Sarajevo is the heart of Europe. It is a heart that has been
beaten and bruised, torn apart and patched together again. It has been
Christian and Muslim, Roman, Turkish, and Austrian, ruled by Europe’s great
empires, occupied by the Nazis, part of the socialist Yugoslav state, and is
now finding its feet as a nascent democracy. It was tested to breaking point as
neighbours turned on neighbours during the terrible siege of the 1990s. It is a
cultural crossroads whose language, Bosnian, has been written in turn in the
Arabic, Cyrillic and Latin scripts. It took centre stage in the flashpoint that
set the events of the First World War in motion. The assassination of the
Austrian crown prince Archduke Franz Ferdinand by Serb nationalists is symbolic
of the upheaval of the old, imperial Europe, and the emergence of many of the
new nation states that now comprise the continent. Its recent history serves as
a powerful reminder of the barbarity that we Europeans are capable of. The
atrocities in Bosnia occurred in a post-Cold War world, and are frighteningly
close to our own time. This city thus
has a legacy of changing hands, of cultural exchange and of the depths of dark
history. In short, the story of Sarajevo is that of Europe.
Here, one finds Balkan cuisine, Turkish-influenced coffee
culture, and a currency that is still pegged to the Deutschmark (and is indeed
called the mark). There is a refreshing dearth of nationalist symbols (no more
crescent moons, eagles or fleur-de-lys) because of the need for neutrality
between its three major ethnic groups. Here one can visit mosques beside
Catholic churches beside synagogues beside Orthodox churches. It is a
surprising, haunting, fascinating place. I would urge anyone not to go and join
the hordes clogging up the Louvre, the Trevi Fountain and the Charles Bridge;
go and see Sarajevo.
I will caveat the above by mentioning that it is a little
more difficult to get to than the larger cities or resorts of Bosnia’s
neighbours. I took a bus overnight from Belgrade, which proved to be not the
smoothest ride owing to the lack of large, straight roads in the country. The
bus initially followed the motorway towards Zagreb before turning onto smaller
roads at Sremska Mitrovica and then crossing the border by way of a bridge over
the Drina river at Loznica. I was sad not to be able to see this by day because
the sinewy road wedged between cliffs and the river would have made for a
wonderful journey. I somehow slept despite the twisting terrain and awoke on
the R446 road to the south of the city to a rainy morning. The poor weather failed
to dampen my excitement at seeing odd clusters of houses scattered here and
there among the hills and forests, and every now and then a view through the
trees across the valley and down into Sarajevo itself. These brief glimpses of
the city, of brown roofs and needles of minarets were already captivating.
Before commencing with the narrative, it is worth making a
quick but important point about the structure of the country. Bosnia and
Herzegovina is one of very few European states to have no clear majority ethnic
group (the others I would list are Belgium and Switzerland). It has three major
groups, Serbs, Croats and Bosniaks (Bosnian Muslims). It is divided into two
entities, each intentionally designed to comprise almost exactly 50% of the
country’s territory. These are not, as might be expected, called Bosnia and
Herzegovina, which are the names of historical regions only. The so-called
Dayton Line, drawn up in Ohio during the 1995 Dayton Accords that concluded the
1992-1995 war, cuts across Bosnia’s mountains and valleys and skirts around
most of the major population centres, and delineates the northern and eastern
Republika Srpska, home mostly to Bosnian Serbs, from the southern, central and
western Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina where the Croats and Bosniaks are
found in larger numbers. These are henceforth referred to as the Republika and
the Federation respectively. (The northern town of Brčko is a notable oddity as
it is officially part of both entities because its strategic location meant it could
split the Republika into two, preventing a hypothetical invading Serb army from
occupying the entire Republika and sweeping into the rest of the country in a
pincer movement.) These two regions, and the three ethnic communities that
dwell within them, remain distinct but intrinsic components of the Bosnian
nation.
Map of Bosnia & Herzegovina. The Republika Srpska is shown in orange, with the Federation of BiH in purple. Sarajevo lies on the border, directly above the letter N of Herzegovina
Thus, when my bus terminated at Istočno bus station, I found
myself just inside the Republika. The vast majority of the city is part of the
Federation, with the Republika occupying only a small area. Because the
Republika predominantly occupies eastern parts of Bosnia, this district is
called East Sarajevo, and is eccentrically and paradoxically located on the
southwestern edge of the city. I loitered at the bus station through the
heaviest part of the rain, and once it had eased sufficiently, I set off.
