Cameron’s Travels

Confusingly, this famous expression is used to describe any number of events. But three are the most important: One has to do with baseball. Another has to do with the American Revolution. And the third “Shot Heard ‘Round the World” took place right here in Sarajevo…on this very corner:

Armchair historians geek out in Sarajevo. They know it as the place where, on June 28, 1914, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand (the heir to the Habsburg Empire) was gunned down by the teenaged Serb separatist Gavrilo Princip. That assassination set off a chain of events that plunged the planet into a Great War.

Standing on this spot, you can imagine Gavrilo Princip raising his gun and firing the fatal shot into the archduke’s open-top car. But famous as it is, the improbable chain of events that led to the “Shot Heard ‘Round the World” is nothing short of ridiculous: Princip was simply hanging out at this corner after an assassination attempt earlier in the day had failed. Suddenly, Franz Ferdinand — whose driver had gotten lost and pulled off on this side-street to check the map — happened to pull up in front of him. Bang!

Today there’s not much to see at this nondescript Sarajevo corner — just a plaque and a modest museum of the Habsburg era. But just standing here is enough to send shivers down the spine of any fan of 20th-century history.

Meanwhile, just up the street stands another important landmark of the Habsburg era. The Viennese-flavored, Neo-Moorish-style City Hall is where Franz Ferdinand had visited just moments before his death. Later it became the university library. And  during the siege of the 1990s, it burned to the ground. The “Cellist of Sarajevo” (Vedran Smailović) famously played his instrument in the smoldering rubble here, ignoring the snipers’ bullets that whizzed overhead — embodying the proud perseverance of the besieged Sarajevans. While recovery has been slow, Sarajevo commemorated the 100th anniversary of the Ferdinand assassination last year by unveiling this fully remodeled building. It’s been painstakingly restored to its original glory, right down to the many lavishly hand-crafted details.

It’s just after sunset in Sarajevo. And I’ve just wrapped up my guidebook research chores for the day. I have a few minutes of freedom to slow down, relax, and enjoy this intoxicating city on my stroll back to the hotel. Fortunately, it’s a long and fascinating walk between here and there.

Around me bustles the modern city, built by the Habsburgs who took over Sarajevo from the Ottomans in 1878. While the Bosnian soul feels much closer to Turkey than to Vienna, the 40-year Habsburg period was good to Sarajevo — prodding it to develop from a backwater trading town into a modern city.  Much of the infrastructure and architecture of today’s Sarajevo dates from this age.  And the Austrian-feeling street called Ferhadija is where Sarajevans come in the cool of the evening to promenade.

Saddled with an anemic economy and a hopelessly ineffective government that seems designed to slow progress, Sarajevans find cheap ways to enjoy life. People have dinner at home, then head out to nurse a budget drink at an al fresco café. Under genteel 19th-century facades, they watch a pink sky fade to a deep blue. In the park, old-timers play life-size chess — cheering and jeering each move. Excited little kids line up at ice-cream windows.

As they stroll arm-in-arm and wave to friends and neighbors along the pedestrianized street, everyone casually steps over the “Sarajevo roses” (wartime blast craters filled with red resin as a memorial). The suffering of Sarajevo during the siege of the 1990s is a painful memory. But thankfully, it’s fading…along with the once-garish dye in these shocking starburst patterns.

I pass the stout Catholic cathedral, where a larger-than-life silver statue of John Paul II celebrates that faith’s newest saint. In 1997, he became the first pope ever to visit Bosnia (where a third of the population is Catholic). That seems fitting — John Paul II’s revolutionary ecumenism fits this city. In this same neighborhood are Sarajevo’s primary Eastern Orthodox, Jewish, and Muslim houses of worship — all of which have coexisted within a few steps of each other for centuries. (The city’s “live and let live” attitude makes the brutality of the wartime siege — when nationalistic politicians with selfish agendas drove brutal wedges deep into the heart of the community — even more grotesque.)

