Happy Easter!

We were surprised to find almost no sign of Easter today (though we did think the call to prayer from the local mosque was a bit more off-key than usual). People tell us that it isn't really celebrated all that much, except in Croatia, which is more Catholic than this Orthodox, Muslim and Catholic country. We did see a lamb roasting at our local market this morning, but we can't tell if it was for Easter or just a usual thing. And yesterday at the bigger cheese, egg and meat market in the Old Town, there were a few decorated eggs. But no big deal, it seems.

Yesterday we wandered around doing errands and finding important things (for Bill at least!) like the brewery. And then we had Turkish coffee, which is a lot like what we used to have in Greece, but they serve it with Turkish Delight, which I said was really Aplets and Cotlets (for you Washingtonians out there). Bill said that was probably sacrilegious.   

 

Blood oranges, smoked beef, eggs and cheese

At any rate, here was our Easter morning breakfast. And we also discovered inadvertently that the European daylight savings time happened during the night, so we lost an hour (seems like we already did that this year!).

 

Hiking toward brandy

Last Sunday was a comparatively sunny day in what has been basically an extension of winter. Someone at the office told us they call this last blast of cold "grandmother's breath," which, as a grandmother, I resent.

Mountain guide extraordinaire, Fikret

At any rate, we headed off to meet a guide, Fikret, that a friend told us about. (It turns out everyone knows Fikret, and he knows everyone - even our friend Carol Pucci from the Seattle Times!). Fikret is a mountain guide, so he knows all the hikes here in Bosnia, and every week he sends out suggested hikes to an email group. This Sunday it was Mt. Crepolisko,  near Sarajevo, with views down into the city. You need guides here because there are still land mines hidden in the hills and they know how to avoid them. And, besides, you learn so much!

There were four of us, plus Fikret on the hike. We took a bus to the end of the line, then walked uphill through budding cherry orchards (we need to go back in a few weeks!) and along the dry stone walls surrounding sheep farms, then we hit the snow.

Gotta love dry stone walls

We kept going, but decided not to go for the peak of the mountain because the snow was getting pretty deep and some of our party wasn't too "keen," as they say. We were keen, but I must admit to having frozen feet. Plus it was hazy so we couldn't actually see much of a view, though we did see the peaks of the mountains where the Olympics were held here. 

We wandered up to a ridge, and on the way there were birch forests that were truly lovely. I admit to obsessing over wild crocuses and hellebores, some peaking out of the snow. Then we headed down to a hut where they served coffee and brandy. (Why don't we have these huts in the US mountains???)

Hut with cherry and pear brandy - oh, and of course, coffee. It's Bosnia, must be coffee.

The hut was about 20 minutes away from the road, so there were a lot of pseudo-hikers there (I think Fikret disapproved of them greatly). After we hit the road, two of our party peeled off in a taxi, and we hiked down toward Sarajevo with Fikret. He took us through the black pine forest where the Serb army had gun emplacements. You could see how the city was like a sitting duck from up there. Fikret is full of political opinions, and stories about the days of the war. He and Bill bonded over history and are now fast friends.

Cold, cold, cold we arrived home to devour the meager ingredients in our refrigerator and cupboard. We've been skirting the edges of starvation at home, but every time we eat out we don't feel like eating again for a week.They do like their hearty food. A nice Sunday ...

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Bridges, markets and monuments

People tell us they envy our "adventures," but just to make it clear, life abroad is not always adventurous. For example, Saturday morning found us sitting in bed with our computer reading the washing machine instruction booklet using Google Translate. (We did find, after some time, that the machine actually is supposed to run for over two hours. We thought it was broken, but apparently the Sarajevans want really, really clean clothes.)

The modern bridge

At some point, we did rouse ourselves from that piece of adventure to explore on the gorgeous sunny day. We walked along the river, where there is a beautifully wide walkway, while novice roller bladers dodged us, and others walked their dogs (no doggy bags here!) or just plain strolled. There are a billion little coffee shops along the way, and they were also filled with people lolling about in the still very cool sun. Bill said, "They are like in Seattle; the first taste of spring and everyone is out, even if they still have to wear their down jackets."

