Around the Balkans in 20 Days – Part 13

Not exactly chipper, we left the hotel after 11am. We had to leave, as we needed to get the bus tickets for the onward journey to Mostar tomorrow.  So we filled up on breakfast, then walked our usual route heading west. The food gave us a bit of energy - something I didn’t think we could have summoned when we woke - and brought about a discussion on what we could visit or see today. John came up a trip to the Olympic stadium, built for the 1984 Winter Olympics. Torvill and Dean territory, I recalled.

On our way to the bus station, we happened upon a pavement stone engraved with the logo of that year’s Olympics, outside the modern shopping centre. The stadium was a diversion from the bus station, so we turned north and instantly began to climb a steep hill. This was a similar route by which we entered the city when we arrived, which ran along a parallel, and somewhat quieter, street that edged a park. Half way up, it flattened for a short period, so we crossed over to the busier road. Even though we only walked half a mile or so to get to this point, the vista opened up to yet more and taller hills in the distance, brooding over us. So although the main valley, in which the city sat, ran east to west, there was this other tributary valley that came south into the city too. The open expanse that we sat in turned out to be another of those deadly places to wonder during the siege, and formed part of the front line. In addition, the buildings on the west side of this valley were your tall, brutalist kind – which I found unfathomable as to how they stayed upright on such a steep gradient – and were easily exposed to sniper and mortar fire.

Once the other side of the park, we came across a bustling market space that seemed to grow out of an underpass that carried traffic into the city. Bakeries, taxi ranks, people gathered at bus stops; it was a hive of activity that was emblematic of the commercial centres that inhabited the community-minded suburbs of cities in this region. Having passed by, we saw a tower loom in the distance. It indicated that the stadium was nearby, as the logo was emblazoned on it. Morbidly, to our right, there was a large cemetery too.

We walked up and past an indoor arena, to reach the outdoor stadium itself. This was closed off, but we could get close enough to peek through the tunnel into the grounds. We then started back down hill to the indoor arena. Draped outside were many banners showcasing the Olympians Bosnia had sent to the Summer Olympics in Brasil. We approached the main entrance, as a sign indicated that there was a museum. Two men in their 40s or 50s were sat outside having a cigarette. We went up a few steps to a 1970s tinted doorway and pulled at the handle. It was locked. Whilst John looked around for any signage to indicate opening hours, one of the men called to us in Serbo-Croatian. I began to walk over and hollered, “English, sorry”. He put down his coffee and walked towards us.

He said that the museum was closed. John and I both looked downbeat, especially after that long walk uphill. He explained that it would not be open for a few days. We said it was a shame, as we were leaving tomorrow, but that it was nice to come and see the grounds. At this, he said he could show us inside the indoor arena if we liked. We lit up with glee. He walked back to the other guy, put out his cigarette whilst speaking to him, then motioned for us to follow him to another door, the one to the arena and not the museum.

We emerged into a lobby area that was a rather darkly lit by the tinted windows that rose above the entrance. Together with the slight yellowy, beige paint and dark green carpet, its appearance was placed firmly in the mid 1980s. He took us to our right, into a sort of cafeteria-cum-common room that was deadly quiet, apart from the lively 1990s TV playing above our head to the left. There were pictures on the wall here, so I assumed he could explain a lot more with visual aids. After informing us of what went on at this site, including the opening ceremony, he took us back to the lobby and down some stairs. It felt like we were going into the basement. But once we drew down a floor, we passed through a set of doors into a huge indoor arena.

It reminded me of my high school gym back in Wales, one of those that were useful for school assemblies, or to host multiple of badminton courts. As we gazed at the icons and logos on the walls, and the sheer space of it, our friend elaborated on what went on in this room. I couldn’t tell if he was rather excited to see our response, but he gleefully shared the fact that this was the room in which Torvill and Dean danced the Bolero, going on to win gold. This genuinely took John and me aback. What a lovely thing to be treated to, especially when we quite fairly should have been denied entry.

After departing, we made our descent back past the market area and turned right to eventually reach the bus station again, where we purchased our tickets for a 10am coach to Mostar the next day. We walked from there then, towards the river. Before crossing over, I notice a marble monument set within a memorial park. It marked the start of the siege on 2 May 1992 by the ‘aggressors’, and was put in place in 2016. I feel the choice of words was a small step to move beyond ethnicising blame for the siege, and instead single out all perpetrators.

