A Very Bosnian Christmas

DATE: December 2004
LOCATION: Bosnia-Herzegovina

WOW! Sarajevo is an amazing city, and visiting provided some life lessons and provoked some soul searching. I don’t recommend it as a travel destination for the faint of heart or less adventurous, but I thought it was marvelous. Discomfort, both emotional and physical can be a catalyst for personal and intellectual growth, and this trip provided plenty of both, but not to such an extreme that it wasn’t enjoyable.

The city is fascinating, influenced by Europe from the West, the Turks from the Southeast, and the Russians from the Northeast, it’s like nowhere I’ve been. The mosques are next to the Catholic churches are next to the Orthodox churches, making the skyline mystical, and giving what we all know is a most deceiving picture of harmony. The picture quickly dissolves when you look more closely at any building. Signs of one of the worst sieges in recent history are everywhere. Bullet holes and mortar round scars pock mark most every building. In some neighborhoods, entire buildings still stand bombed out like skeletons to remind everybody of the horror of 10 years ago. While religious buildings mingle, the people of those religions don’t. Neighborhoods are segregated, and everyone from taxi drivers to tour guides kept us in their own respective areas. The downtown business district was the only exception. We spent much our time sitting in trendy coffee shops and bars surrounded by young hip Sarajevans. This city could be something spectacular if generations of animosity could be put to rest. Easier said than done.

We bought some paintings from an artist named Ibrahim in the Turkish quarter. He liked modern art, but cityscapes for tourists pay the bills. He had his own little shop complete with incense and Pink Floyd on the stereo. He invited us in for tea…which we declined. He said “It’s okay, I’m a Muslim, we buy tea for our guests.” With that, we sat down and had some tea. He told us how his Christian friend lost a leg in the war, how his mother was killed in the war, how his first love had been a Serb girl. He pointed out her apartment building in one of his paintings. We asked how he felt about things now. He said bad people are bad people, good people are good people, and there are stupid bad people in every religion. His English wasn’t good, so that is about as deep as the conversation went. It didn’t need to go much deeper though. He made his point, we agreed, and we all drank tea.

We tried to ski at the run where the Olympics were held about 40 minutes out of town, but there wasn’t enough snow. Once I saw the lift, which doesn’t look like it’s been upgraded since the Olympics, I wasn’t too sad. It still made for a beautiful couple of days. The town itself is a Serb stronghold, and even here, in the pristine mountain landscape, bombed out hotels and houses still reminded you how nasty the Balkans were. We were steered in this direction by a SFOR translator named Dragon, who happens to be Serb. The translator lives in the town next door, and came with a friend (Maja) to meet us for drinks one night. They are both smart, well read people, and we had a long discussion on history, war, ethnic animosity, bias, and the future. Neither were optimistic about the future. There is an overarching sentiment the moment the international community leaves the area, the war will begin again. Even during our discussion on bias, Dragon made some subtlety hostile comments regarding Muslims. The hatred is so ingrained people don’t even realize it in themselves. How do you counteract something like that? The international community isn’t helping matters either. Most of the local employees of the peacekeeping force are Muslim, Dragon being an exception. Most aid and reconstruction money went to Muslims. While this may have eased the world’s collective guilt about allowing genocide, it now serves to increase animosity. At the end of the day, I don’t think anybody can say one side or the other can claim moral high ground. It was a strange feeling, sitting in a timber framed bar, surrounded by some people considered mortal enemies just a few years ago (we obviously passed ourselves off as ski tourists, not American military). When the bar tender found out we were English speakers, he put on English music. It was Guns-n-Roses and Reggae, so I’d have preferred the Bosnian music, but it was a nice gesture. A man at the bar bought us a round of drinks, I’m still not sure why. Bygones?

An invite to a "little" Christmas party at the British Ambassador's house made me feel extra important. It would appear by the crowd however, that every western NGO worker and NATO officer around had been invited. So much for my ego. Still--the mince pies were delish and I got to dress up a bit.

I heartily recommend a day trip to the ancient city of Mostar. The city is one of the most widely discussed when speaking of the Balkan war, as fighting and shifting alliances between Bosniaks (Muslims), Serbs, and Croats were at their worst. For some reason, I actually remember during the war seeing news footage of an ancient and breathtaking bridge connecting the Muslim and Christian parts of the city getting blown to bits. I couldn’t understand then how people could hate each other so much they’d destroy a piece of common history. The bridge was rebuilt, and they tried to use the same stones…when they could find them in at the bottom of the river. The bridge is beautiful, but it’s obviously new, and the fact that it was blown up is still out there. I was glad to see it anyway.

Half an hour from Mostar is Medugorje, the site where apparitions of the Virgin appeared to some teenagers, and still appear on a daily basis to those who are lucky. It isn’t an officially sanctioned Catholic site, but people go by the thousands anyway. I have a strange fascination with pilgrimages. Something about people believing in something so strongly is nice to witness. At most pilgrimage sites, people are looking for healing or enlightenment of some kind, and in order to find it, they must “do something”. At Medugorje is you must hike up a very rocky mountain path barefoot. I'm in good shape, wore hiking boots, and it still took the better part of an hour to pick our way up the jagged, steep path dotted with the stations of the cross. I honestly can’t imagine doing it with no shoes. The top of the mountain looks like a moonscape and is adored with a single white cross. The view of the town and surrounding mountains is breathtaking. I’m sorry to say the only thing I was moved to do when reaching the top was to get the heck off the mountain. The wind chill about froze me to death. One of my favorite pastimes at pilgrimage sites are the souvenirs. I have a Virgin Mary plastic water bottle from Cartago Costa Rica, a Virgin pencil holder from Fatima Portugal, and now a Virgin thermometer from Bosnia.

I went to Paul’s office to meet the international cast of NATO characters I’d been hearing about for months. They were everything I’d been hoping for, and a little more. The Dutch sniper gave me chocolate, the Spaniards were all kisses, and the Brit perfectly sarcastic. The highlight of the day…well one of two…was when a French sergeant unveiled the newest Bosnian ID card recognition poster to the Brit. Every type of conceivable ID card issued on base was shown on the poster…and every one had Paul’s picture smiling down at you with the word “specimen” stamped across it. It was for real too…not even a joke for my sake. I requested a copy of the poster, they were all too happy to oblige me, and it now hangs in my office. The second highlight was presentation to Paul since he was leaving. The Spaniards had made a pack of “Bosnia’s Most Wanted” playing cards complete with photos of those in the office and little nicknames. Under Paul’s picture was the word “Narcissist.” I busted up laughing, pretty uncontrollably for awhile. Since the Spaniards work in the ID card office, they had free reign of the lamination machine…so the cards are actually pretty nice.

When I came home I watched a movie called Miss Sarajevo. It was a short documentary shot during the war. There it was…the place I’d just been with footage of teenage girls and old men getting shot in the middle of the street as they tried to get water. Humans do some amazingly despicable things to one another. It also showed the city symphony practicing…in secret locations lest they be targeted by either side. The culmination was the Miss Sarajevo beauty pageant, also held underground with the girls holding up signs asking the world to stop the killing. Not exactly uplifting, but certainly moving.

Amsterdam is on the agenda for New Year, then Grandma and her friend are visiting for 2 weeks. We’re off to Salzburg...