Sarajevo & Mostar: Why You Must Visit Bosnia

Belgrade (Zemun): Fascinating Encounter with Serb Teen
 

So I set out to walk. I want to find the charm in this little neighborhood of Zemun. I want to romanticize walking the quay along the mighty Danube River. But I can’t. It is ugly. The grass is overgrown, pavement cracked under sweltering sun, the beckoning restaurants are dated and the river is brown and smelly. It looks better after dark. And in this picture.

Plus these nasty apartment buildings loom over you, like the eyes of the strongman dictator and genocidal war criminal Slobodan Milosevic watching over the city from his grave.

So I am conflicted. I had read there is a cool bohemian district in Belgrade across the river, but it is another five miles ahead. I have no local currency for water or a bathroom. It is sweltering hot and ugly. I consider going back to the cool hotel room and calling it a night.

So I give myself a challenge. Go the entire night without getting local cash out. That quickly becomes too uncomfortable so I withdraw 2000 Serb Diner, about $19, and vow to get lunch and dinner and water on that. I see people on a makeshift beach. I walk past soldiers with guns on a long makeshift pedestrian bridge to see it. It makes me thankful for where we live.

Then I walk through empty parks and finally make it across the river into Belgrade proper. It is ugly. Yes, I know there are probably pretty parts and I’m a little biased. But Zemun is supposed to be the charming little neighborhood and it’s not.

I find the so-called and misnamed Bohemian neighborhood and sit down to enjoy a traditional Serbian dinner with grilled meats. (And use the bathroom!) I ask the waiter about this one option and he says, “That’s for two people.” So I ask him if he can make it for one person. Sure. Well, how much? He can’t tell me. Oy. So I decid to spend as little as possible. I get veal cream soup with bread and a beer. For $6. The guy could have easily sold me on a $14 dinner with a good tip.

A little happier, I save another dollar by choosing one street vendor over the one nearby and score a huge cold water bottle and single scoop of Snickers ice cream for the 6 mile walk home. $2.

Tired, I stop to watch young Serbs playing three-on-three basketball. A kid looks up and asks in broken English, “You going to play?” Vladimir tells me he loves the Boston Celtics but hates Tom Brady and the Patriots. Probably because they are winners and the Serb mindset is one of perpetual victims. My own cheap shot there, but I have found it to be unfortunately true of so many.

He’s a sweet kid. Reminds me of Keith. In a prep school. Wants to play basketball, but backup is medical school. We talk.

I get up to go. He walks with me for the next hour and he talks. At first, I think this is hopeful. A new generation of kids growing up with a different mindset than their parents. He’s engaging, working really hard to speak English. It’s such a surreal moment for me, waking in this foreign country talking to a local teen.

But all he talks about are how the Serbs have been victimized by different groups. He says we are warriors who fight. And they are. They fought the Ottoman Turks in Kosovo in 1389 and lost. And they are still stuck there, 600 years ago, as I discovered in Kosovo this winter. They used to be the leaders of the greater Yugoslavia. Look how big it was. But once communism fell, all these countries wanted their independence.

So Serbian leader Slobodan Milosevic, who basically turned the former Yugoslav Army into a Serb-dominated army, decided that the Serbs would rule the other republics. He got them fired up and attacked four countries. And promptly lost all four wars in the 1990’s, but not before committing horrible personal atrocities.

Vladimir recounts numerous times with pride how Serbs shot down an American stealth bomber in the 1990’s. But they lost badly. He laments the loss of Kosovo to Albanian Muslims. It’s our ancient homeland, he insists. We spilled blood there. And I’m sad. Because it’s clear that’s been drilled into him in school and by his parents. We are victims. Everyone is against us. We must fight.

He recounts how NATO dropped bombs in 1999 to end the Kosovo War and killed 135 civilians, among them his neighbors. He’s earnest in his feelings. And we did kill civilians. What he doesn’t know is that we only reluctantly got involved because of the mass atrocities being committed by Serbs (rape of 20,000 Kosovo women and execution of men). He hasn’t been taught that part.

