Tuesday, 3 June 2025

Moody: the works

A list of links to all my non-tech writings:

Essays

Glanglish - all with audio versions

Travel writings

Novels
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Introduction to Moody's Black Notebook Travels

I have two great regrets in my life.  One is eating a chicken sandwich in Varanasi, shortly before flying to Kathmandu.  This gave me the worst food poisoning I have ever experienced, nearly killed me, and meant that I missed a unique opportunity to visit Lhasa before it was turned into a Chinese Disneyland.  The other regret involves three Inter-rail trips that I made in 1979, 1980 and 1981.  They were extraordinarily rich in sights and experiences.  Stupidly, though, I did not keep a travel diary at that time, so all I have are vague, if important, memories of what I saw, thought and felt.

At least I was able to learn from these two huge blunders.  Afterwards, I no longer ate chicken sandwiches in exotic lands, and I kept travel diaries for all my major trips.  The latter took the form of black notebooks, bought from Ryman's, in two formats: one small enough to fit in a pocket, and another, slightly larger, that I kept in the travel bag I used for longer journeys. 

I now have dozens of these notebooks sitting behind me, filled with my illegible scrawl.  I have been meaning to turn them into digital texts for some years, and to bring them into the 21st century, but have never got around to it until now.  I am not transcribing them in any set order, but will place links to them below, as they go online, ordered chronologically.  There is no overall plan, no overall significance.  They are just what they are: quick thoughts jotted down in black notebooks, captured moments of a specific time and place.

1986 India I: Delhi, Agra, Fatehpur Sikri
1986 India II: Kashmir
1986 India III: Jaipur, Udaipur
1987 Italy
2021 Gibraltar - with photos
2022 Stavanger - with photos
2022 Bratislava - with photos
2023 Bilbao - with photos
2023 Shetland - with photos
2024 Ravenna - with photos
2024 Georgia - with photos
2025 Sarajevo - with photos
2025 Toronto - with photos new post 
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2025 Toronto

Lake Ontario seen from the boardwalk
Lake Ontario seen from the boardwalk

16.5.25 Toronto

Back in Toronto, 35 years later.  Strange reading my record of that earlier visit, which is much richer and fuller than I remember – which, of course, is a good reason to write these notes.  Will be interesting to compare today’s city with those times.

Driving in from the airport with a Sikh driver – one of a huge number of Indian immigrants here – also striking on the Air Canada 777 we came in on yesterday. Alongside some impressive new apartment blocks to the west of the city, what struck me most was the parlous state of the transport infrastructure.  All the concrete piers of the elevated roadways crumbling and rusting.

Driving east towards here by the boardwalk, we pass through an industrial wasteland, this surprisingly extensive.  So close to Toronto centre, but sitting here idly – only possible in a huge place like Canada, where even thriving cities like Toronto have lots of empty areas.  In London, they’d be built on instantly.  The route followed the north side of Lake Ontario, and the contrast with our drive along the north bank of Issyk-Kul last summer was extreme.

A long walk along the boardwalk, the sun strong.  Which brought out people, even though it’s Friday morning here.  Lots of boardwalk activities: people running with varying degrees of plausibility; people walking fistfuls of dogs; groups practising Tai chi; dozens of volleyball games on the surprisingly sandy shore.  The latter being cleaned by tractors pulling sand-filtering machines.  To the west, two large chimneys loom, probably from a waste disposal plant or similar.  Further in the distance, emerging from the haze, the skyscrapers of Toronto, including the CN Tower.  Everything very quite and peaceful – Canada in a microcosm.  Lots of black squirrels here – reminding me of the one I saw in Georgia last year.  There are also grey squirrels: not sure why two colours have evolved like this.  

Outside in the garden, there are a pair of orioles.  Beautiful birds, but I am disappointed to learn that they are not the same family as the Eurasian oriole frequently mentioned in Tang poetry.  Will clearly have to go to China for them.  