Not yet having local money and thus unable to buy a bus ticket, in need of a leg
stretch, and keen to kill time before the Historical Museum of Bosnia and
Herzegovina opened, I set off towards the city proper on foot.
Istočno Sarajevo (East Sarajevo)
Agricultural, industrial and residential land, as well as distant mountains
My innate optimism meant I overlooked the fact that the museum
was four miles away, but the early morning exercise was well worth it. Seeing
the retreating rainclouds smoothly rolling away westwards over the verdant
mountains that surround the city was a wonderful first impression. Sarajevo is
unarguably stunningly situated.
In many cities, one can find a tangible trace of some
distant battle. There is a cannonball from the English Civil War embedded in a
building in the Dorset town of Weymouth. One of Munich’s churches is likewise home to such an
artefact. In many other places all over Europe, it is possible for those with
eyes peeled to find bullet marks here and there to mark engagements from the
First or Second World War, or any of the innumerable others that have ravaged
the continent. In Sarajevo, one doesn’t even need to look for them. Within five
minutes of leaving the bus station, I was surrounded by blocks of flats, many
of which were liberally sprayed with holes left by bullets. If these were
relics on the Western Front, they would be remarkable; there would be plaques, perhaps
even flags of combatant states. Here there was nothing out of ordinary about
them and no fanfare. They were made within the last twenty five years and are
now a part of the city’s architecture. I suspect this lack of cosmetic work is
due to lack of investment rather than an active desire to commemorate the
Bosnian War, but I liked the scarred appearance of these tower blocks.
Reconstruction glosses over the negative history, regardless of the number of
plaques that are put up. These ordinary residences were harrowingly poignant.
Battle damage on a residential building
The Miljacka river, flowing west from the city centre towards East Sarajevo
As I continued walking through these suburbs, past more
houses, schools, petrol stations, corner shops, mosques and all the usual
amenities, another characteristic of the city became increasingly apparent.
Sarajevo has 11,000 stray dogs that have been tagged, and possibly upwards of
20,000 in total. I went on to encounter stray dogs on my further travels in
Montenegro, where they were mostly timid, and in Bulgaria’s capital Sofia,
where they were mostly just lazy. Not so in Sarajevo. They are typically medium
to large dogs of a breed I couldn’t make out and with colourings similar to
that of a German Shepherd. The first few I came across were in packs of three
to five, and were found scavenging around large municipal bins. Later, on the
approach to the museum, I was witness to a lengthy scrap between a dog and a
hooded crow. The dog was determined to eat the crow and the crow seemingly
forgot that it could simply fly out of reach, allowing the dog to persist. It
was noisy, annoying and could have gone on forever. For me, these dogs were
something of a novelty, but for locals, it must get incredibly tedious. Later
in the day, I saw a dog licking his lips and tentatively trying to bite a man
on the calf. Elsewhere I went, there were dogs barking noisily and incessantly.
They can be scarily aggressive and can carry disease. The majority are lazy,
but the few hostile ones keep you on your toes.
The Historical Museum was worth the few marks I paid to
enter. I shall skimp on the details because the Bosnian conflict has been
mentioned already and will return later. Suffice it to say that the museum
comprised two parts. The first was on the topic of ‘Wasn’t Tito great and
didn’t his mindset and tolerance of our differences and desire to stick two
fingers up to the more brutal regimes in the Soviet bloc make all our lives in
Yugoslavia wonderful’. The second was themed around ‘Look how tragic life is
when we remember our differences and start listening to the people with pent-up
rage who stir up our nationalist sentiments and encourage us to start killing
each other and how awful that is and here are some photos and posters and
artefacts to show it.’ It was good to get a more local perspective on events
and much more emotional to see the pictures, news articles, poetry and physical
objects that related to the very streets I was walking. It was much more
involving than reading historians’ accounts or watching the excellent BBC
documentaries of the late 1990s covering the Bosnian conflict. In the midst of
the current migrant crisis and the truly terrible events going on in the Middle
East today, it is easy to forget that Bosnia in the 1990s was the world’s Syria
in the 2010s. Sarajevo was besieged by Serbs for four years - the longest siege in the history of modern warfare - during which its
inhabitants would dash across streets such as the notorious ‘Sniper Alley’ to
gather food and fuel during the bitter winters. It is almost impossible to
imagine what those living there went through, and all the more troubling to
consider that many of those who were once in the crosshairs may now live
virtually side by side with those whose fingers were once poised to pull
triggers.