Art institute with the bridge in the foreground

 The river has many bridges crossing it, we haven't succeeded in counting exactly how many. Some are old, most seem rebuilt since the war - one a very cool sort of mobius strip. That one leads to the art institute.We wandered to the old town, by mosques and churches and shops selling odd spices

Spices, herbs? Who knows ...

and other things (we have no idea, actually!), then into the Turkish old town, where everyone is sitting outside drinking Turkish coffee or smoking water pipes. We went to the cheese and meat market in an old warehouse-style building, bought some "young cheese," which turned out to be packaged inside yellow peppers, yum. It tastes a little yeasty, but we put some ajvar sauce (eggplant and pepper relish) on it and it was good. We also got some smoked beef that is super strong, like bacon on steroids, and also good. We have begun to realize that we will have to be careful here - the food is good and hearty!

One of the many wartime cemeteries

After a lunch of kebabs on other tasty little things, we walked waaay up a hill above town. At one point we realized there were five cemeteries in sight, and the tombstones closest to us were all dated from 1992-95, the dates of the siege. It's sobering - one minute you are in a European city like anywhere else, and the next you are hit with the war, once again. Bill asked a new friend if they just think about the war all the time. And he said, "Your brain protects you. It wants to move forward."

A family walking toward the center of town. Sarajevo is very hilly!

Tortoise, forgive us!

As we were flying from Munich to Sarajevo yesterday, I found myself rethinking the role of the tortoise.

After some 15 hours of travel, we ran to the Munich terminal for our connection and barely made the teensy plane. (Well, okay, it had 35 rows of two seats each, and we were in the last row. Small.) All was well over the Alps, pretty mountaintops beneath us. But about halfway there, the pilot announced in a rather bland German accent that there were gusty winds in Sarajevo. And it was not too long before the plane began to ride that buckin’ bronco. We went up, we went down, the wings shook and the plane groaned, we bobbed from side to side, we twisted and turned like a ride at the state fair. The passengers suddenly went quiet except for a few communal gasps. I thought about that tortoise tucked safely into bed on Queen Anne Hill. Eventually we surfed onto a runway and Bill and I managed to unclench our hands, leaving each other’s fingernail marks behind.I said an entire rosary.

The two young and pretty flight attendants giggled and chatted through it all, so as we were getting off I admitted to them that I was terrified. One said, “Well, think about us. We have to do it again on the way back.” More laughter. They said this was usual for Sarajevo because of the mountains and I started planning my Trapp family trek by foot for our trip home.

But we are here. Our bags are not (oh, tortoise! You have clothes …), and today they cancelled the flight because of wind (!) so our bags remain in Munich. We have a few extra things, travelers that we are, so we are fine-ish.

Our flat is nice and spacious, even has a dishwasher and washing machine. Yesterday, we walked and walked to keep ourselves awake, and I saw that I am the only woman in Sarajevo with grey hair. The only. Women my age have hair the color of the red on the American flag, or a sort of orange, or blonde. They stare at me when I walk toward them, and I am wondering if they are thinking, “Wow, that is courageous and it looks great!” OR “What the heck is wrong with that woman? I can introduce her to my hairdresser and she could have red hair in minutes.”

What we have seen of the city is a huge mix of contrasts – old shrapnel-filled buildings adjacent to modern, glassy malls. The city is like a museum to the war, and also to the desire to be beyond the war and part of what is happening in the rest of the world. And why not? But the war is there in the shadows.

The people are part of that mix – young women in bright high heels and down coats ala North Face, older women in gorgeous wool coats with fur collars, still others in full burka or headscarves. And others in sensible shoes and knitted berets and scarves. The men sport stocking caps with style, though there are wool fedoras around. And cigarettes as accessory – lots of smoke everywhere.

We do have some pictures, but our friend jetlag is entering the room, so later for those. And stories about the bakeries and coffee bars ... we've hit civilization for sure!

This time, Sarajevo!

Last time we took off on a working/living trip (to Ghana), we waxed philosophical about our reasons for traveling. This time, we are running away. We are packing our little bundles and throwing them over our shoulders and running from the floors that need refinishing, the fence that needs staining, the responsibilities that pile up like dust bunnies. (And the dust bunnies! We are running from those!)
 Sure, we are still after the adventure, but we have to admit that, as daughter Sarah says, after we are home a few months we start chafing a bit at everyday life. We are addicted to seeing what is around the next corner.
This time, we are heading for Bosnia and Herzegovena, Sarajevo in particular. We'll both be working with journalists, and I am hoping to do some more with the writing club idea that I worked on in Ghana. We are excited to see a different part of the world - very different from Africa, we suspect.
We know we are the hare rather than the tortoise in the famous fable - we have always felt that the hare got a bum rap. So come run away with us via this blog!