The Archive

Welcome to Sarajevo

OK, it's time to leave Belgrade and our new Serb friends and get back on the bus.

But first, there's one last thing to do.

Whilst on the tour, we decided to form the Soiled Nut, a group of re-enactors who go to the sites of famous assassinations and recreates them. Without the costumes or props of course.

So it was that we pulled up outside the 'Fancy and elite hotel intercontinental' (thank you Wikipedia) in the lobby of which the legendary Arkan was killed.

Who was Arkan? Well that rather depends on who you ask. All agree that he created the Serb Volunteer Guard.

Some say they were patriots who fought for the motherland, which makes Arkan a folk hero.

Others say they were a bunch of hooligan paramilitaries whose involvement in various atrocities made them war criminals. The Hague, for example, took this view.

Anyway, Arkan was one day hanging around in this hotel, when a chap came along and shot him three times in the back of the head.

Ouch. The assassin then had a shoot-out with Arkan's bodyguard, which he lost, being wounded and captured.

But best of all, our plucky killer then gets into the dock charged with the murder of Arkan (at which he was shot and captured, in front of a hotel lobby full of guests don't forget) and then pleads not guilty!

Now that's what I call a bold plea. Didn't work though.

Anyway, the point of all this is that it explains why we were then to be found running around the lobby of this hotel, shooting each other with our fingers. Because we're mature.

Right, so Soiled Nut duties carried out, we were back on the road. Unfortunately, because Patrick had sensibly locked the car radio in the glove box, which we now discovered was broken and would not open, we were reduced to conversation between ourselves.

Looks like it was going to be a long journey to Sarajevo.

Still, we passed the time on our arrival in Bosnia (after a brief sojourn back in Croatia, which put us back on the 'what country are we in?' mode) by looking at all the shelled out buildings and wondering which ethnic group had been cleansed from which villages.

Thus time flew until we approached our destination. At which point it was my turn to announce that I didn't have a map either. Don't worry though, I had a plan which involved getting a map and directions from one of the hotels I was confident we could find.

"OK then Peter, we'll go to the Holiday Inn and ask there."
"Hang on. Isn't that our hotel there?"
"Oh yeah."

God smiled upon us again.

This time, our hotel seemed to have been constructed entirely out of flourescent strips. The lobby was bathed in a neon pink glow and the corridors were all blue. Combined with the abundance of bric-a-brac, the hotel looked like it was struggling between wanting to be an antique store or a strip club. It failed as both.

Still, comfortable enough and the woman on reception was lovely and helpful, directing us to the best bars in town and arranging for us to be met by a tour guide in the morning. Good stuff.

After a quick wash and a regroup, we were off into town for a bite to eat (delicious), a glass of wine (super) and a visit to a bar (empty).

OK, so it was pretty quiet, but we were tired anyway, so settled for an early night in preparation for some serious sightseeing the next day.

Well, bombsiteseeing anyway.

posted by Peter The Great @ 10:50 AM