Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
You can travel all the way to a place as instructive and fascinating as Mostar and not
quite cross the goal line. It's important to reach beyond the tourist-friendly zones and con-
nect with real neighborhoods. That evening, I reflexively headed for the romantic strip
of touristy restaurants with English menus and glorious views of the iconic and floodlit
bridge. But then, my appetite for education commanded, “Halt.” Rather than the easy, no-
stress dinner on the riverfront, I stopped, turned 180 degrees, walked in the opposite dir-
ection, and risked earning a lifelong memory.
I took my business to the Boulevard—the former front line that only now is getting
some tentative businesses opening up. I stumbled upon a new-looking café and ordered a
plate of stuffed peppers and a Sarajevska beer. The young man who served me had just
opened his bar here, on the Muslim side. Immediately across the street stands the new
Catholic church, with its oversized steeple. He said that while bullets are no longer flying,
he was worried about vandalism from young, hate-filled men across the road. He had been
open two months, and so far, no problem. Eating my meal, I was surrounded by poignant
sights and sounds. First a warbly call to prayer echoed across town. Then the church bells
tolled determinedly across the street. All the while, a little boy with training wheels on
his pint-sized bike pedaled vigorously around and around a new sidewalk by a still-bomb-
damaged line of buildings and grass too young to walk on. He went faster and faster with
each circle.
The next day, I popped into a small theater where 30 Slovenes (from a part of the
former Yugoslavia that avoided the terrible destruction of the war) were watching a short
film about the Old Bridge, its destruction, and its rebuilding. The persistent shelling of the
venerable bridge, so rich in symbolism, seemed to go on and on. The Slovenes knew the
story well. But when the video reached the moment when the bridge finally fell, I heard
a sad collective gasp. It reminded me of how Americans feel, even well after 9/11, when
watching video of the World Trade Center disappearing into a column of ash. It helped
me, if not feel, at least appreciate another country's pain.
At lunchtime, I stopped at a tiny grocery store, where I was happy to see a woman I
had befriended the day before. She was a gorgeous person, sad to be living in a frustrat-
ing economy, and stiff with a piece of shrapnel in her back that doctors decided was safer
left in. She made me a hearty ham sandwich and helped me gather the ingredients of what
would be a fine picnic. Stooping to pick up items on shelves lower than she could bend to
reach, I considered how this woman's life will be forever marred by that war.