It is astounding when he talks about crimes against Serbia, completely oblivious to the fact that dozens of Serb leaders have been convicted in an International Court of genocide and crimes against humanity. Not a clue.

I consider gently encouraging him to read some history on his own. But I don’t. Regrets. Here’s this bright-eyed, earnest, smart kid who could be a future leader to help build his country from the inside instead of continuing to foment the constant strife against enemies. I am afraid this will doom the next generation as well.

We say goodbye and I wish him well. I seek out a restaurant I had seen earlier in the day. It’s got something I want to try. I walk in at 9pm, drenched in sweat. The kindly gentleman seats me on a rooftop terrace overlooking the old town.

There’s one couple there. I wonder why it’s empty. Mosquitoes attack. He burns some local root that apparently scares them away. It only causes them to attack my legs 🙂

Alas, a masterpiece. Chicken stuffed with local cheese and wrapped in bacon, in a plum sauce with seasoned potatoes. $9 plus a $2 tip. Mission accomplished! A cold shower awaits and the A/C in the small room works like a charm.

My mixed feelings about Serbia are mangled even more this morning. I go to breakfast and am met by an ordinary woman of about 40 eager to walk me step by step down this entire buffet, explaining each item with pride.

She explains the ingredients, which are authentic Serb dishes, and even the history behind them. She’s obviously proud of her work and beams when I take pictures. I love grilled vegetables in the morning. I love this breakfast.

I ask her which is the best dessert given that I’m stuffed. She brings me an apricot ball so good I considered stuffing five in my ziploc baggies!

There are kind people everywhere. I met three in one day. But I’m not sure I’d ever go back to Serbia. Love to all.

Kirk

Tension in the Car: Serbian Confession Driving to Sarajevo

Happy Sarajevo: I Love it Here

I was instantly smitten with Sarajevo as soon as I walked into the city from my apartment up on the hill.

It’s a small little city surrounded by beautiful green hills dotted with red-roofed homes. It’s hard to capture, but while you’re walking through the pedestrian market streets, you can see a minaret, domed mosque and orthodox cross against the backdrop of the green hills.

There are wide walking boulevards with outdoor cafes and ice cream stands (less than a buck per scoop) and narrow little bazaars that remind you of Istanbul on a much smaller scale.

The mosques are great because you can use free restrooms and refill water bottles for free or splash your face to cool off on hot days like the people below. I constantly refilled multiple water bottles and never had to purchase water.

My apartment has a living room and outdoor terrace with amazing views for only $60 per night. You have to climb a hill and then five flights in the building but the payoff is worth it.

Locals love the cevapi, grilled meat in a chargrilled pita pocket. It’s a ton of meat and filling for $4. I learned in Spain to watch where the old local men eat and follow them. That’s how I found this. I had seen an older guy sitting outside eating when a local called out to him. Okay, that means the old guy is a local. I asked him if the food was good. “The best.”

I had stocked up on yogurt and bananas for breakfast, but stopped in a bakery on my walk through a residential neighborhood and asked the nice lady what her favorite breakfast bread was. It’s huge and filled with chocolate/Nutella. 60 cents. Now I’m hungry for that again! She asked me to tell her what I thought so on the way back, I stopped in and thanked her. Very sweet. Last night I had veal stew, good bread and a salad for $6.

There are people of every stripe, including women completely covered except for a slit in her hijab trying to eat an ice cream cone. Notice the inherent unfairness. You’ll see Muslim men in shorts on hot days while their wives are covered in black.

You see the Moorish Muslim influence in architecture (remember from Spain how it influenced churches and synagogues). Same here. This is the National Library. It was filled with 2 million volumes about Bosnian culture and history. The Serbs destroyed it to erase the memory of Bosnian culture. How nice. But it has been rebuilt and restocked. #Resilience.

This is a church with the Moorish arches and design. There are good free walking tours here where you just tip your guide at the end based on your satisfaction.

I really love it here and would come back anytime. It’s walkable and packed with history. This is the epicenter, ground zero, where the spark that triggered World War I was ignited. But it’s also fun and lively with great aromas and smiling people. As it should be.

Lots of interesting history and experiences to come. Love to all!

