Sarajevo - the return

Last week saw Mike and I going to Sarajevo for a few days. We'd talked to my friend Tea's French boyfriend Rafael (the foreigners are invading with a vengeance it seems) at a party the other weekend and he was going on about how great it is, a little Turkish style place, heart of the Balkans, yadda yadda. I wasn't really working much and needed to make a border run for my visa anyway, so a few days later we decided to take off for a short trip since Mike'd never been.

The first adventure in a long string involved the bus. Julia called the station for us and they said there's one bus a day in either direction - I was skeptical but ok, that's something. We went to the station and discovered there are actually around seven daily. Lesson learned - go to the bus station when looking for information. Even if the lady behind the ticked window can't tell you return times the one behind the information window (conveniently located across the way) can. We ask about price for round trip tickets, leave and figure out that taking two night buses seems the way to go and get cash, then come back to buy the tickets. The first helpful lady, a woman who seemed more content and fluffy than one usually sees in public agents here, was gone so we went to the next window over. There a woman with dramatic dark hair informed us that we couldn't buy round trip tickets and that her colleague "didn't know what she was talking about." Our slightly worried queries about how we're then supposed to get back are met with scorn. New plan: buy tickets on arrival to Sarajevo for trip home.

Night buses have nice parts about them, but this one was a geriatric convention with the heat cranked up WAY too high. On the Serbian border we waited 45 minutes - I thought the conductor was going to tear his hair out. First one man got pulled off the bus, then Mike and I did, then another guy. Standing outside at 2 a.m., groggy and wondering why you're being questioned is never fun. However, our assertions that we'd stayed with friends, just been in Belgrade (and loved it) as well as our white cards (although one officer kept frowning at Mike's exit date - which was in perfect order) got us over the border, stamped and everything.

We rolled into Sarajevo, the Serbian side, at about 6 a.m. on a foggy, cold morning. Stumbling out of the bus I think that I should have brought a warmer scarf, but we push on to the ticket office. After extracting information about return times and ticket price from a lady trapped behind glass we go looking for an ATM so we can get some Bosnian marks. There is no ATM at the bus station. Nor anywhere in sight. Or an exchange office. I ask a taxi driver where one would be and he seems nonplussed by our plight until I point out forcibly "ali nema para" (but we've got no money). I'll say now that returning to Sarajevo (I was there last May) with at least a strong base in the language really helped at odd moments; I can move around asking directions in a caveman-esque way at obscenely early hours after not much sleep. We asked a trolleybus man setting up his trolley on the cables for further directions and ended up in blocks of apartments with shops underneath. We found a bank with an ATM and were terribly excited... until the glass doors wouldn't open to let us in. FOILED! Luckily there was another bank with a normal bankomat (ie not behind anything) not far away. Then repeat the trek back to bus station, we're practically regulars now in the neighborhood. The same surly lady is still in her little office but then tells us she doesn't sell the tickets, window next to her does. Which is empty. After idling for a minute or two we ask where the person might be - she says to try the kafana. We go in and I ask who the person is who'll sell me tickets. There are two guys at a table, they gesture me to sit, produce a ticket book and write out our return tickets (which we could have bought in euros. Another lesson learned: carry more euros in cash when traveling in this region) over the remains of their coffee. Surreal. Furthered by catching the tram into city center (it's 103, don't let them tell you different) that was full of school kids pressed in tighter than tight, we're already exhausted, and it isn't even 8 a.m. yet!

Turkish coffee, breakfast, getting a place to sleep and a nap made the world a bit brighter. Even if the room was freezing cold (the heat hadn't been turned on yet), there was no hot water in two out of three bathrooms surveyed, and we were up a huge hill. Lesson: pay a few more euros for private accommodation and ask where it is before following the guy to hostel. Walking into town we stopped by the shop of Dino, a coppersmith I'd spent an afternoon chatting with last May. He was still there and kinda remembered me (the new hair threw him), we sat and had a nice few hours catching up, rambling about life over coffee (although he was fasting for Ramadan so just Mike and I had the coffee). I loved how people kept poking their heads in just to say hi, make plans for later, ask for money, try to get a piece custom-made that would be better done by machine than hand. Dino would tell their story afterwards sometimes - the guy who still has shrapnel in his head since they can't operate for fear of causing more damage or death; the old man (who was convinced that Mike and I were Germans) who is a specialist auto mechanic, had gone to France and everything for training, and still was active into his retirement years. The stories of failed marks in Marxism during school (he didn't believe that capitalist countries were going into decline for one), how he came to be a copper artisan; it was just grand. I asked about the pyramids I'd heard about last time, he said he'd been and they were amazing, something to make sure to see and that we should go to Visoko if we could.

The rest of the day was spent strolling around city center, drinking coffee at regular intervals. Mike also found a chocolate cake he's considering trying to make a lasting relationship with (if čevapćići and pleskavica turn him down that is). We found out price for the bus to Visoko (although once again the agent at the bus agency didn't have return times, only departures) and decided to make a trip of it the next day, archeology being one of Mike's passions and something I've become more interested in as well. It was intriguing returning to a place I've been in recent memory - a lot was still the same but some of what really impressioned me the first time wasn't quite as striking the second go round. Although watching the men playing chess on the huge board in the park was still great to see. As Mike pointed out, it gives ample opportunity for strutting. Thankfully I know that my talents do not lie in the direction of chess, otherwise I'd be tempted to try to take it up again.

In typical serialist fashion I'm going to leave you with the cliff hanger of those mysterious pyramids - what are they doing in Bosnia? Did our intrepid heroes make it in time? Will they unlock the secrets of an ancient civilization? And will they return to Serbia unmarked by the experience? Stay tuned...