The 90s children

Some pre-90s background:  Yugoslavia (Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia, Montenegro and Macedonia) was formed as a kingdom after the First World War and the end of the Austro-Hungarian rule over these countries. It then became a communist (also referred to as socialist) republic lead by Tito after the Second World War. After the dictator's death in 1980 the union (sometimes claimed as the prototype for the EU) began to collapse as each original country began to declare independence and in turn a war was waged against them - see 4hour long BBC documentary 'The Death of Yugoslavia' for an in-depth  understanding (if you have time after reading this blog). 

I started my journey through this region in Serbia, more specifically its capital Belgrade, after a hideous 12hour train ride in 40degree heat. As this lively city sizzled I braved a walking tour before taking shelter in the air-conditioned, and particularly fascinating as a physics fanatic, Nikola Tesla museum. As you can imagine of a former communist capital, there are plenty of Brutalist style buildings which you don't necessarily reach for your camera for. But dotted around are Austro-Hungarian theatres, hotels and parliamentary buildings as well as the eclectic Kalmegdan Castle built on by Byzantine, Ottoman and every other empire taking advantage of its position overlooking the confluence between the Danube and Sava rivers. The Victor statue looking out across the landscape, built as a symbol of Serbian victory in various wars stood in stark contrast with the stories our guide told of her childhood growing up in the 90s when Serbia was sanctioned by the UN, due to the Kosovan and Bosnian wars, causing hyperinflation (a 5 billion dinar note could maybe buy you some bread) and consequently high levels of organised crime.

My next walking tour guide in Sarajevo had also grown up in the 90s, when newly independent Bosnia was subject to a war and its capital was under siege from Serbian forces. Children like her grew up in basements, risking their lives to go out to fetch water or to daringly play outside as snipers waited on the surrounding hills. After being shown the historically significant areas of the city such as the corner where Franz Ferdinand (Austro-Hungarian prince) was shot in 1914 - that was miraculously successful after an earlier bodged assassination attempt, suicide attempt by the assassin and grassing up of the others

involved - we moved onto the more heartbreaking reminders of the cities recent past such as the memorial to the thousands of children who died in the 1992-95 siege of Sarajevo. We saw a few bombed out buildings (the majority of which have been restored unless owners are still unidentified), holes in apartment block walls from flying shrapnel, Sarajevo roses - the

painted-red-divots in the pavement where shells exploded and killed civilians. One of the first buildings to be bombed in the siege was the central post office. A conversation graffitied on its wall just before destruction read 'This is Serbia - not really, its kind of a post office' - a great example of the Bosnian humorous attitude towards the war which lives on today as they continue to rebuild their country and relations within the former Yugoslav region. My guide, with her own brand of Bosnian humour, told us of their childhood game to go out collecting shrapnel that was won by finding the biggest piece or top trumps - a bit that was still hot. 

As well as recommending films and documentaries (as above) she also mentioned the Childhood War Museum was well worth a visit, not only for the air-con but for the insight into the reality of growing up in a war zone. I took her advice the next day, particularly intrigued as a 90s baby myself to learn what my early years might have been like had I been born in Sarajevo. The exhibition was a selection of treasured possessions, each one displayed with a heart-warming, stomach-clenching or tear-jerking memory from the owners childhood. The pieces of climbing frame - the evidence of a bomb that killed 7 children, the brother's police badge that he never got to wear, the mother's letter to her aunt that stopped mid-sentence as she'd got up to make tea and been killed were some of the most heart-breaking. I could really relate to some momentos like the last pointe shoes made in Sarajevo that gave a little girl hope of a new life, the hand-made worksheets the older girls in one basement designed in order to keep educating their younger neighbours and the barbie that sewed up people's wounds and handed out rations and it was so sweet to see a shoebox gift, like the ones we used to send overseas at Christmas, that had been kept complete with a letter from the sender full of naivety about the harsh reality of where it was being sent. 

On the same day I decided to visit the Galerija 11/7/95 - the date referring to the day on which over 8000 civilians (mostly males) from Srebrenica were murdered due to their Islamic faith in the biggest European genocide since the Holocaust. People were refused entry into the nearby UN base, chased across the mountains, caught, shot and buried in mass graves. The bodies were moved many times to try to cover up what had happened and land mines placed all around them. The images, videos and audio-guide painted a vivid and disturbing picture that was in someways more upsetting than visiting Auschwitz - perhaps because of its more recent  time-period or the more graphic elements on display. You might be wondering why Muslims were being  persecuted at this time - a key element of the Bosnian war and still living on today is the unequivocal link between ethnicity and religion. In Bosnia - and in general the whole of ex-Yugoslavia - there are Croats/Catholics, Serbs/Orthodox and Bosniacs/Muslims. It is baffling to me that people from countries that have all been influenced at some point by the same empires - admittedly each one bringing their religions of Islam (Ottomans), Orthodoxy (Byzantine) and Catholic (Austro-Hungarians) - that were then all part of the same communist country with no state religion should differentiate so strongly between native people of differing beliefs. Nowadays in Sarajevo the population is 85% Bosniac with more Mosques than the capital of Iran! 

The existence of all three ethnicities in Bosnia was part of the problem during the war, particularly in Mostar, my next destination, where the Bosnian-Croats turned against their neighbours in a bid to claim the town as part of Croatia - whilst the Serbs fought to keep control of the whole country as part of Greater Serbia. Despite ongoing hostility, as my next tour guide (a 17yr old boy soldier during the war) exemplified as he took us to the mountain overlooking Mostar where a big cross and a Croatian flag had been placed, in his words as a provocative symbol of their belief that the town should be Croatian, my time in Mostar was fascinating. Still blisteringly hot I took a tour around the Herzegovina countryside - swimming in waterfalls, drinking water from a dervish monastery spring, hiking up more ruined fortresses and drinking delicious pomegranate juice. 

The old town itself is a beautiful example of Ottoman architecture, albeit totally rebuilt after the war - stone built cottages with stone tiled rooves, plenty of minarets to call you to prayer or define your photograph vistas and the famous stari most old bridge that men originally jumped off as a courting ritual but now do the same as a money-making exercise. 

As you can probably tell I could go on forever relaying all the political history and personal stories I heard in my time in Serbia and Bosnia alone. I did also get time between history lessons for plenty of much-needed ice creams and more traditional snacks such as cevapi (little sausages really), ajvar (aubergine dip I'd fallen in love in Bulgaria as kiopolou), tufajiha (honey-soaked, nut-filled, cream-topped apple - so kind of healthy), hurmasica (biscuits soaked in honey) and baklava (even more honey and nuts)! 

My hilarious guide had spoken to us in great length about the disgusting wormy rice and cat-food meat they were given as aid that she suspected was left-over from the Second World War. She even took us to the canned beef statue outside the UN - a tongue-in-cheek war memorial from the 'grateful' citizens of Sarajevo. The food was clearly her most vivid childhood memory and most likely mine too had I been brought up alongside her. This part of my trip definitely made me a little more appreciative of the peaceful country and good food I was accustomed to as a child in the 90s.