17.5.25 Foxboro

After a tranquil morning yesterday, the afternoon proved somewhat more exciting.  We were driving out from Toronto to here, Foxboro, a tiny place by the side of a fairly large, fairly fast-flowing river.  On the way out, I noticed again how chunky some blocks of flats are here: not just tall and wide, but thick, producing an amazingly 3D effect.

Traffic insanely busy: I thought Canada was a huge country with a relatively small population, leading to a low density on the roads.  But it seems most of the population are here on this route. The traffic thinned out, and we were bowling along nicely when the car’s warning system suggested the engine was overheating and might decide to stop altogether.  And it did.  Leaving us on the side of the motorway, with hundreds of large vehicles zooming past.  Fortunately, we were driving in two cars, so when the second car turned up, most of us squeezed in while a breakdown vehicle was called, and a hire car organised.  A good opportunity for dealing with rare problems.

Eventually we arrived at our AirBnB accommodation near Foxboro.  It’s in a beautiful spot, right next to the river.  That, of course, has a big downside: several million famished mosquitoes.  These proceeded to eat us alive as we tried to enter the various codes to gain access to the property.  In the end, it turns out that the codes we were given were incorrect.   Maybe just a ploy to feed the local insect population.

The interior of the property a weird mix: tiny bedrooms, good kitchen, folksy sayings on the walls – “first I drink coffee, then I do things”, “what happens at the cottage, stays at the cottage”.  The water is extremely sulphurous: showering in it feels like a descent to the nether regions of hell…  Black squirrels leaping from tree to tree, various coloured birds (don’t ask me which), fish rising in the river.  And lots of mosquitoes.

There are six of us staying here, with the aim of attending a family wedding today.  All six of us are, er, of a certain age, and at a certain (end) stage of life.  Everyone very self-confident, organised, efficient, and quietly opinionated.  Quite an interesting dynamic, very different from typical random groups of people, particularly those with younger members.

Arriving in Canada on Thursday, tired, dehydrated, jet-lagged, I had one of those moments, asking myself: what am I doing here?  That feeling I was making a huge mistake.  But a decent night’s sleep expels all those thoughts, as ever.

Out to Belleville, the local metropolis, in search of bread.  To a bakery with the name “Small Scale Bread”, which turned out to be an exaggeration.  It actually had no bread at all, since everything was sold out.

Overly neat lawns
Overly neat lawns

On the way there, we passed hundreds of suspiciously neat houses – some colonial, with dinky columns, others improbably built of stone in weird forms.  Mostly bungalows.    But most striking was the grass: perfectly groomed lawns everywhere.  A disconcerting sight of neatness that hints at dark secrets.  An overall feel that we are driving through a Psycho landscape.

19.5.25 Toronto

On the street-car, travelling along Queen Street towards central Toronto.  Modern tram, whose efficiency is spoilt by the fact that it runs along the road, where it is held up by traffic.  Would be better to get rid of the parked cars, use the space for traffic, and create a free-flowing dedicated tram lane.

In the street-car, travelling along Queen Street
In the street-car, travelling along Queen Street

Queen Street much as I remember it: full of low buildings, mostly shops, cafés, churches, banks, and a few larger, more modern office buildings.  Lots of pet shops – no surprise given the demographics of this upmarket area.  A few parks.  An outlet called “Pizza Nova” – presumably run by the Dante family…  At right angles to Queen Street, long, long roads north.  For some reason, this straight street reminds me of Davit Aghmashenebeli Avenue in Tbilisi, even though the similarities are few.  Another Pizza Nova outlet – family doing well here…

One of the virtues of this street is the amazing mix of architectural styles, completely without organisation.  Passing over a bridge athwart a main road and railway.  Tall blocks of flats here, in contrast to the rest of Queen Street.  A few homeless people around, lending the place a New York air… Lots of people smoking.

