Normally, I cannot stop walking in citys I don’t know. Sarajevo feels different. It seems it is best understood by sitting and listening, getting infused by its atmosphere, its sounds, its people passing by, discovering the tranquility behind the superficial bustle. And continuous sugar overdoses.
And then it gets dark and … magic:
The whole weekend, I have the “Miss Sarajevo” song of Luciano Pavarotti and Bono in my head. Passing by the many graves of war victims I feel accompanied by its lyrics. “Is there a time for keeping a distance, a time to turn your eyes away? Is there a time for high street shopping, to find the right dress to wear…?”
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