Kirk

Sarajevo: Where Snipers Killed Their Neighbors

25 years ago, one of 800 Serb snipers (possibly a former neighbor and friend) would have splattered my brain matter for being a Bosnian Muslim.

Lest you think I am exaggerating, look at this residential apartment building. Zoom in. I hiked up to the Jewish cemetery this morning, a favorite sniper vantage point, and could see these buildings. Look closely below at the bullet and mortar shell holes all around the balconies. This is where everyday families live. It was an eye-opening walk.

It is 1992. I am 26 and Anita is pregnant with Casey, living in Milwaukee next to Jeff and Tracy. Halfway around the world, ordinary people like Davud and Amina go to work everyday in the city of Sarajevo in Bosnia. It’s a beautiful city surrounded by mountains that just played host to the 1986 Winter Olympics.

You walk to work, eat picnics in the park on the weekends, go to the cinema and eat ice cream with your kids while strolling the charming streets.

You are Muslim and your neighbors are Serbs. Orthodox Churches sit alongside mosques and synagogues. It is a cosmopolitan city where intermarriage has become the norm.

But imagine that the next day, you can no longer go to work. These same Serbs, your former neighbors, are now hiding in the hills surrounding your city, shooting at you as you cross a bridge or stand in line for food at an outdoor market. Snipers are killing your father, your brother, your child, your grandmother, your neighbor because they are Muslim.

Know why they are Muslim? Because 500 years ago when Catholics were killing Jews and non-Catholics during the Inquisition, the Muslim Sultan of Constantinople offered them protection if Christians converted to Islam. He didn’t make Jews convert because they were needed as merchants. Then 500 years later, supposedly Orthodox “Christians” are killing and raping you.

You have to duck while crossing certain streets. (Actual photo below from 1992).

Suddenly, mortar shells are blowing up apartment buildings where you live. Electricity is cut off and there is no more running water. Serbs have cut off the city.

It is now under siege. And it will remain that way for another 1,425 days. That’s almost four years, your entire high school or college experience. Trapped like an animal. Unable to live a normal life. Longer than even the Siege of Leningrad when 1 million Russians died.

You have to sneak between buildings and run quickly across bridges just to get fresh water from a spring in plastic jugs. One devastating and psychologically cruel element of this siege is that the snipers in the hills kill civilians randomly. I have never heard of that being done so systematically in a war. And it happened here recently.

You’re at a bridge. Two people run across. Safely. Must be safe this afternoon. But then you see a nice lady’s head blown off, her body contorted and bleeding in front of you. Do you help her? If so, you risk being shot. Does that make you a coward? What about these feelings of hatred for the Serbs (or Muslims) that you never had before? Have you become like them? You eventually cross the bridge, safely. Why were you spared? The psychological toll was unimaginable.

Dark humor gets you through. A common joke: “Would you like coffee,” a host asks her visitor. “No, thank you.” The host smiles, “Good, now I can take a shower.” Meaning that’s how little water the people learned to use to wash themselves.

By the end of the siege, nearly every building in this city is damaged, with 65% nearly ruined. 100,000 apartments are destroyed. 5,400 civilians had been killed. The dead are piled in parks and the former site of the Olympic Games. You can still see the scars of war, bullet and mortar holes, in many buildings as you stroll by.

Atrocities had been committed on each side. But particularly awful was the Serbian tool of raping women in front of others to humiliate them.

There are 30,000 men, women and children still missing from the 1992-1996 War here. Remains of the dead from mass graves are still being identified by relatives. The country is still coming to terms with the fact that its own citizens just killed each other.

There are these Sarajevo Roses marking where civilians were killed throughout the city. There are a lot of them.

I just can’t imagine being stuck in my apartment or home for four years, hiding in a basement as shells hit indiscriminately. I can’t imagine snipers surrounding my home, having to crawl to get from room to room. And yet that’s what people here went through. And yet it remains a joyful place somehow.

Kirk

Bosnia: Blowing Up My Assumptions & Civilians

At 4:00 in the afternoon on May 27, 1992, several mortar shells struck a group of ordinary people waiting in line to buy bread at this spot I have walked past a dozen times.