Poster calling for Sarajevo to be awarded European Cultural Capital, at the height of the siege when the city was cut off from the world. Historical Museum of Bosnia and Herzegovina
'Death to Fascism' Historical Museum of Bosnia and Herzegovina
Historical Museum of Bosnia and Herzegovina
Weighed down by these thoughts, I left the museum and was
almost immediately beside the tall skyscraper of the Executive Council
Building, which was infamously set ablaze after being hit by artillery fire in
1992, giving me yet more cause to dwell upon the siege. The Greek government contributed €17 million to rebuild it, and it is now called the Greece-Bosnia and Herzegovina Friendship Building. Just beneath the
building, I saw my first ‘Sarajevo rose’, a shell hole in the ground that has
been filled with red paint to create a distinctive and tragic memorial. During my
sombre reflections, I became aware of the fact that a stray dog had begun to stalk
me, and we started to play a sinister version of ‘grandmother’s footsteps’,
with my pursuer stopping dead whenever I turned around to give a menacing glare
or aggressive stomp in its direction. The dog eventually got the message and
was last seen following an unsuspecting pensioner using a zebra crossing to get
to his church.
The Executive Council Building
A Sarajevo rose
One of at least 11,000 stray dogs in Sarajevo
Twenty years on from the resolution of the conflict and this
part of Sarajevo appears up and coming, with one or two high rise developments,
and a couple of attractive shopping centres. The Sarajevo City Center mall has
especially swanky bathrooms, compared to the more spartan offerings that are
the usual standard of the region. Bosnia is still among the poorest nations in
Europe, and I didn’t really wait to establish whether the clientele of the
Western outlets were typical Bosnians or a wealthy elite. I rather suspected
the latter. Nevertheless, these tentative signs of investment may translate to
greater prosperity in years to come.
The Academy of Fine Arts
My onward walk took me back in time as I reached the milk chocolate
brown Miljacka river and followed the one-way Obala Kulina bana due east
towards the old quarter of Sarajevo. By now, the sun was out and it was a
pleasant route beside the city’s shallow waterway, flanked on one side by more
historic buildings than those I had seen earlier and on the other by government
buildings and then a leafy park. Bridge after bridge came and went and then the
one I wanted to see came into view. I recognised the Latin Bridge (Latinska
ćuprija) instantly. In 1914, the ageing Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph I sent his
nephew and heir Archduke Franz Ferdinand to Sarajevo to oversee military
training. Austria-Hungary had inherited Bosnia from the declining Ottoman
Empire in 1878 and had a tentative control of this new acquisition. In the last
years of the nineteenth century, several nations such as Albania and Bulgaria
emerged in the Balkans and the idea of a free state for Serbs in Bosnia became
the goal of many nationalists including a nineteen year old Bosnian Serb named
Gavrilo Princip. He and his co-conspirators planned an intervention during this
visit. The trip was planned for 28 June (15 June in the old Julian calendar), a
date that was no coincidence. This was the anniversary of the 1389 Battle of
Kosovo, in which invading Ottoman forces defeated a Serb army. (This battle is
also part of the reason Kosovo is so important to Serbs; it had been Serb land
before the Ottoman victory facilitated its Turkification, culminating in
today’s contentious, majority Muslim, ethnically Albanian, Kosovan state.
That’s a can of worms for another time though). 28 June is a hugely important
day for Serbs, and a visit to consolidate the imperial stranglehold on Serbs
upon the day that marks their most significant defeat to a foreign power was a
mighty slap in the face.
The full story involves a failed attack by bomb, an
unplanned hospital visit, some reluctance to take their opportunity on the part
of many of the conspirators, a driver who didn’t know exactly where he was
going and some incredible chance. After his comrades had failed to do the deed,
Princip happened to be standing outside a café beside the Latin Bridge when
Franz Ferdinand’s car took a wrong turn, allowing him to leap aboard and shoot
the archduke and his wife Sophie dead at close range. Princip then tried to
kill himself but was prevented from doing so by a crowd of onlookers. Another
plotter, Nedeljko Čabrinović, tried to drown himself in the Miljacka.