Now south of the river, and in the Skenderija quarter, we walked east along the river. It was a glorious day, with the river looking crisp and clear as it trickled slowly past us. We stopped off at a small café on the ground floor of a three-story, Austro-Hungarian style building, typical of this part of town. The terrace was shielded by a voluptuous gathering of climbers and vines, most in flower. After this short break, we continued our walk. I wanted to see the synagogue.

We arrived to a closed up courtyard, so had to peer around the building from the street, away from the river. The building was, again, in keeping with the aesthetic surrounds, but had Moorish sympathies reflecting perhaps the dominant Sephardic community who arrived from Spain and Portugal to Ottoman sanctuary originally, although it was built for the smaller Ashkenazi community.

After a few photos we retraced our steps, but this time on a parallel road so that we could have some shade. We walked past the bridge we crossed over, and continued towards the next one. This bridge was the site of the murder by sniper fire of two teenagers, Suada and Olga, at the start of the siege. Evidence was abundant, particularly on the nearby buildings, of the flash point this area became during the siege. We crossed over, back to the modern shopping centre and Parliament building.

We decided to eat at Vapianos, partly in a nod to our friend Jack who loves the place, and because it had a nice balcony from which to view the goings on below. We consumed an above average amount of wine for a late-lunch. A walk back to the hotel naturally followed this, so we had time for a nap.

As it was our last night, we decided upon a ‘traditional’ restaurant for our last meal. We had passed it on a walk a couple of days ago, and seems picturesque given it overlooked the river. The clear twilight was a great canopy under which to sit and eat. We ordered a hearty meal, with local red wine to devour. Afterwards, we took snaps of the Town Hall, light up in golden splendour, before walking down the river, and back across into the Bascarsija. We ended up in the bar we stopped at on our first night, and had a few beers as a nightcap before calling our time on Sarajevo on our last full day.

Around the Balkans in 20 Days - Part 12

After the busy day travelling around yesterday, we emerged from our sleep a lot later than I would have allowed, given we had more exploring to do. But we had been on a little adventure, so today’s activities could be somewhat more relaxed. It must have been close to midday before we left the hotel. Bright sunshine beckoned us when we did depart, but we soon shied away and walked down the narrow main thoroughfare to ease its gaze.

John suggested that we should go and visit the Tunnel Museum. I had been curious to see this previously, but was not brave enough then to make the journey there by myself. I kept to the familiarity of the old town, and down to the Parliament building area.  So I eagerly agreed.

We found a kiosk and bought a tram ticket to head to Ilidza. This was the opposite end of Sarajevo to the old town. John was excited for the tram journey, again. We boarded the shabby tram that proved to be rather busy. We immediately stamped our ticket, as we were pre-warned to do, for fear of getting a fine. The journey was along the whole length of the route, so I was pleased that after 3 or 4 stops I secured a seat, with John following a stop later. A nice breeze came through the open windows above, with the metal on metal rattle of the wheels and track below pouring through.

As we passed the car hire place from yesterday, we entered unknown territory. Rows of concrete blocks of housing kept appearing to our left until we reached a big elevated road junction reminiscent, one abstractly assumed from above, of the Olympic rings logo. After we passed under this, single-level, bungalow-style housing then emerged. And there was a reason for this.

Soon enough, to our left there appeared two rows of wired fencing running alongside us. An expanse opened up behind it, and complicated lighting arrangements emerged. We were at one end of the runway for Sarajevo Airport. I suppose it took me by surprise, although it should not have, given we were going to visit the Tunnel Museum that was dug underneath the airport!

60 seconds later we crossed through a roundabout, then pulled up to our final destination. We got off the tram, and appeared to be in a small shopping area. The tram could continue around a teardrop shaped track to face back towards the old town. All the shops were flat roofed and modern in a 1970s sense; many of the food ones having canopies and rattan seating. There was an air of market day about it, with shoppers casually ambling around with bags half full.

