Showing posts with label Bosnia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bosnia. Show all posts

Sunday, March 25, 2018

Visiting Sarajevo; Bosnia's delightful capital

The Central River in Sarajevo
"What can I do in Sarajevo?", is a question posed by many travellers heading to the Balkans and the answer is that it is a very curious and interesting experience.When there, one is permanently mindful of Narnia, and each time a new looking-glass presents it self, and one clambers ungainly through it, the perspective changes, and with it reality.

There is, of course, no such thing as “reality”, and here as much as any other region in conflict, perspective and perception are the guides to understanding. “The West Balkans”, as Yugoslavia is now considered, are an exercise in perspective.

Sarajevo is a marvellous little city; it is a three-day town, at best, and this dependent on the weather. Previously known in the West as the venue for a long-forgotten Olympic Games in 1984, the capital of Bosnia became the capital of the region’s most intractable country.

Sarajevo's old town, with the copper and silversmiths alley

It is a fine city to visit; a city of contrast and beauty, and a city that boasts centuries of cultural heritage, scholarship and governance. It is a city to wander; a place of huge historical significance yet overlooked by so many travellers. The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand and the consequential destruction of Europe by the First World War is a local event marked by a small plaque by a small bridge; and this was certainly not its first brush with large-scale war. Sarajevo has been pushed and pulled by both religious and territorial attention for centuries, and the resulting architecture and
cultural undercurrents form an engaging backdrop for any casual visitor.

I like Sarajevo; although the central Old Town could be, one imagines, an imitation of a manic Christmas Market during the summer, in the slow season one can still marvel at the streets of jewellers, metal craftsmen and souvenir shops plying for trade in the city’s centre. It is really quite lovely, and the melodic call to prayer, punctuating the day’s routine, only adds to Sarajevo’s mystique and charm.

It is, perhaps, a place to visit rather than live. The comprehensive restoration, the new buildings, roads and rebuilt bridges that have followed the brutal combat of the 1990s belie the underlying culture of Sarajevo. It is a city that is ten miles wide, and an inch deep; it seems to present itself as a veneer. Like much of Bosnia, Sarajevo is suffering from its lost youth. In two senses; both the young lost in the war, and the vanished adolescent years that a post-Communist country needed before diving into the cowboy-capitalism of the early 2000s. From these losses, both in the war and from subsequent migration, the city struggles to keep up.

Amna Turkovic is exactly sort of person that Sarajevo needs to keep. She is, in her mid-twenties, wondering about her home, its future and her own. She is educated, passionately international, passionately Bosnian and deeply proud of her Islamic heritage. She is a musician, a journalist and a thoughtful woman interested in the future. She understands and is profoundly concerned with intolerance and is dismissive of the intensification of religion as Faith transforms into Religion in today’s culture. "It can do no good", she says, "and can only increase intolerance."

She speaks of education. She is saddened by how standards are dropping, perhaps a necessary result of losing 150,000 young people to opportunity in the West. She speaks of the importance of the Affricate consonants (the letters c, s, z and d that in Slavic languages can, like a kaleidoscope, change their sounds subtly with only a delicate nudge), the vitality of the “ij” diphthong and other fascinating minutiae of the language. And, while at first it seemed a touch obtuse, her passion for the correct way of communicating spoke volumes, and the importance of accurate interaction in this region was not lost on me.

This is a troubled land. While many of the West Balkan countries have settled into a reverie, Bosnia remains tense. A “nation” of three components that rarely agree on anything is not a stable basis for the future. Yet it needs to become so; Bosnia is a central, and thus critical point of interaction between the peoples, nations, religions and identities of the region. It is a country whose current balance needs to progress and conclude an agreement that will allow some decades of stability and will encourage its young to stay at home and help rebuild the nation.

Not all is restored; here, in a central
street one sees the bullet holes in the
walls of the building  
Because, it is all about the young.

I liked Sarajevo a lot. It is a rather lovely city, I think; my hesitation is only drawn from the weather and my inability to see the spectacular surroundings that drew the Winter Olympics here. It is a city of conversation and of food; it is a place to gaze and think, it is a place of contradiction and hope, and a destination that offers visitors a most remarkable opportunity to see centuries of history and dispute compacted into a passion that I have not met anywhere else on my travels.

It is a city that needs to keep Amna and the thousands of other thoughtful young people who are any community’s future.

Above all, it is a city that must remember to forget, and to forget to remember.

Thursday, March 22, 2018

Travelling in Bosnia and Herzegovina: Mostar, a curious place

The road from Sarajevo
Travelling in Bosnia and Hercegovina (B&H) is interesting; very interesting. Suffice it to say, that of the many conundrums that combine to make the former Yugoslavia, B&H is the most tongue twisting. It is a fascinating place, a country of wars, peace, religions, exodus, mountains, genocide and more. It even has a football team (The Dragons), who are reasonable, and often qualify for European (and World) tournaments.

It also has people, 3.5 million of them, although the loss of over 150,000 young and educated Bosnians over the past decade or so has left an indelible mark on the demography country. It is a country accustomed to change; it has swung between the Ottomans and Hapsburgs, the Yugoslavs (both the Kingdom and the Socialist Republic) and ceded to the Nazis during the second World War, it saw intensive resistance action as the birthplace of Joseph Tito’s partisans.