Watch this video to see what happened. It’s alarming and gruesome, but makes it real.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ICsvx4qFm8

22 people were killed and another 70 wounded. For the next twenty-two days Vedran Smailovic, a renowned local cellist, sat out in the open where this massacre happened and played his cello in honor of the dead. (If you have the time, read The Cellist of Sarajevo. It is short and one of my top 10 favorite books of all time).

As I walked around today, I’ve tried to be mindful of what it would be like to be hunted by unknown snipers. I walked through Sniper Alley, the most exposed part of the city. And I did a paid tour with a gentlemen who was a policeman during the 1990s (serving with many Serbs who stayed and fought against Serbia) and was later wounded in the war fighting for Sarajevo.

He was absolutely fascinating. He’s a Bosnian Muslim, but you’d never know. Totally secular like most Muslims in this part of the world (Bosnia, Albania, Kosovo). They lived for centuries happily next door to Jews and Christians.

I asked why the Serbs still seem so angry and like victims when they were perpetrators and the Muslims have largely forgiven. He said they are taught to forgive and seek peace. Forgive me for ever jokingly making reference to Muslims as terrorists–they are the ones acting like Jesus in this part of the world.

(Memorial to all the mothers and children intentionally shot at and killed by snipers).

This bread line massacre was one of the catalysts to break the siege of the city. So the Bosnians did something ingenious. They built a mile long tunnel underneath the airport that had been controlled by UN Troops, who provided humanitarian aid (but not the weapons or logistics help they needed).

We went through part of the War Tunnel or Tunnel of Life as the people called it. It gave them hope to withstand four years of deprivation.

The most important part of the tour was his personal story. Very inspiring. He loves his country and wants to live together with everyone, but will reluctantly send his two sons to the west where they have economic opportunities.

The only good jobs here are public ones, given by politicians to family and friends. They live well. Everyone else struggles. He was offered a post office job two years ago. It’s a plumb job. But he had to pay a $12,000 bribe for it with no guarantee he’d keep the job once new politicians took control. So he used the money to buy the van and start the tour company.

It’s one of the best tours I’ve ever done, but there were only three of us (I sat up front and opened the van doors for a sweet Chinese girl and her mom).

I wish I could convey all the insights from today that run contrary to much of my suppositions. Including the fact that Tito, a dictator, is loved and admired and longed for. Even though he was an autocrat, he was apparently fair-minded, independent from Russia, and created a fairly prosperous country by keeping all of Yugoslavia together. I suppose that’s the danger of trying to impose my/our preferences on others.

Sarajevo is a 10/10 for me. I don’t really want to leave! And that’s a good way to depart.

Love to all.

Kirk

Sarajevo: World War I (and Veal Stew) Began At This Bridge

Spectacular Train From Sarajevo to Mostar

It frustrates me that I need to have a plan. So today I kinda winged it, albeit uncomfortably.

It’s only 1.4 miles from the apartment, but it’s supposed to be raining. There’s no Uber here, which I’ve grown to love for its upfront pricing and timing. So I get up extra early at 5:45, leave at 6:30 and assume I’ll see lines of taxis along the main boulevard. But that’s assuming they are like Americans or westerners. I see nothing. Ordinary people don’t start their day here until much later!

So I walk and think I’ll make it a challenge. It’s cool and not raining. By the way, I can’t explain that. It was supposed to rain all day in Mostar and it didn’t until after dark. It’s been five weeks and I haven’t lost a minute to rain. Thankful.

I bypass taxis. I make it. Ahhh.

Then I step into the train station. It’s empty. It’s also 129 degrees and filled with smoke.

You have to get there 15 minutes early and see a ticket agent (in this case puffing smoke) who hands you a handwritten ticket! It’s one of the problems here—it’s hard for tourists to get to Bosnia when  you don’t even have an international train. Just rudimentary.

It’s $12 from Sarajevo to Mostar, but I paid the extra $4 for first class to be away from people. Plus I have an empty coach so I can bounce back from side to side to catch views along the way. Plus the bathroom is actually big and clean.