Ilidza formed part of the Bosnian Serb forces territory during the siege, but it was now within the Federation (not Republika Srpska) entity. But not by much. We decided to head straight to the museum. I couldn’t locate any information online about public transport to it, so assumed there wasn’t any. We set off on foot and meandered around a few municipal buildings. We arrived at a wide road that had industrial units on the side facing the airport, and what must have been a registry office on the other side, as a wedding party was gathering outside. We walked in an easterly direction without any trees for shade, and had failed to buy any water too. We did stumble upon a brown sign a few hundred yards down the road, indicating the direction of the museum. So we turned off the wide road into a rather well to do suburb. A small stream ran past us, bubbling in front of the small plots containing detached housing. It was all pretty serene. We passed a small shop, no bigger than kiosk, which apparently sold bread. I couldn’t tell if it had closed many years ago, or just sold bread on an ad hoc basis. It seemed rather worn out, and given that the area we were in was the front line, I’m not surprised.

We continued walking, mostly following the free GPS on my phone, in the general direction of the museum. We only saw one other sign for it. Then the houses disappeared, and all of a sudden we were walking on open grassland. The airport looked very exposed. There was no pavement here, so when a car approached, we had to get on to the grass. To be fair, this only happened twice. In all, it took us about 40 minutes of walking to get here. The only noise to break the silence were two aircraft taking off, sending a booming and vibrating blast across the wide valley floor. 

The house upon which the tunnel was built was easily identifiable.  It really did bear the brunt of enemy fire by being on the front line. With the amount of bullet holes in it, it was remarkable the thing hadn’t just collapsed. It was typical of the style we had just walked passed. A stirring resemblance to houses in ski resorts, only on a smaller scale, with two floors, balcony, and a classic apex roof. You entered the museum down a side alley to the house, where a little wooden hut was constructed, set from the house. We paid the equivalent of £4 each and entered the back yard. This stretched about 100 yards towards the airport, and was a couple of yards wider than the house itself. In the bottom right corner was a modern wooden building of one level. This was the video room. Attached along the 8 ft high metal garden fencing was a written, chronological story of the tunnel that you followed round.

The story was fascinating. The airport was agreed, between the parties, to be a ‘neutral zone’, which meant it cut off the Bosnian Serbs from fully encircling the city; but also from allowing the Bosnian Government access to the city from territory it held. The Bosnian Government wanted to secure access, so the idea of a tunnel emerged to shift people and supplies back and forth. The owner of the house was an old lady, who allowed for this to take place. I believe she lived there throughout. What a torment for someone to sustain for all those years, especially witnessing the devastation to her house. As I gazed at a map of the city under siege, I noticed that the Bosnian Serb territory, which was merely hundreds of meters away, now corresponds to the demarcated internal border of the two entities. Republika Srpska was a short walk away.

We wondered into the house that had an assortment of displays on about the siege. But as you were directed to the basement, you became aware that you were going to the start of the tunnel. They kept the entrance to it open, and stabilized 50 yards of it. It was extremely claustrophobic, but luckily we only walked through it for seconds. We then emerged in the middle of the backyard. I had wandered what the little hole in the ground was! We visited the video room, but only for a few minutes, as we had garnered enough knowledge about the siege as we needed. Also, we were becoming a bit dehydrated.

We decided to leave after 45 minutes, and follow our footsteps back to Ilidza. As we rejoined the main road with the industrial buildings on it, a convoy of cars drove slowly past tooting their horns and waving flags out of the windows. It seems that the wedding had now finished, and this was the custom. I had seen this in Slovenia a few years ago, but it was still a joyful thing to see. It really created a community vibe to the wedding. This went on for the whole length of the road we walked, as they seemed to be doing laps!

When we returned to the market area, we decided to have a drink. We were parched and also needed shade from the sun. We picked a bar at random, but it happened to be on a thoroughfare so we could people watch. The one thing we should have not have done, was take this rest as a bit of a session for drinking. After about 2 hours of chatting and ordering more beers, as we didn’t want to move, we became rather pissed. I recall paying, buying a tram ticket, and then boarding the tram. The journey was pretty fuzzy back to the old town. However, as we walked through the old town, I remembered that I needed to send my friend a postcard that he requested (read: demanded). So I bought one, found a small post office in one of the old town shop fronts, paid my stamp and borrowed a pen. I scribbled a message, which I could not recall moments later, and posted it. I believe the person received it after we returned from the trip.