The romanesque exuberance of the Old City Hall
The romanesque exuberance of the Old City Hall

At the end of a long and pleasant ride in, a walk past the canonical Toronto sign, spoilt by rather hideous walkways, then to the Old City Hall, splendid in its romanesque exuberance.  Now in Eaton Centre, drinking a “Kyoto latte” – actually indistinguishable from a non-Kyoto style latte.  Inside, the usual temple to consumerism, pleasant/depressing enough.

To the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO), which I visited before, but recognise not at all the new front (by Frank Gehry, I later learn).  Mercifully quiet – it’s a bank holiday here, and we feared it might be busy…  In the Canadian galleries, lots of landscapes, plus native/Inuit art.  In the gallery dedicated to Lawren Harris – the leader of the Group of Seven .  Lots of thick paintwork, simplified mountain forms, bold colours. Nice.

Paintings by Haida chief Charles Edenshaw.  Very colourful pieces (small) by Tom Thomson (who “died in mysterious circumstances”…).  Group of Seven room – lots of woods, snowy scenes, mountains, few traces of humanity.  One striking lack here: no labels explaining who painted and what it shows.  Instead, each gallery has a “handheld” with info.  But not so convenient, especially when writing a travel notebook…

A Central Asian scene in Canada
A Central Asian scene in Canada

J E H Macdonald – more watery scenes – sea, lakes, rivers…. His series depicting a mountain lake reminds me of the seven lakes in Tajikistan.  Autumn foliage another major theme...glorious reds, deep oranges, vibrant yellows and rich browns, with a natural impasto.  In another room, two striking works by Franklin Carmichael: Cranberry lake – dead trees reaching for the sky like fingers – and Light and Shadow, a shimmering lake between rounded mountains.

These pix are all part of the Thomson Collection – 700 works he gave to AGO in 2002 – which is why I didn’t seen them when I was here before.  They are “presented without labels, as they would be in one’s home”.  A small gallery of works by John Kavik.  More interesting for me is the explanation in the wonderful Inuit script (Inuktitut syllabics): each letter used in three orientations – up, left-pointing and right-pointing.  

Beautiful and mysterious Inuktitut syllabics
Beautiful and mysterious Inuktitut syllabics

In the Henry Moore gallery.  Frustrating that they are not in the UK, but good to see them here well displayed.  Viewing them all together and close up, I am struck how much they exude an air of the 1950s and 1960s – a time of austerity but also optimism in the UK.  And the reclining figure, a form used again and again, inevitably reminds me of Mexico, where we saw the original Aztec version that inspired Moore…  Also striking how the surface of the sculptures looks like a drawing: lines and cross-hatchings.  Drawings made three-dimensional, a real feat of sculpture.

Henry Moore statues, not in the UK alas
Henry Moore statues, not in the UK alas

On the way to the (small) café, where I now sit, several galleries with trilingual explanations: English, French and Anishinaabemowin, a member of the Algonquian family, with many languages apparently.  Must check out later, looks rather interesting…

Now on the #501 street-car, heading back east.  Glorious sun, but air still fresh.  After the rather nugatory lunch, a quick waltz around the European galleries.  Not much, but some nice surprises.  And lots of unknown but decent Canadian painters.  An exhibition of Latin American photos from the AGO’s own collection – lots of gritty stuff: careworn women, broken men.  More indigenous art, more explanations in Algonquian.  Overall, the AGO is even better than I remember it, even though today I barely saw one floor, with much else to see.   Central to that is the Thomson collection of the Group of Seven: truly magnificent.  I could have spent all day just in that section, and rather wish I could.

