The silent, slumming angels after midnight in old town

There's a story that goes with this, however it should not be taken as proof of anything.  If there's one truism that is entirely untrue, it is the saying that pictures never lie.

Writers are the other hand... well, all writers are liars.  Good writers are notorious liars.

The story that accompanies this is true.  As to any belief you place in it, that part is entirely up to you.

While out after midnight taking photos again with Sıdıka, I was crouched taking this photo (not the best of the series, of course):

With Sıdıka behind me.  As I snapped the shot I was aware of someone walking around where I was, sticking to the shadows out of the line of photo shot.  At first, I assumed it was Sıdıka, but the person passed on, walking all-but stealthily.  Sıdıka and I both decided immediately that we weren't the sort to be snuck-up-on and yet here was this person who did.  I realized I had a camera in my hand and, as if it would verify the moment, I got off a shot--albeit blurred.  The girl turned the corner and we both hurried after her, intrigued by someone who walks as quick and invisible as we do.

We reached the corner and found only the empty midnight street, distant sounds echoing up from the few clubs open in old town.  The shop fronts were all boarded shut, without a door in sight.


There an old Sarajevan story about the angels (of all the religions) wandering the land weeping for the lost souls of this land.  When I snapped the blurry photo of the soundless girl, I literally looked to see if her feet touched the cobbled stone.


They did.  But I'm not convinced that she wasn't a slumming angel.


A blurry photo offers no veracity of any kind.


If I told you that story and offered a detailed photographic study of a girl with large black wings would you be any more convinced my story was true?  Or would that merely add new layers of possible doubt (PhotoShop being what it is and all)?


There are ghosts all over this city.  Not all of them are those of the dead.  Not all of them are even from humans...


...the National Library burned in 1992 incinerating more than 2 3 million books.


Tell me a convincing story where that happens and leaves no ghosts in its wake...

~•~

Food of ubiquitous acclaim

I do have to take a moment here and acknowledge the food.  Not only is the average above average, but a couple of recent meals in particular should be cited as spectacular cuisine.

Last night I had a dish at To Be Or Not To Be (sic) that read ''Beefsteak in Choco-Chili Sauce.''  It began with a mixed salad (customarily eaten with dinner and not before) of white cabbage, white peppers, cucumbers, and tomatoes.  The side dish of the entrée was grilled sliced potatoes, sliced vegetable resembling a cross between an eggplant and a zucchini, and more sliced white peppers, sprinkled with chili powder and paprika.  The main dish was indeed a supremely tender steak doused in choco-chili sauce that, in lavishly praising the previous dishes, I ran out of English and French superlatives to say anything further than yum-yum.

Tonight's visit to the Pivnica and its chicken breast in green curry sauce was positively anti-climatic in comparison of its delicious-ness.

The flaws in each, respectively: bland, unspectacular bread, overly-salted rice.

Kind of like my adverbs in this entry.

The ćevapi is of course, the best.  And the pekara (bakeries) are achingly tasty.  I haven't tried the local ice cream, which is said to rival the rest of the cuisine in town, and it should be noted that although there may be a McDonalds or BK somewhere in the country, I have seen no evidence of such as yet.  The same cannot be said of the infamous Coca-Cola label...



~•~

Morning mosques and paper lanterns

Up and about at 4 am to find the colors of the alleyways in Old Town...

Sıdıka pointed out this alley as we walked past:

The Mosque of the Palace:

& although I believe PKD was corrent in many things, I didn't suspect that it was the (Ottoman) Empire that Never Ended...

Sarajevo is in BiH, not Turkey.  Although the latter seems to be hoped for by a great many new residents.


Next week I'll venture forth to Mostar, Srbrenica, and perhaps elsewhere.  All the while still keeping my wonderful rooms at the pansion here.


~•~

(back to my own little squigglies)

Sarajevo's Favorite Past Times: Drinking coffee, walking, & talking.

Done a lot of all three.  In fact, I've drunk so much Turkish coffee in the past two days that I--to steal a phrase--can smile a black-toothed grin.

Ok.  Not literally, but quite figuratively.

Got in touch with the Turkish-Serbian girl I met in Belgrade (see relevant entry), and I told her she'd end up in the novel that will come from this travelogue.  So, for now, she offered me her nom de guerre as Sıdıka, though she'll want a different name before she enters the meta-fictional world.

Waiting to hear back from folks like Tanović, and a professor from the local University, but considering how blissed I am at just wandering the narrow broken cobblestone alleys and drinking coffee for less than a US$, I'm really in no hurry to do much of anything else.

Paid a visit this morning to some friends who no longer breathe the air of this world, but that's a tale for another time.


~*~

Fresh from the grind of the cafe

(initial draft of this idea:)

Tie a string of words for me
to cast across the River
Another string, a rope or three,
these words are sentenced and hang between
Tie the strings together now
with paragraphs; a page is filled
The ropes into patterns merge
and a story becomes clear
These words are true, but rearranged
to tell of deeper faith
The Story does not ask who listens
yet every time it's told~
another string of words is tied
and that is how this Bridge is formed.

~16 June, Sarajevo

This wasn't my first coffee in Sarajevo,
but it was the most beautiful.
So far.

22.00
16 June 2010

Baščaršija

~*~

In the field around the Palace

I have arrived at home again for the very first time.

The field is very beautiful.


~~~

Podgorica left behind me

Waylaid en route to the Palace.  I guess this is the temptation of the Hero before he reaches Chapel Perilous.  The waters of the Adratic in the company of a new found friend.

In Budva for a couple of nights and then I make my way to Sarajevo.

Podgorica is a Big Nothing.  Wouldn't have gone there if not for a meeting with a very helpful journalist who introduced me to a character among characters.  If I began to describe this fellow I met last night, I would immediately be accused of inserting fiction directly into this non-fictional travelogue.  Suffice to say he is far more believable as a character in a novel--something he has already been at least four other times.

Anyhoo, here I am at the clear blue sea, recovering from Kosovo and Podgorica before taking the last half of my voyage in and around Sarajevo.

And making numerous corrections as I type on this Serbian-Montenegrian keyboard...



~~~