Presumably he had failed to notice that the river was only 10cm deep. Both
would go on to die before the war’s end in prison at Terezín in today’s Czech
Republic. The wider implication of this event is of course that it set in
motion a catastrophic failure of European diplomacy, with the incensed Austria-Hungary
and its erstwhile ally Germany perhaps more at fault than others for the ensuing string of declarations of war by the belligerent European powers. Regardless,
the First World War was born and it would go on to cause upwards of 15 million
deaths in four years. And it all kicked off right beneath my feet. For the
second time this morning, I felt overawed by Sarajevo.
The Latin Bridge
The Latin Bridge. Gavrilo Princip waited at the base of the pink/grey building before shooting Franz Ferdinand right at the corner of the bridge
The Miljacka and its waterfront. Between the river and the buildings runs Obala Kulina bana, the street along which Franz Ferdinand's car proceeded on the fateful day of 28 June 1914
I turned away from the river and headed into the Turkish
Quarter to explore Sarajevo’s most historic district. The central landmarks
here are the 16th century Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque (Gazi Husrev-begova džamija), the
similarly old Morića Han (a han is an Ottoman roadside inn), and the
18th century Ottoman Sebilj, a wooden
fountain traditionally used for purification before entering the mosque. The
surrounding streets form a market called Baščaršija.
Compared to the modernity I found in Belgrade the day before, this was like
stepping back in time. Men in traditional Bosnian clothes and women with
headscarves wandered the streets and congregated outside the mosques. Colourful
handmade Turkish-style carpets and cobalt blue and white nazar beads hung from shop fronts and swayed gently in the breeze.
Restaurants advertised coffee and kebabs. Shining brass and copper coffee
grinders and džezve (coffee pots)
stood outside shop fronts, alongside bullets and shell casings.
Carpets for sale in Sarajevo's Baščaršija
The Morića Han
The Sebilj
Baščaršija Square
The Old Orthodox Church
The Sacred Heart Cathedral
Interior of the Sacred Heart Cathedral
Being that it was now the holy month of Ramadan, I had to
wait until later in the day to visit the Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque. In the
meantime, I went to the Old Orthodox Church (Stara Crkva), a square stone building enclosed within a courtyard
that was founded before the 6th century. A priest and a congregation
of two or three were worshipping so I tiptoed around them and took in this
charming building. A short way beyond was the Sacred Heart Cathedral (Katedrala Srca Isusova), the primary
Catholic place of worship in Sarajevo. The abundance of such a variety of
religious buildings is part of what makes this city so interesting. Each of the
Serb, Croat and Bosniak communities are historically associated with a
different religion (Orthodox Christianity, Catholic Christianity, and Islam –
mainly non-denominational or Sunni). Since the cessation of hostilities in
1995, it seems that members of all three groups can practise freely and live in
relative harmony. I saw no prejudice at all; just peaceful coexistence. How
permanent this situation is remains to be seen, but for now it would appear
that the terms of the Dayton Agreement have been successful. The Federation and
the Republika each have a degree of political and legal autonomy, and the
presidency of the country as a whole consists of one representative of each
major ethnic group, with the chairmanship of the presidency rotating among the
three for eight months at a time within a total term of four years. The real
danger is that the current issues that face Bosnia, including chronic
unemployment and anger at the government, combined with external issues such as
the crises in the Middle East, may yet shatter the peace. Bosnia is a candidate
to join both the EU and NATO, and accession to such organisations, particularly
NATO, might isolate Bosnian Serbs. Meanwhile, the war and the genocide are
still news events, and earlier this year the former President of the Republika
Srpska, Ratko Karadžić, was found guilty of genocide at a war crimes trial and
sentenced to 40 years’ imprisonment. The related trial of Bosnian Serb General
Ratko Mladić is still ongoing.
