Hiking in Bosnia

Mel has invited me to contribute to the Club blog and I'm delighted to give it a try. If you look in the photo section, you'll see some pictures I submitted as evidence that I'm not around to pay my dues. That's me in the blue jacket...oh wait...almost all of us are wearing blue jackets. Well then, just take your pick.
I'll tell more about those hikes next time. First though, I'd like to introduce you to Sarajevo, where I am until the end of June, by taking you on a hike right from the city. I start from my apartment, a fourth floor walk-up (I get to count the stairs as part of the hike because there are 80 of them.) Within five minutes I've come to the Mljacka River which runs through the city and right in front of me is the Latin Bridge where the Archduke Ferdinand, heir to the Austrian throne, and his wife Sophie were assassinated, triggering the events that led to World War One. Next up is...or was...the national library. This is the first building the Serbs bombed to start the 1992-1995 war. After 11 years, the renovations have scarcely begun, so it's a sad looking remnant of earlier, happier days. Right across the river from the library is the restaurant Inat Kuca, or Spite House. When the library (originally a city hall) was to be built in the late 19th century, the one person who refused to move was the owner of a very nice restaurant. He demanded that his building be transported, piece by piece, across the river. His demand was met and the restaurant, to this day, serves excellent local food.
Now, we're leaving the city behind as we follow the river on our right, through a wooden archway with its sign: Path of the Ambassadors. All along the pathway are scraggly trees with accompanying plaques telling which ambassadors from which countries donated them. During the war, most available trees in Sarajevo were chopped down as the Serbs managed to cut off electricity and fuel supplies. Thus, there are a lot of scraggly trees around, trying to make a comeback. Soon, on my left, I can see incredible cliffs, some of them used by rock climbers with all the usual gear...except helmets. Occasionally runners in jogging suits pass by, unless they've stopped for a smoke. (Rock climbing helmetless or smoking while running is probably no big deal to people who have survived war and genocide.)
The end of my hike (or maybe it's just a walk) is at the Goat Bridge. The bridge is at least 450 years old and was once the starting point for a pilgrimage to Mecca.
For most of the way back, I retrace my steps, but just past the entrance to the Path of the Ambassadors, I tire of being on the flat and cross the river on a bridge whose railings have pretty much given up any functionality and floated off downriver. On the far side are stone stairs leading eventually to a Moslem cemetery that overlooks Inat Kuca and the library. The first time I went there, I was struck by how many graves were from 1996 and 1997. I asked someone about that, noting that the war was over in 1995. "Post-traumatic stress," he said. "We had a saying: Once we realized we had survived the war, we died of it."
If I have timed my hike just right, I'll come down from the cemetery when the nearby mosque starts its call to prayer, the sounds echoing across the city as other mosques join in. It is actually eerie to listen to and one of my favorite city experiences. From there it's back to the apartment, back up the 80 stairs, with a total of about six miles.
Next time, a "real" hike.