Then out to Chinatown.  Good to hear lots of putonghua, and see so many Chinese faces.  Toronto seems to have plenty of Asians everywhere, not just here.  Hard to tell if they are citizens or just visiting.  Lots of massage parlours in Chinatown here – or maybe that should be “massage” parlours.  Hard to see this much demand for reflexology…

Toronto's Chinatown
Toronto's Chinatown

Popped in to the Chinese shopping centre, but turns out to be small beer compared to Shenzhen’s Huaqiangbei.  Then to a Tim Hortons (or Tom Hortons as I prefer to call it) to be horrified by the sugary confections on offer.  One bite of an apple doughnut thing is enough for me.

20.5.25

Sitting in the square in the Distillery District, drinking coffee from Balzac’s (well, after Dante, makes sense).  Pop music echoing around the Victorian buildings, most of which are built with a characteristic dark red brick.  Sunny again, but air quite chill.  Feels quite strange to be here, on a Tuesday, doing nothing much.  But pleasant.

The Victorian Distillery District
The Victorian Distillery District

In Canoe, on the 54th floor of the Toronto-Dominion Bank tower (a Ludwig Mies van der Rohe project, apparently).  Stunning views south – to the small landing strip on the nearby island, and west.  Air wonderfully clear today.  Earlier, lunch in St Lawrence Market.  Not quite as I remember it, but a good atmosphere, spoilt somewhat by the live lobsters in tanks, waiting to be killed, probably slowly and horribly…  Then to here, for the view, not the booze and expensive foods in this upmarket business lunch/dinner spot.  Small prop planes landing every few minutes at the airport.  Not many A380s so far, alas…

The view from Canoe, book and cocktail to hand
The view from Canoe, book and cocktail to hand

Drinking a “Gala” non-alcoholic cocktail: blueberry, watermelon, white pine, honey, alder catkin, lemon, soda….  A pretty puce colour, not much taste.  An impressive parallelepiped of ice, apparently made by a specialist ice cube company, which offers various improbable shapes.  Smoochy mood music in the background…  Impressively, some skyscrapers can be seen across the lake, in St Catherines probably.  Ferries plying the waters between here and the island.  

Geological eras reach into the sky
Geological eras reach into the sky

Now beside the railway museum and its turntable, under the CN tower (built by the railway company, it seems).  The concrete of the tower is layered, like geological eras.  Lots more office blocks compared to 1990.  Architecture chunky and quite attractive.  Alongside the Rogers Centre, about which I care not a jot.

21.5.25

A rather unusual day, not least because I forgot to take this notebook - now blue, not black - with me as we travelled around.

On the street-car to Osgoode, then down to the subway.  Rather drab and run down.  Train has all carriages linked, and is very spacious.  Journey shows with an illuminated map, as in Bilbao, I think.  Clientele almost entirely ethnic, the journey fast and efficient.

Casa Loma seen from afar
Casa Loma seen from afar

To Dupont, a fairly grim neighbourhood.  Here to see Casa Loma, a gothic pile on a hill.  Decided not to pay the steep $40 (~ £25) per person to see mock version of the real castles we have in the UK.  The rain started to fall, so we took the subway back south to Museum stop, to emerge into heavier rain.  A quick trot past the Royal Ontario Museum to the Hemingway restaurant on Cumberland Street.  With a New Zealand theme, the atmosphere was good, the food interesting and fairly priced.  Ate poutine for the first time, which seems like a fairly lethal combination of chips, cheese, gravy – and salt.  Well, I can tick that off the list…

Guess what is nearby
Guess what is nearby

Then out into the rain for a dash to the museum.  Pricey again - $31 – but worth it for the Chinese section alone.  The star exhibit – huge paintings by Zhu Haogu and Zhuang Boyuan from Xinghua monastery (1298), and by unknown artists in Langman monastery (c. 1300).  

The main central one showed the Paradise of Maitreya, the Buddha of the future, delivering a sermon.  For something that is 700 years old, and peeled off a monastery wall in China before being shipped halfway around the world, the beauty and the state of preservation are astonishing.  The two side murals form a pair, and express “Daoist concepts of cosmic order”.  Also very well preserved and stunningly beautiful.  Really a revelation seeing these.  The other exhibits in the Asian section interesting, and too many to see properly in this cursory visit.