What a surprise! This two hour trip turns out to be spectacular. Really. There are mountains and lakes and quaint villages and dozens of tunnels.

I could quit my job and become a tourism promoter for Bosnia. It’s 75% as beautiful as Switzerland at about 35% of the cost.

I have time to reflect. So here’s where I am on this adventure.

The ticket guys on the train are happy and smiling. It’s just odd in a good way.

We arrive 20 minutes late but my guesthouse host is waiting for me. She’s warm and friendly. Let’s me into my room early so I can go explore. I’m thrown for a minute by the shared bathroom but it’s only one night.

I had heard this two hour train ride was good but had no idea it hid so many surprises.

Thankful that anxiety can turn into unexpected surprises! Love to all.

Kirk

Mostar: Go Jump Off A Bridge!

And the best food of the entire trip goes to Bosnia. I took the waiter’s recommendation and got the veal with mushrooms. He gave me fries for free because I’m American 🙂

But what Mostar is most famous for is Stari Most, the Old Bridge.

It was built by the Ottoman Turks in the 1500’s and stood as a symbol of the city for 427 years, connecting both sides of the town. And that’s why the Croats bombed it in 1994. F******!

It was rebuilt in 2004 using many of the same stones and the same process. Now it’s known for the famous bridge-jumpers who walk along its 78 foot high edges like ballerinas.

Then they work the crowd as a team, collecting tips. Only when they count it and get enough do they jump. It’s a cool sight even though it’s touristic. You can see the guy free falling in mid-air below the bridge if you zoom below.

Today the call to prayer played as a jumper was about to lift off. It was actually very beautiful echoing off the canyon walls. See video of the jump below.

I went home, changed clothes, grabbed a towel and came back to the river’s edge. And I jumped into the mountain water from a height of about a foot :). The current was really strong and it was frigid so I didn’t take too many chances since I only saw a couple other people get in. But it was a great way to cool off and complete another mission!

The guesthouse hosts are incredibly warm and friendly, which is a relief since the hubby is driving me six hours north tomorrow.

I’ve been really impressed by Bosnia. I came this time because of the history. I’d come back for the scenic beauty, warm people, and fantastic food. Thanks for sharing the journey with me.

Goodnight from a stormy Mostar!

Love to all!

Kirk

Escaping Death & Arrest Exploring Mostar’s Abandoned Sniper Tower

My most dangerous mission of this 35-day trip was to trespass and climb to the top of the abandoned Sniper Tower in Mostar without falling to my death or getting arrested.

One day in 1992, this was a bustling bank building, filled with professionals and secretaries and bank receipts and customers. Then another day, it was taken over by the Croatian (Catholic) Bosnians and used as a sniper tower to kill their neighbors. Notice its position in the middle of the city.

I drop my bags in the guesthouse and take off walking through Mostar. I know I will chicken out if I wait. And I walk right into the middle of a movie being shot about the war above!

It is illegal to trespass here. But sometimes you have to break the rules. I finally make it and go in, tentatively looking around. Graffiti covers the bullet holes.

Back then, it was a beautiful glass building with wonderful views over the city. You could see onto people’s balconies and onto the streets below. I start climbing up stairs. Stairs with no walls. Freaky. And I can see right into these people’s kitchen.

So if you wanted to shoot your former neighbors, who you and your family have lived next to peacefully for centuries, because now you’ve determined that your religion/ethnicity is superior to theirs, this was the perfect place.

My palms are getting sweaty and I’m afraid I’m going to drop my phone. I walk like a dork, so methodical. With each floor, the views get better. But the higher I get, the more I know I can be seen by cops from the outside as a trespasser.

Over three years, snipers controlled the activities of everyday citizens walking, driving, or living in their homes. For most of 1993-94, Bosnian Muslims were under constant threat of sniper fire from the Croats. Residents constructed sniper warning signs in the dangerous areas, but they were often ignored because people had to get to UN-supplied water and food.

It is eerie as the stairs are exposed to the outside without walls. You can literally fall right off the stairs and splat on the cement from 9 stories high.

