Silhouettes and Minarets (10/6/2006)

Hi Everyone:

The call to prayer was echoing througout Mostar as Julie, Christie, and I ascended a minaret -- the tightest-wound staircase I've seen -- partly with no lamp or window illumination. Out of darkness into light, if you will.

No European country evokes a bloodier image than Bosnia -- one which descended into torpid war following independence, and one whose name still evokes more fear than awe. (I can vouch for this, having received a few "you're nuts"es when I told people I'd be hanging in the Balkans). But with war a full decade in the past, the danger is gone, but the scars remain. And perhaps there is no better microcosm than Mostar.

In 1993, when a united Muslim and Christian force beat back the occupying Serbs, Mostarites turned on each other -- they fought for two years, ultimately ending with the Croat Christians leveling the Muslim West Bank and shipping the inhabitants to detention camps (Yay religion!). War historians said the only comparable destruction of the last century was Dresden. So it goes.Ten years on, Mostar has rebounded remarkably well. The wounds are still fresh: we passed a de-mining truck on the way in, and repeatedly remarked on the cannonball and bulletholes in the stone walls. Many buildings, even along the tourist route, are still uninhabitable. Part of me hopes the holes are patched soon -- the city is too charming to live with its scars -- but another part hopes they stay. After all, as Dr. Lecter mused, our scars remind us that the past is real.

I loved Mostar. The bazaars, cobblestone streets, new Old Bridge, minarets which illuminate at nightfall, pristine food, and evervescent Turkish delight evoke an Ottoman past unheard of in Croatia. While the tourists abounded, the city is far enough off the route to the busloads. And of course, the odd begging Gypsy reminded us that -- Ottoman shmottoman -- we hadn't left Eastern Europe.And then there's Medjugorje. A mere 20 miles -- and loads of Catholic bucks -- away, the otherwise obscure town is a poster for religious kitsch. Overlooking the "town center" is the hill where, 25 years ago, the Virgin Mary appeared to six teenagers, three of whom still claim to have a daily dialogue with her. Today, the town is bombarded with pilgrims hoping for the same priviledge. While many undoubtedly go home sans BVM sighting, they can at least take a glow-in-the-dark Mary or a Jesus pencil case -- proving, Weber be damned, that the Catholics can evoke that spirit of capitalism too.

So, while Bosnia will need decades to shed its dangerous reputation, its pockmarked alleys can teach you volumes. Just don't tell anyone -- it'll leave more for the rest of us.

Matt