The effects of the war are visible everywhere. I ambled
through the Gradska tržnica, an
enclosed market hall where in August 1995, a mortar attack killed 43 people. I
then grabbed a burek, a meat- or
cheese-filled pastry (another legacy of the centuries of Ottoman rule in
Bosnia) and climbed out of the historic quarter towards another poignant symbol
of the tragedy that happened in Bosnia in the early 1990s.
The Gradska tržnica
Sarajevo City Hall; Franz Ferdinand visited this building shortly before being assassinated
The City Hall formerly held the world's largest collection of Bosnian literature
The date is 14 February 1984. Two ice dancers from
Nottingham, Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean, take centre stage at the Zetra
Olympic Hall wearing dip-dyed purple outfits. Ravel’s Bolero begins to play and they start a fluent, elegant routine,
gliding swan-like across the ice with the music gradually building up to a tragic climax
as the doomed lovers appear to die and finish sprawled upon the rink. The date,
Valentine’s Day, makes this beguiling performance all the more romantic. The
enraptured crowd of 8,500 erupt into a sea of applause. The judges award
the pair the maximum possible score for artistic impression. 24 million people
back in the UK watch Torvill and Dean win gold, Great Britain’s only medal of
the 1984 Winter Olympics.
Eight years on, the Zetra stadium lay in ruins, the result
of Serb shellfire. In 1993, it was reported that the stadium’s wooden seats
were being looted to create coffins for Muslim war dead. The man responsible
routinely went alone, believing that if he were accompanied, he would become
more of a target for the Serb snipers stationed in the hills around the city.
Happily, the Zetra stadium has now been rebuilt and is due to host the winter version
of the European Youth Olympic Festival in 2019. Along the hillside just above
the stadium is a large cemetery complex, divided into sections, with rows of
stone-topped graves indicating Christians and rows of white stone columns
denoting Muslim burials. It is heartbreaking and very eerie to pan across and
see headstones engraved with the same few years, over and over.
Christian and Muslim graves in a cemetery at Koševo, close to the Zetra stadium
Muslim graves at Koševo. The rebuilt Zetra stadium (grey) can be seen on the left; the stadium on the right is the Asim Ferhatović Olympic Stadium, where FK Sarajevo and the national football team play
An enormous cemetery across the valley from the Zetra stadium
More cemeteries were dotted about in the green hilltop
suburbs of Sarajevo, the dead unknowingly interred overlooking a stunning view
of their city far below, a jumbled pile of red roofs nestled among verdant
mountains. I was careful to stick to paved roads, even here on the edge of
Bosnia’s capital. Sadly, not all the minefields from the war have been cleared
and it is advised not to stray off piste. (This warning had to be reiterated
this summer because of the danger of Pokémon
Go players getting carried away in their search for virtual monsters and
blowing themselves up). Thinking my surroundings could get no more captivating,
the call to prayer from a minaret began to ring out, followed by echoes from
the many whitewashed minarets that are scattered high and low all over
Sarajevo’s hillsides, black-tipped spikes protruding from the residential
rooftops. This blend of sounds cascading from the higher hills and rising up
from lower down was utterly absorbing, a much-needed reminder that despite all
the violence that has torn this city apart in recent years, life goes on, and
the affected communities are still active. From here, with the ezan sounding all around and knowing
that somewhere in the mess of buildings down below, church bells were ringing,
incense burning, Torahs being read, it was not hard to see why Sarajevo bears
the moniker ‘the Jerusalem of Europe’.
At the far eastern end of the valley Sarajevo occupies, the
Miljacka river emerges from a gorge and flows into the city. High above sits
the ruined fortress of Bijela tabija, and from here I paused to do justice to
the mesmerising view. Sarajevo is a long and thin city, oriented east to west
along the river, so from here I was flanked by untouched mountains to the north
and south but could gaze down the river and pick out the Latin Bridge, the Gazi
Husrev-Bey Mosque and further on, the Executive Council Building, now standing
proudly intact unlike the infamous photo of it ablaze in 1992.
The M5 highway emerges from the unspoilt mountains just a mile from the historic district of Sarajevo
The view west down the valley from Bijela tabija
At Bijela tabija; one of the most wonderful views I have ever seen
With storm clouds gathering, I reluctantly left this supreme
vantage point and returned to the valley floor to explore the old town further.