The elevator shaft is out of order so you can see down nine flights of stairs. It feels like eyes are on me, alone in an abandoned building. I kept looking down, afraid I’m going to step onto bad concrete and fall through.

Today the building hovers over the city as a reminder of the war. But it also continues to separate the city and remind the Bosniaks (Muslims) that the Croats are still in control politically, deciding which buildings get restored. So the Croat side on the west is rebuilt and modern, and the eastern part still looks like a war zone. You can see two bombed out buildings below.

I stop at the 7th floor, kind of shaken. I start to think too much and turn around. But when I go back down, I almost step over a ledge. When going up, the stairs are right in front of you. Going down, they optically disappear. I decide I’ll regret it if I don’t go all the way.

Damage remains because of confusion over who owns what building. The Yugo Bank held mortgages on many of these properties before it went out of business, and no one wants to invest in any construction on these buildings until clear ownership is established. Mostar was like Stalingrad, even more heavily bombed than Sarajevo.

The city is also home to an education system of “two schools under one roof” in which children are separated into different classes, and taught different lessons, based on their ethnicity. This only ensures that each side never owns their part and will eventually fight each other again.

25 years ago, 100,000 people (mainly civilians) were killed. Tens of thousands of women were raped. 2 million people were displaced and lost their homes.

I finally make it to the top floor. But then you have to climb up through a turret.

The views and experience are worth it. You can see a minaret in the foreground and a huge cross on the distant hill.

I go back down as quickly as I can and run out of this creepy place of death. I admit I am shaking a little bit, but I didn’t die. I didn’t get arrested. Mission accomplished. I am done for the day and it’s only noon! Read more about my time in Mostar and Sarajevo here.

I’m safe, Mom! Love to all.
Kirk

Car Accident in Mostar. I Am Part Asian.

She asked me to take a picture of her and coached me so the light hit her face perfectly. Very Asian! And she insisted on taking mine.

I had about an hour before the host fixed me breakfast. You can see how quickly the sky changes in that time below. Over a smaller bridge.

I returned and was seated and treated to, without dad-like exaggeration, the best breakfast I have ever had in 53 years.

All fresh and in many cases ingredients from their own garden. Andrej is known for his breakfasts but this was beyond gourmet. Made with the pride of a French chef but warmth of a Bosnian host. Eggs with Bosnian cream. Crispy potatoes with thin-sliced sausage. A Paprika Pepper with cream.

The kind of tomatoes Jeff would be proud of. That actually taste like  the tomatoes of our childhood. With feta cheese sprinkled with mint and dill. And homemade bread he made that morning, with specks of a special spice grown in the region. Plus a homemade apricot jam. I demolished it.

And for the first time in my life I drank coffee. Thick strong Bosnian coffee.

His wife came outside to thank me for staying. Again, very warm. We got in the car to head north through Croatia to a tiny speck of a village in Slovenia.

And at a red light, we got slammed hard from behind by a young kid. I got whiplashed a little and there is a welt in my knee. But thankfully we are okay.

It’s such a weird and scary thing. Out of your control. The police came. The offender would normally have to pay the police about $250 for an official report but it was clear cut and both drivers have the same insurance company. We drove to the agency where an adjuster wrote his report. There are no deductibles here so it’s all covered. Andrej’s son brought their other car and off we went, losing about an hour.

As we crossed the border, Andrej said this:

“These borders are silly. These seven republics (of the former Yugoslavia) are all the same people. We have the same genes. Our brains are the same. Some chose to be Muslim or catholic or Jewish. But we are the same people. It is only false nationalist pride that causes us to kill each other. Without that, we are one and the same people.”

He’s a Bosnian Muslim, but you’d have no idea and he despises the label AND the Muslim terrorists “who give me a bad name.”

He said Mostar people are happy and joke a lot. It was a thoroughly enjoyable drive compared to Ukraine! I fell asleep and he covered me with a towel from the back. Again, warm and thoughtful people.

He hugged me when he dropped me off in the tiny little town.

I have no doubt I will see him again. But I won’t be alone next time. Bosnia is too special not you share with others.

Love to all. And yes, Mom, I am perfectly fine. No pain or discomfort 16 hours after the accident.

Kirk