buildings painted pastel colors and decorated with ornate trim. [BiH was one of the Hapsburg empire's favorite colonies and Sarajevo actually had street lights before Vienna, since experimenting with potentially dangerous technology was suited better to a less renowned city than the capital of the empire.] Of course, these Western style structures are also covered with pits left by mortars - it seems no one or thing in Sarajevo was spared.
Unfortunately, tomorrow I leave for Belrgrade [then a night train to Zagreb and, the following day, an afternoon train to Ljubljana]. I wish I had another couples days in Sarajevo, since it is a very vibrant community that is full of energy, despite its wretched past. Specifically, I wish I could have made it to the Tunnel Museum by the airport, which consists of the underground tunnel Sarajevans built to defend their city against the Serbs, but it's far and there really is no time.
More soon.
On a positive note, I found a bakery down the street from my apartment that makes the most amazing creamfilled, chocolate covered, drooltastic cakes, so I had a couple of those, some burek [cheese or meat filled rolls] and spent most of my time reading, resting up from my crazy schedule.
This morning, I took a bus to Sarajevo, which entailed driving up the Dalmatian coast, before veering inland through Mostar [known best for its historic and spectacular bridge that was destroyed during the war in 1993] and then on to Sarajevo. The Bosnian/Hercegovin [hereafter known as BiH] countryside is beautiful and the lush mountains and valleys are divided by numerous rivers that appear to merely be an extension of the clear, blue adriatic. They are sparkling and shockingly unpolluted.
About 20 miles into BiH, you begin to notice buildings that are pockmarked, missing windows or roofs or some that are barely standing. The war ended barely a decade ago, and the scars are still apparent. The further you drive into BiH, the more shell-ravaged structures you see, and by the time you reach Mostar, you are almost prepared for virtually an entire city of hollow, steel-hull remnants of apartment buildings and crumbling brick mosques and schools.
Initially, Sarajevo is equally appalling, since it seems to mirror the havoc seen in Mostar. The main bus station is located near the famous Holiday Inn where journalists were stationed during the war, on a street that used to be known as Sniper Alley, since Serb snipers would essentially pick off locals running from shelter to shelter. Of course, the street is perfectly safe now, but there is something eerie about it - people seem to walk a little faster and look over their shoulders. The first people I see on the street are policija in kevlar vests, which doesn't inspire me with confidence.
After a few minutes on a tram, I am in the center of old town, in a piazza colloquially known as Pigeon Square for the absurd amount of fowl congregating in the area. A far cry from the area near the bus station, this part of Sarajevo rivals Istanbul. There are at least half a dozen mosques in sight, charming storefronts selling scarves and copper coffee pots and dried spices. Outdoor restaurants and cafes serve Bosnian cusine, traditional [intensely strong] coffee and pastries. The streets are cobblestoned and narrow, extending for several blocks in every direction.
Surprisingly, more women wear the traditional moslem headscarf here than in Tirana, although only 40% of BiH is moslem, compared to 70% of Albania [both countries have a population of approximately 4 million]. Although moslem persecution was notoriously terrible in Sarajevo, some folks still seem to have a sense of humor. At one store, I see t-shirts that read, "Yes, I'm Muslim. Don't Be Afraid."
A few blocks away, the Miljacka river divides the city and the famous Latin bridge continues to unobtrusively bear the weight of passersby. Only about 50 feet across, it is hard to believe this is the site of Franz Ferdinand's assasination and the beginning of WWI. Following the river west, the architecture begins to morph, becoming increasingly less Eastern and more Baroque, buildings painted pastel colors and decorated with ornate trim. [BiH was one of the Hapsburg empire's favorite colonies and Sarajevo actually had street lights before Vienna, since experimenting with potentially dangerous technology was suited better to a less renowned city than the capital of the empire.] Of course, these Western style structures are also covered with pits left by mortars - it seems no one or thing in Sarajevo was spared.
Unfortunately, tomorrow I leave for Belrgrade [then a night train to Zagreb and, the following day, an afternoon train to Ljubljana]. I wish I had another couples days in Sarajevo, since it is a very vibrant community that is full of energy, despite its wretched past. Specifically, I wish I could have made it to the Tunnel Museum by the airport, which consists of the underground tunnel Sarajevans built to defend their city against the Serbs, but it's far and there really is no time.
More soon.
posted by RedSonja at
8:46 PM
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