As we staggered back to the hotel, I noticed the first floor of a building that looked out on to the square of the old town where the Sebilj was located. It had etched into its yellow plaster a Star of David, and a box with words including the date 1873. These sorts of finds really fascinate me. What was this buildings’ purpose? Was it a synagogue, or did it serve another function? Who occupied it? John tried Wikmapia to see if it had the answer, but alas it did not. We returned to the hotel and took a long nap.

We woke up rather hungry, so John inspected Trip Advisor again and found an Italian near the flame memorial. We walked the length of the pedestrian pathway through the old town and Austro-Hungarian section, to reach the flame. We then turned immediately left into a very Germanic courtyard. This seemed to be a hub of activity, with a restaurant in every corner, spilling out into the courtyard. Our Italian was on the left. We were given a table for two in the mezzanine level, unfortunately next to a teenager’s birthday party. It was all very loud! The food was nice, and the candlelight brought a romantic feel to the restaurant. We then departed and returned to the club from last night. Perhaps we will have more luck in spotting some gays this time.

We arrived at the door and presented ourselves with our secretive knock, the door giving way soon after. We paid the minimal charge and went down. Tonight was a lot busier, very much the club ‘feel’ I was expecting the first night. We bought a couple of beers, then perched on a tall table near the exposed brick back wall. Many people were dancing in the pit area near the door and DJ booth. After a while we notice another couple that had entered and looked as new as us. They must have been tourists and seen the same Internet reviews of this place as we did. John went to the bar and they began chatting. Once they came over and after we exchanged pleasantries, it turns out that they both have a London link. One guy was from Germany originally but lived in London. His partner is from London originally but now resides in New York.

The rest of the night consisted of us all discussing our time in Sarajevo, where we had been, and to where we were travelling. At one point we decided we did not like the club, so ventured out. There were still throngs of people emptying out of the various film festival events. We ended up at a trendy bar on one of the back streets, but it seemed that all the other film ‘luvvies’ were there too. After too many beers, we then left our new friends and returned to the hotel at god-knows what hour.

My Images of SEE – 18:14, Saturday 20th August

I had a fulfilling nights sleep last night, and woke up when my body needed to and not my alarm clock. I slowly got out of bed, then made my way downstairs to breakfast. I collected cereal and made my way outside to the terrace to get a seat. The sun was out but it was not hot yet. I went back in to get a roll and Nutella, along with my coffee. I sat out, eating away, admiring the view of the mosques, terracotta topped houses, and the green hills crowding over the city.

I went back to my room and washed and changed. I then ventured out into the old town. With it being Saturday, it was as busy as last night. From the hotel, you walk down a hill to where the spring is. Then the market area is on a lower incline. Its floor is made of flat orangy/brown rocks interlaced with cement. The shop fronts are showing off their wares and are constructs of wood and stone. 

I walked around the maze of shops to find an ATM – for I need to pay the hotel. Then located a small museum, which I find out is the Museum of Sarajevo – right in the heart of the Bascarsija. It is a rectangular building (surrounded by the market) and is domed. Inside, I paid 2km and spent about 40 minutes in there. Not much in terms of artifacts, but a lot on the story of prehistoric Sarajevo, through Medieval, Ottoman, Austro-Hungarian and up to present times. In the centre of the room was a model reconstruction of the old town of the 1800s.

I exited, the walked through the Bezistan. Similar materials to that of the museum (Grey stone with a tinge of yellow, layered between cement) had a front and back entrance, and an alleyway you walked through that had small stalls either side. A pleasant building but the wares were not to match. 

I then made my way to the hotel briefly to pay my bill and have my passport returned. I then walked down the road I came up yesterday. I walked past the old mortared market again, now bustling with life, onward to the new shopping mall. 

I had a wonder around to pass time. I then continued, where opposite the road I saw red marks on the floor. I read last night that these splashes of red plastic actually fill in the holes where mortars struck. I took a photo for the record, but an eerie spot it was. I then walked past an alley where the wall of the building was sprayed with bullet holes. Again, no effort to cover up the suffering that was endured.

I then spotted a café, so took the opportunity to rest from the powerful gaze of the sun. I read and took in the chatter of the locals around me. I then walked onward to another shopping mall and ate there. I had a glass of Bosnian red too, which went down a treat. Smoking is tolerated indoors – reminded me of a few years back, out in the UK.

