Very rarely, you’ll find yourself stepping off a bus somewhere that feels so familiar. You’ll be there for a short time and yet feel as if you know it as well as home. When moving often, you tend to have the desire to belong. This place achieves this marvelously and, without effort, you find yourself looking around every corner with amazement.

This is Sarajevo. A warm bed on a tired morning. Steaming coffee from a smiling hand.

Somehow, the streets and the smells are comforting. You are comfortable. The churches and the mosques intertwine. You discover the city’s diversity and you welcome it because your own self is craving for acceptance. Bright colored scarves are woven on laughing heads, veiling women’s hair as they walk calmly amongst women in short skirts. No one looks twice. No disapproving looks are given or lustful ones for that matter. Everyone accepts each other’s identity, without concern, as the world should be.

Everyone accepts each other’s identity, without concern, as the world should be.

This is Sarajevo. A warm bed on a tired morning. Steaming coffee from a smiling hand. Filling foods of a carnivorous culture. Vapors of grilling meats. Slow walks passed low-whitewashed buildings. Juicy strawberries and sweetened tea. Endless silent conversations through rainstorms and lightning. A bright sun overlooking a lively city. A bloody history for a peaceful people. Opposites and differences mixing together generously to give one Sarajevo.

Sarajevo Hills
             

The Writer

I write stuff for fun, if it was for a living I would be homeless.

Find out more about me, Stefanie, here.

Quotes

My fear of flying starts as soon as I buckle myself in and then the guy up front mumbles a few unintelligible words then before I know it I’m thrust into the back of my seat by acceleration that seems way too fast and the rest of the trip is an endless nightmare of turbulence, of near misses. And then the cabbie drops me off at the airport. Dennis Miller