Elsewhere in the ROM we saw impressive dinosaurs, plus a selection of European furniture, Greek and Roman artefacts.  Nothing amazing, but lots of good quality exhibits.  Finally, a trip to the native art section.  Positively nice to see so many old black and white pix of the tribal leaders in the 19th century.  But the highlight for me remains the astonishing Chinese murals.

22.5.25

Last night, to the Tiflisi restaurant on Queen street.  As the name suggests, this offers Georgian cuisine, but with Russian staff – hence the odd form of Tbilisi used.  Food pretty good – Acharuli khachapuri including – except for the khinkali.  The trad ones with meat I found very disappointing.  But then I’m not a huge fan of the dish anywhere – even in Tbilisi.

Today, the rain is falling non-stop, so pretty pointless walking around town in the cold and wet.  Stayed indoors, did some work…

24.5.25 Manitouwaba Lake

Saw a live hummingbird close up for the first time.  Such an amazing infraction of the laws of nature: a bird that is so small, so fast, and able to remain fixed in space as if pinned in the air.

Another odd day yesterday.    More rain, falling incessantly, as we drove up north to stay in the Torontonian equivalent of a dacha: a cabin deep in the woods.  Many people have them, or rent them for the summer.  On the way, we stopped off at the delightfully named Penetanguishene – lots of indigenous names around here.  

A fine wooden building
A fine wooden building

Specifically we stopped for lunch at Discovery Harbour, eating in Captain Roberts' Table.  A fine and spacious wooden building, serving good food.  Nearby, King’s Wharf theatre – quite small, but nice to see here so unexpectedly.  The view across the harbour fine.

The houses around here the same intriguing mix of architectural variety and numbing neatness.  The landscape more mixed than near Toronto – lots of trees , some hills.  As we drove further north, there were outcrops of rock – great blocks of granite, many showing the signs of dynamite used to blast roads through.  Surprisingly, lots of deciduous trees, as well as the expected conifers, lending a pleasing visual rhythm to the landscape, even under the rain.  Lots of lakes, mostly small, rather like Finland with its great shattered pattern of water, for example around and north of Lake Saimaa.

The dacha was reached with a long, winding road, with other cabins occasionally visible along the way.  Ours was overlooking Manitouwaba Lake, just a few metres from the water.  Incredibly tranquil, with few signs of other people.  Just nature in its pristine glory.  Certainly a representative aspect of Canada, unlike Toronto, which is something of a (delightful) aberration in its pullulating urbanism.

Waiting for the hummingbirds
Waiting for the hummingbirds

Just seen a pair of hummingbirds, darting around in rapid and improbable synchrony.  Amazing.  The strange thing is that photos of this tiny creature never convey its key attribute: its diminutive size.  Pix are always zoomed-in shots to show the details.  But the magnification is a fundamental betrayal of the bird’s essence.  It is only now, seeing these birds in context, set against trees and branches and twigs, that I have understood their miracle.  How is it possible for something this minuscule to lay eggs and hatch even smaller hummingbird chicks?

The sun has come out intermittently, lending a “Swallows and Amazons” air to the scene.  A kind of childhood never-never land of swimming in and sailing on a lake amidst the woods.  Not that I ever had these experiences, or even read “Swallows and Amazons”: I did however enjoy the “Famous Five” books which inhabited a similar world of endless childhood adventures.

It’s certainly idyllic here, but as a city boy, it’s just a little too quiet for my tastes.  Also, I really need more mountains for my perfect natural landscapes – à la Georgia, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan; I crave their implied infinity…

25.5.25 Toronto

To complete the historical parallelism, out this morning for a walk along the boardwalk: sadly, not a 6 km run, as I managed 35 years ago, just a sedate stroll.  Once again, a flash of sun redeems the day.  Lots of sail boats out on the lake, hundreds of Torontonians walking the dog, running with small children in their buggies, strolling along, or just sitting and watching the world.  This is the quintessential Canadian atmosphere: relaxed, content, comfortable. It is the perfect end to an interesting and enjoyable rediscovery and re-enactment of  my journey here all those years ago.