And then, of course, came the civil war in the 1990s; an inevitable conclusion, perhaps, of centuries of unfinished ethnic discord and the separation from the Yugoslav Federation of Slovenia and Croatia and the subsequent power realignment. It was a war of extreme brutality, and the cessation of hostilities and the ensuing twenty years of peace has allowed tensions to simmer down and the country re-establish a sense of normalcy.

Or as normal as Bosnia can be. It is a fine place for visitors. Its people are welcoming and warm, the countryside spectacular, its history deep and evident and the undying culture of hospitality that marks the Balkan countries is unmistakable.

Mostar's Old Town 

Mostar, a jewel of the country, is a larger city that I had thought. Knowing only of its Old City, and iconic bridge, and having been too lazy to look anything up in a book before I arrived, I became hopelessly lost in the city’s eccentric one-way system that today is punctuated by dozens of major road construction sites and an almost complete lack of road signs. I had a map, but being of Central Europe it was too small to be of any further use than simply reaching the city; I had some directions to the hotel I was using that failed to take the road construction into account and finding myself passing the same statue three times, I decided to do the unmanly and ask for directions.

It is a good thing that I did, because I was miles away from the hotel, and suitably redirected, I made it on the third pass.

It was at dinner that night (Podrum’s Restaurant in the OldTown) that I first talked about B&H with a local. Seno Hadžiosmaxioxić is a delightful and interesting man. He has lived in the UK, Germany and Portugal and now returned to the family business and Mostar mainly because of the exodus of young people, including his son. “How can we rebuild a country without our young people?”, he asked, only partly rhetorically. “They are all going.” The lack of an agreement with the EU, Canada or the USA for migrants did not seem to be a problem to emigration, and indeed, not for the first time, I wondered about the immigration policies of the wealthy countries that seemed to both encourage bright, young migrants, and simultaneously stymie their own efforts at economic development in those same countries.

Mostar. From The Old Bridge
I spoke later to a young man who worked in a small bar. I asked why he was still there when so many of his friends had gone, and he said that he was only waiting until he had finished his school year before heading off. I asked where the most popular country was for his generation to go to, and was only mildly surprised when he said “Ireland; now England has left the EU, there is no point is going there.”

And so, as I wandered through this old and serially abused town, I admired the reconstruction, wondered what the original Ottoman builders would have thought of so many restaurants and shops competing to sell fridge magnets and copper teapots, and decided that I liked the pictures much more than the reality, and decided to leave early.

The Tekija Blagaj - The Dervish House

Seno had advised that I visit two sites before heading to Sarajevo. The first, Blagaj was the home of sect of whirling dervishes, a group that has always puzzled me. Both their obscure form of sermon, splendidly called The Tasawwuf, and their almost maniacal, repetitive whirls. Many years ago I witnessed Dervishes whirling in Istanbul, and lost for a moment in tangential thought, found myself assigning day jobs to these rotating believers. Dervishes come from all walks of life, of course, as do adherents of all faiths, but “why the whirl?”, I wondered. “Are you still dizzy when you go to the office or drive your bus in the morning?”. Here, they practice three times each week.

This is, of course, only an aside to the very beautiful and spiritually important Dervish House at Blagaj. It is stunning, and reflects the overriding belief that the natural environment within which the house is built is an integral part of the relationship with God, and this house, the Tekija, is a wonderful example. Nestled at the foot of an imposing cliff of quite magical geologic patterns, it lies by a river flow that rushes from under the cliff itself. It is quite beautiful, and quite serene. The Dervishes have a very fine place of worship.

Pocatelij as seen from thh road
Twenty kilometers further along, lies the Ottoman town of Počitelj. It actually comes as a bit of a surprise after the usual roadside scruff; a partly built house here, a small tire dump there, a concrete bus-stop here and a cluster of peculiar shops there. The road has broadened out as the mountainous terrain heads toward the Adriatic, and the hills, while still commanding, lie a little farther from the road. Yet coming around a corner, one is immediately struck by this quaint, ancient and entirely improbable community lying by the side of the road. Seemingly untouched by the centuries.

Dating back to the 15th century, it was a fortified town that housed a Hungarian garrison between 1463 and 1471. Following a brief siege, the Ottomans captured Počitelj, and from then on it lost its strategic significance and its moment in the sun had set. It has remained dozy for five hundred years, pausing periodically to mend a step, change a light bulb and slowly toddle its way through the centuries. The slow passage of time, or more precisely the lack of any apparent need for it to hustle, has left the town as a marvellous and most picturesque example of the Ottoman Empire. I am assuming that it is picturesque, because the sleet that was drifting down on the day that I visited thwarted my photographic ambitions somewhat.

It is quite lovely. For the fit and able, the fortress lies a hundred metres or so above the town; for others, simply wandering through the ancient streets gives a distinct sensation of time travel. Perhaps the grey weather helped; the stairways were empty and uneven, the roofs bare and uneven, the mosques spiny and confident, and the entire blend of life and spirituality was completely absorbing.

And so, after a coffee, I turned my car around from the illegal position in which I had left it, and drove back to Sarajevo, the capital of this enigmatic country, and the next piece of the puzzle.

The road back to Sarajevo