Sarajevo

Sarajevo is a place that deserves not only attention, but reflection.

We plled into the station at about 7am and a thin layer of fog and frost had settled over everything. I saw the lights of the city come and go while it was still dark, and we pulled into a secondary bus station in some nondescript village outside the city some time after. Bosnian is another Slavic language, but my Bulgarian only got me about halfway in the battle of understanding. After a bout of pointing and sign language and communication that turned into some new form of Slavic - an awkward middle ground between strangers - I boarded a tram on the advice of the info desk and hoped for the best.

It worked, ans in a moment I was in downtown Sarajevo, the very center of one of the great tragedies of our time. In 1992, the Serbs had completely surrounded the city with artillery and were laying siege to the place almost 24/7. The first glances around the city revealed a mix of new construction, renovation, and the last remnants of the war, still not completely patched up. Walking along the river to my hostel, I passed row after row of old buildings, all pock-marked with the spray of bullets from 15 years ago - the scars of suffering but not defeat - all wordlessly telling a story that ached to be told.

The story, of course, was told, mostly by reporters and camera crews holed up in the now iconic Holiday Inn, right across from the Parliament building and edging a formerly treacherous main drag ominously nicknamed "Snipers' Alley." Nearby is one of several Olympic halls, one of the site of the indoor events of the 1984 Winter Olympic Games. This particular arena is now a department store.

I walked along the river as the city showed its first stirrings of life. I walked until I reached the Old Town section of town, marked along the river by the so-called Latin Bridge. It's a small little stone span, but became the focus of the world's attention when Franz Ferdinand was assassinated there, setting into motion the First World War.

With such a deadly history, one should think the roads would be painted red. In some cases they actually are. Former holes in the pavement etched out by mortar fire were symbolically filled in with red cement, forming the so-called "Sarajevo Roses." Along with the filled in mortar scars in the surrounding buildings, memories of the war are to be found all over.

I checked into the hostel and quickly turned to the streets of Bascarcija, the Old Town, as the city roared to life. The recovery has been total, and one gets a great feeling walking along the cobbled and winding alleyways of the old market streets. Once a major marketplace on the outer edges of the Ottoman Empire, the city was an important link in the trade route between East and West. Today, the mixture of cultures lives on, reminding me strangely of both Vienna and Istanbul at the same time. People of all kinds live harmoniously in this small space. In one city block I counted two mosques, an Orthodox church, a Catholic church, and a synagogue. And who says people can't get along?

I walked and walked my first day, admiring the truly unique culture of Bosnia. And at the same time, my mind wouldn't get settled. This city won't let people ever forget what has happened throughout history. They are proud and full of solidarity. The National History Museum, located in between two gleaming, reconstructed glass towers, squats and crumbles. It has been intentionally left in a state of disrepair - the same condition in which is was left when the war ended - riddled with bullet holes, chunks torn from its facade. Indeed, nobody will ever forget what happened here.

Yet, once inside, the museum is indicative of any modern and well kept structure. This pattern holds true for many places in this city. The people here survived in the small and hidden places, away from the artillery fire constantly falling from the surrounding hilltops and protected against the prying eyes of the ever present snipers. Here, in these tiny nooks, the city's culture lived on and flourished. Today, because of this, Sarajevo is a place teeming with life both inside and out.

My second day, I wrapped up my wandering of the city with a visit to the old Olympic Stadium and Arena. During the war, the surrounding fields and gardens were used as a makeshift burial ground for the thousands of casualties suffered during the 4 year long siege. On this day, however, the stadium was being used for a big regional health conference.

Much like the "Miracle on Ice" that occurred in the 1980 Olympics 4 years previously, in which the underdog American National Hockey Team defeated their Russian arch-rivals, the Bosnians have defeated the seemingly unbeatable rivals of hopelessness and fear. The Bosnians continue to be proud of the fact that their city was an Olympic host. They choose to dwell on the positive aspects of their history, while maintaining a reverence to the tragic ones.

Sarajevo has indeed led a comeback of epic proportions, and in a short time too. The energy and love of life here is an inspiration to me. That this vitality has arisen in the face of such extreme adversity (and while continuing to honor that struggle) is even more so.