Just a few steps farther down the street, without the slightest transition, I’m in the thick of the Turkish-style old town — called Baščaršija. With its flagstone promenade, handsome wooden merchants’ shops, and minarets towering overhead, it feels like a little Istanbul.

Wandering past the gated courtyard of the city’s main mosque, I hear the call to prayer warble across the rooftops. People begin to filter into the courtyard and wash at the fountain in preparation for their evening prayer. Then they file into the mosque, or stand out on its porch, and begin their rhythmic ritual: Standing. Kneeling. Forehead to carpet. Standing. Kneeling. Forehead to carpet.

Leaving the mosque’s courtyard, I continue along the Old Town’s main pedestrian drag.  A puff of apple-tinged smoke lures me down a tight side alley. I pop out into a courtyard jammed elbow-to-elbow with bars offering water pipes — also called šiša, nargila, hookah, or hubbly bubbly. As twilight twinkles, local twentysomethings lounge here on divans, chilling like sultans (or, at least, pashas) as they deeply inhale pungent, fruity smoke. In the corners and tucked down little alleys, miniature potbellied stoves churn day and night, providing glowing coals to power the pipes. Even without taking a direct drag, it’s like cotton candy for my lungs. While there’s no marijuana in these particular hookahs, the mellow hubbub, air rich with sicky-sweet smoke, and floodlit minarets rocketing overhead are plenty mind-bending.

One last stop before returning to my hotel: dessert. I find an inviting shop selling local sweets. But it’s not cakes and strudels — here in the exotic East, you get honey, nuts, and phyllo dough. My favorite Bosnian treat is kadaif — a tidy pile of delicate shredded wheat drenched in honey. I perch myself on a little bench in front of the shop and dig in, watching both locals and tourists dong their promenade laps.

Right in front of me, two families bump into each other and spend several minutes catching up. Their awkward pre-teen, with his akimbo haircut and high-waisted mom jeans, yawns and fidgets. At the next table, tourists from Saudi Arabia — probably feeling more at home here than anywhere else in Europe — laugh the unbridled, relaxed laughter that only a vacation can bring. And all around, people are simply enjoying one of Europe’s most underrated cities. They’re in on the secret. And I’m so glad to be, too.

Some cities wow you at first, but underwhelm when you return. Others are hard to love on a quick visit, but get under your skin over time. Sarajevo is that rare city that does both: Whether your first visit or your tenth, it’s equally satisfying…and each time it’s a totally different experience. Over the last few years, Sarajevo has stealthily become one of my favorite cities. Here are a few reasons why.

My vote for Europe’s most stunningly set capital, Sarajevo fills a narrow, forested valley. Its endearing little Monopoly houses blanket its hillsides. And the banks of its gurgling river are lined with minarets, grassy bluffs, and Eastern-looking bridges.

“The place where East meets West” is a cliché that’s overused by travel writers (including me, I’ll admit). But Sarajevo really is that place. It’s predominantly Muslim, yet fully European. And its cityscape was shaped by two successive, different-as-day-and-night dynasties: the Ottomans (from today’s Turkey) and the Habsburgs (from today’s Austria). From the extremely Turkish-feeling old town (with the tongue-twisting name Baščaršija), you can take just a few steps to find yourself in the almost Viennese-feeling modern city. Would you rather go to Turkey or to Austria? In Sarajevo, it’s your choice.

As Sarajevo continues to rebuild from its brutal wartime experience, progress occurs in fits and starts. While entire city blocks still feel bombed-out, glitzy and glassy new skyscrapers are popping up like dandelions. This one, the Avaz Twist Tower, seems out of place as it rockets up from an otherwise humdrum residential neighborhood of single-family homes. You can ride an elevator to the 35th floor. At the turnstile, drop in one Bosnian Convertible Mark (that’s about 50 cents) to enjoy stunning views over the city.

Despite its modern flair, Sarajevo retains its traditional soul. On Coppersmiths’ Street, you’ll hear the tap-tap-tap-tap of tiny hammers against sheets of copper. While today’s customers are tourists rather than Turkish traders, it feels like a time warp.