Scarred Buildings and People

I'm writing from a hostel just off of the central square in Sarajevo. Croatia seems really far away.

We spend most of Sunday in the town of Mostar which was basically levelled in a clash between the Bosnian Croats and Muslims (who, as the NYT put it, were nominal allies through the rest of the war). The bullet scarred walls, bombed out buildings, the parks turned graveyards in which every stone was inscribed with '- 93' -- the number before the dash ranging from the 1910s to the year itself -- and the rather bemused (as another backpacker described it) attitude of the Bosnians to find tourists visiting their country profoundly impressed a variety of messages, feelings and questions that we've all been struggling with. How do you approach being a tourist in a country recovering so visibly from a horrific tragedy that didn't really touch you at all beyond a vague recollections of news reports absorbed periferally as a 9 year old? What's the middle ground between romanticization and avoidance? Should my camera even be out?

Yesterday we followed an emotionally charged tour led by one of the employees of the hostel here in Sarajevo. He took us to the tunnel under the airport (now mostly collapsed) that was the sole source of communication, electricity, fuel and illicit armaments for the 300 000 people that weathered and fought off the siege (the longest in the history of modern warfare at over three and a half years). There I pulled a pectoral muscle carrying a 35 kilo backpack for 25 m through the 1 by 1.5 m space. In operation the tunnel was 800 m long and constantly active, with hundreds moving within it at a time in both directions -- traffic density sometimes extending the trip to several hours. We also took in, wide eyed, a furious venting session in the guise of interpretation from one of the tunnel museum's staff members who, like our guide in the broader tour, had almost no patience for questions. I don't want that description to be interpreted as criticism. For it to have been as sanitized and visitor focused as the tours I used to give at parliament would have seemed incredibly artificial. And the hostility to questions seemed to stem largely from an attitude (probably correct) that we couldn't possibly even know the right questions to ask so why waste the time when there's so much to describe and say?

The tour went on to the old WW2 memorial from which the Serbian army sniped and barraged much of the city. There our guide sat us down (standing, the wind overpowered his voice) and described for 45 minutes the bungling of the UN (sending tons of malaria medication and condoms but less than 100 grams of food per person per day) and how the city mobilized to defend itself without military equipment or training. He told us about how the militia resolrted to buying millions of dollars of guns from a Colombian drug cartel because of the UN embargo on selling weapons to the combatants on either side (good in theory but a death warrant for the Sarajevans who faced an army inherited by Serbia from the former Yugoslavia). He showed us Sarajevo roses -- painted red to symbolize blood -- and told us about the proud history of diversity in the city (the only major European city which, accepting Jews expelled by the Spanish inquisition, did not force them into segregated ghettos, and in which today and for centuries can be heard both the call to prayer and ringing church bells.). He told jokes and in telling them fluctuated between a sardonic expression and one that was dead serious.

The driver was nuts although I think he may have been exaggerating his insanity to make a point expressed by the guide earlier that Sarajevans are frantic drivers because of the habit from having needed to barrel serpentine through the city at 120 kph in order to avoid artillery and sniper fire.

Following the tour I tried to engage Sunny (our guide) in conversation. Considering the fury he expresses towards Serbia I asked him if he had ever had Serbians on his tour. He said that he had and was unhappy to learn of them, but was impressed by their attitude as the tour progressed. I wanted to ask him why he gave this tour; whether it was out of a sense of duty to tell the story of Sarajevo, or whether it was just a job, an unoccupied niche? How did he feel about these voyeuristic English speakers coming to oggle the suffering of Sarajevo? Did he see them that way or was he more charitable? Could he empathize with us? His dismissiveness though kept me from pushing these questions on him. I hope he recognizes the potency of the experience for us.

I was emotionally spent for the rest of the day and still have a lot to think about. Sarajevo makes an interesting preface to Belgrade.

Now I'm off to check out what the deal is here with Franz Ferdinand.

Peace.