I then walked past the Holiday Inn again to the train station. It was as quiet as it was yesterday. I asked a guy there is I needed to book the train to Zagreb – no, he replied. Excellent. I then turned back. I now located where museums were for Monday (as tomorrow I plan to walk and shop), so now started the second half of a figure of 8 by taking an adjacent road back to the old town. A bit quieter, but still feeling safe, I made my way back to Ali Pasha’s Mosque – where prayer sounds were emanating from. I then took the right fork on Marsala Tita Street into the old town. I stopped at a café for an espresso and a slice of Tiramisu. Lovely. And only 3km! I then meandered around the old town again and back to the hotel to rest as the afternoon call to prayer began.

My Images of SEE - 20:43, Friday 19th August

The young couple departed 2 stops later, in the suburbs of New Belgrade/Zemun I presume. We chugged along slowly to the next stop and 3 railway workers came into the cabin. I just read. I think they were getting a lift to near the border (which they indeed did, to Sid). I just read in the stifling heat that was produced with no really open windows and 4 men. The journey to the border, through the Vojvodina, was what can now be described as a normal journey – Stop-Start-Stop-Start. There must be a rule that train drivers shouldn’t trust car drivers at crossroads, as we always seemed to slow or stop and have a few blasts of the horn.

Anyway the scenery was what I came to expect of Serbia too – flat. Save for a parallel hill that seemed to follow us to the border; to the north, all there was were cornfields. One thing to note is that we didn’t pass another sizeable settlement until Bosnia. What there were copious amounts of were villages and hamlets. Some no bigger than 20 houses. The journey to the border was quicker than expected and the Serbian customs quicker than usual. We then crossed over. Now I was in recent history.

This was the border region of the early 90’s conflict between Croatia and Serbia (or Croats and Serbs I should say). Again the geography was similar to Serbia. The dwellings were the same too. But now there was the Latin alphabet. We passed through Vinkovci train station. It felt eerie to me, as I know that the town of Vukovar was only kilometers away, and was one day a bustling town. Then it was razed to the ground. Incredible.

The train continued west to Strizivojne Vrpolje, where we then turned south. 20 minutes we were at the border again. A swift check by the Croats let us then go forth over the Sava to Bosnia & Herzegovina – but technically “Republika Srpska”. We then went through another swift check and were free to continue. For a while the geography remained the same. Then it began to get hilly, then more so like the Conwy Valley, or Llangollen. They were covered in a ripe green expanse of forest. We meandered in-between hills and through valleys. Occasionally we went through the hills. Slowly we reached Doboj, still in Republika Srpska – just.

About 20 minutes from here I noticed two things that stuck out. One was that every village or small town we passed there were minarets and towers topped with the crescent and star. They were so numerous such as like passing Welsh village by Welsh village and coming across chapels and churches. Except these were new, and in use; not decrepit and in disrepair. It was an odd yet satisfying sight, as I now knew I was closer to Sarajevo and in the Croat/Muslim Federation of BiH.

The second was my first physical proof of the war. Pock-holed buildings were springing up. It caught me off guard actually, and made me look at my surroundings a lot more clearly and with context. If they didn’t have pockmarks, then they had filler plugged over them. But the scar was still underneath. Also to note was that there were a lot of houses being built, or had recently been built, from Croatia to Sarajevo in fact.

An old man came in, then left. Then a young lad came for the remainder of the journey. We then came up to Zenica, which is the largest town I’ve seen since Belgrade. An industrial city from appearances. But very much Muslim dominated. We continued on.

From here, a new road must be in construction as road works made the traffic build up as we scuttled past. At 18:00, and with the sun on its final descent to dusk, we arrived. Just a short 10 hours. 

I walked out of the station, towards a main road that would lead me directly to my hotel. Along the way I passed the ‘famous’ Holiday Inn hotel, I passed market that was mortared by the Serbs ending scores of lives, and skirted the Old Town. I also withdrew cash.

After 25/30 minutes of walking I reached the Pansion Stari Grad; a friendly guy welcomed me and explained about breakfast and wifi. I went up and showered, then had 20 minutes to myself. The old town is on the doorstep. So I had a little walk around, when a firework went off to mark the end of fasting.

I sat in a restaurant-cum-fast food place and sat next to a young lad. I had cevapci – the veal sausages with naan style open bread and onions. Lush. And only for 10km (£5) with a Coke. I then had an ice cream for 2km then walked to 60 seconds to the hotel where I relaxed, then slept.