Towards the end of the afternoon, I went to await the brief window when the Gazi
Husrev-Bey Mosque opened its doors to non-Muslims. I had never been into a
mosque before, and wanted to err on the side of caution when it came to
respect, especially since it was currently Ramadan. I needn’t really have
worried. Sarajevo, despite having a majority Muslim population, is remarkably
secular and very welcoming to all faiths. As the Bosniak faithful emerged
slowly from the mosque and began to congregate in the porched area to sit and
chat unhurriedly, I visited the small office that also stood within the
mosque’s courtyard and got a ticket from a friendly attendant who
apologetically informed me that during Ramadan, there were no guides touring,
and that he would be on hand to answer any questions I had. I was also under no
obligation to remove my shoes because there were plastic mats covering the
prayer rugs in the entire area that tourists were currently allowed into. The
most striking thing I noted from visiting this building was the sheer
similarity to a church. Though the layout was noticeably different, with a more
square orientation, no altar or iconoclasm, and no aisle or pews, the general
feel of the place, the atmosphere, was comparable. Maybe this tells us
something about people in general, that our various religions are more alike
than they are different, that we are humans first and Muslims, Orthodox, Catholic,
Jews and the rest second. Moreover, one might hope that this understanding,
along with their understandable weariness of division and war, has enabled the
inhabitants of Sarajevo to live alongside one another in tolerance.
Gazi Husrev-begova džamija (Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque)
The interior of the mosque
Colourful ceiling decorations
Prayer rugs cover the floor of the mosque
It is thus that today’s Bosnia bears very little symbolism
that can be associated with any one group. Its national flag features an
unending line of stars, neutral blue and yellow colours taken from the EU’s
flag, and a triangle representing both the shape of the country and the three
major ethnic groups. Its currency bears the name of the former German mark,
again to avoid adopting a name like dinar
(as is used in Serbia) in case its historical connotations isolate one group or
other. Its football team’s recent successes, reaching a maiden World Cup in
2014, may provide another unifying factor for the Bosnian people. I now had
football on the brain; earlier in the day I had seen a little of Croatia’s 1-0
victory over Turkey, and had to wonder whether the Bosnian fans were more
likely to root for their neighbours Croatia or their cultural cousins the Turks.
I left the mosque and within a few minutes was drinking a beer in a bar; I
noted that Turkish restaurants and more observant Muslim establishments weren’t
serving alcohol but it was easy to find it in less strict places or in those
run by non-Muslims. Over a supper of ćevapčići
– a local dish consisting of pieces of beef sausage grilled with onions and
served inside a soft, doughy flatbread – I saw debutants Northern Ireland lose
to Poland by a single goal. Later still, having dashed to my hostel as a
monsoon-like rainstorm descended upon Sarajevo, I had a first shower in three
days and retired to collect my thoughts and prepare for another day in this
wonderful, complex place.
Ćevapčići
Unarguably true
The most enduringly emotional memory of this visit I can
summon is that of lying in my bed that evening, rain lashing the windows and
distant thunder growling, my shut eyes envisaging the beautiful views of the
city from the surrounding heights, U2’s Miss
Sarajevo completing the picture. The Irish band played at the city’s Koševo
stadium in September 1997, having abandoned a plan to be smuggled into the city
to perform during the siege but instead controversially broadcast nightly
performances into the city by satellite, assisted by Bill Carter, a US
journalist and aid worker based at Radiotelevizija Bosne i Hercegovine. Among
the songs they performed at their 1997 concert was Miss Sarajevo, written in 1995 and inspired by the wonderfully human
story of a beauty pageant that went ahead despite the chaos of the siege, at a
time when the city was very literally cut off from the rest of the world. U2
has plenty of haters and critics, many of whom are perfectly justified, but I
find it hard to be disparaging towards this subtle and emotive piece,
particularly once collaborating guest Luciano Pavarotti adds his operatic
vocals, peaking with a stirring crescendo of ‘L’amore giungerà’ – ‘Love will
come’. His voice is determined but the lyrics hesitant. He can no longer hope
for love, no longer wait for it. Twenty years on, I hope the harmonious peace
that Sarajevo has found for now will endure. I hope that the love Pavarotti
doubts has indeed come, and is here to stay. Sarajevo has certainly won my
heart.
This magnificent view is the backdrop to the final resting place of thousands of victims of the Bosnian war.
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