Much has been said about Dubrovnik in the past (at least in this site), so I’ll save the new story about it for another time. Split, meanwhile, left a good impression too. Bright, historic, and full of life, even in winter but will save the narrative for later too. Sarajevo, for some reason, demanded an immediate feature. Just because it screams reeks of stories I wish I never knew -- of wounds, both old and new, and scars impossible to ignore. Writing about it now brings a tinge of sadness for everything that had transpired, but at the same time, deep respect for everything the city has endured.
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It was Christmas Day and the city greeted me with an unusually sharp, crisp, quiet December air. The city was wrapped in fog, almost uninviting. Although, it was a fitting atmosphere for what the moment deemed to be felt. Cold, blurry, but thriving. When I stepped off the tram and stood across the Latin Bridge, I realized I was right on that very site that birthed a defining moment that significantly changed the world. That very spot, where the act was committed, and set in motion the inevitable war that no one could stop at that time. And the rest, as they say, is (a bloody) history. For that, Sarajevo, big-time carried a certain weight and a fair share of painful memories.
Just like how I normally do travelling in cities I visit for the first time, I wandered aimlessly through its streets. In one corner, there were the peaceful Ottoman courtyards and old mosques. Down another street rose the neat lines and pastel Austro-Hungarian buildings, then the grey apartment blocks from the Yugoslav years. The scape seems to me like a patchwork that shouldn’t make sense but somehow does. Like pizza with jalapeño and pineapple. Or my current data analysis playlist that has Fleetwood Mac, Elvis Presley, and Edoardo Bennato in it. It's giving dark comedy set in postcard-beautiful cliffs of emotional rot and casual cruelty. But history has a good explanation for why it is so.
Given the limited time, I did try to learn as much of Sarajevo as I could in the two days that I had. And it was just too much to take all in (for beginners, read: Sarajevo Safari). But my main takeaway was how Sarajevo takes pride in not hiding its scars. Museums documenting all the terrors, atrocities, and darkness, were abundant. Too raw, too real, unapologetically present. Each screams with a quiet plea to never forget. Like the Banshees of Inisherin, wearing silence and severed fingers, not as spectacle, but as facts. It's painful, but it makes a whole lot of sense to openly share the story in the hopes that the world will clearly see it and not happen again.
Two days weren’t nearly enough. And possibly no visit ever will be. The thing is, Sarajevo is one of those few places not just to see, but one to return to. And I do hope to go back one day, and see how it progresses to heal. Or maybe preserve the damage. Or both. In some cases, time does heal, but sometimes, it just teaches us ways to hide the pain better. Healing a slow process, always.
The Eternal Flame of Sarajevo — a memorial dedicated to the victims and heroes of WWII, located at the intersection of Ferhadija & Titova streets, was unveiled to honor those who lost their lives during the liberation of the city from fascist occupation, and remains one of Sarajevo’s most important historical landmarks.