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Saturday, 12 April 2025

2025 Sarajevo

A single mortar shell murdered 66 people here
A single Serbian mortar shell murdered 68 people here in 1994

24.3.25 Sarajevo

Sitting in Ćevabdžinica Petica Ferhavatović, having ordered ćevapčići, of course.  Half empty now, but when I passed here an hour ago it was jam-packed – as were many other restaurants in this zone, in Baščaršija.  I thought this was strange for such an early time, but then I understood: it’s Ramadan, and everyone is starving, so eat as soon as they can, at sunset.

The presence of Islam is marked here – minarets and mosques abound.  It feels distinctly different even at night, when it’s hard to see things properly.  I arrived here just before 6pm, after an easy journey from Stansted, then a taxi waiting for me at the airport.  The driver was concerned because he couldn’t find my accommodation’s address on Google Maps.  I said to just drop me off nearby.  On the way here were passed several vehicles broken down in the middle of the road.  Needless to say, my driver just sounded his horn and drove on the other side of the road, pushing his way through.  Surprising amount of traffic on the back roads.

In fact my driver was right: it is hard to find Tabaci 5, the address of my accommodation.  When he dropped me off, I wandered around some fairly insalubrious streets, beginning to feel I had made a big mistake by choosing this place.  In the end, a helpful bloke told me it was further along the street – which runs alongside the River Miljacka.  In fact, my abode was pretty good: clean, warm, with a nice lady host next door, all for 100 euros for four nights.  

Judging by all the umbrellas passing outside, it is raining, although quite mild.  The weather is incredibly unpredictable here – all the mountains, I suppose.  I have stupidly been looking at the forecasts for days, and watched with horror as sunny days gave way to rainy ones of varying heaviness.  Ah well.  The big problem is that I plan to drive to Mostar and Blagaj on Wednesday, and the through of doing that in torrential rain does not appeal…

25.3.25

During the night I could hear the monstrous low rumble of the trams as they passed a few metres from my room.  Not unpleasant. Still raining, but less, and even some chance of sun.  The weather here is even more changeable than in the UK…

The spot where World War One was triggered
The spot where World War One was triggered

Now in the Mooncalf Sarajevo for a Bosnian coffee.  Some of the people here are speaking Turkish – a language I also heard on the streets.   Not that there are many out yet – too wet and cold.  But that seems the right weather to visit the spot where World War One was ignited.  Down by the Latin Bridge, on the wall of what is now a small museum commemorating that fact, there is a plaque;  Basically, it says “here stood the man who started World War One”.  Pretty staggering that pure chance led to that moment – the driver of the Archduke’s car was not told of a changed route, and took a turning down this narrow street, where other cars were blocking the way.  Gavrilo Princip was standing at the exact point, with a gun.  He lifted the weapon and shot the Archduke and his consort at point blank range.  They died soon afterwards.  Princip was only 19, and thus escaped the death penalty.

Wandering around this morning, looking for an ATM.  But judging by the reviews (yes, people review ATMs these days), most charge outrageous fees – around £4 per transaction.  So, unusually, I went to a currency exchange booth, checking first what the rate was at several.  Actually seems a better option in this instance.

A former han, ancient inn for Muslim travellers
A former han, ancient inn for Muslim travellers

Walked out to Hotel Europe, which is where I will collect my rental car tomorrow – from its garage, presumably.  Ugly building.  Next to it, Ferhadija mosque, one of the many quite large ones here.  Also passed Gazi Husrev-Beg’s museum, an old madrasah.  Nearby an old han – a roadside inn for Muslim travellers, now converted into shops, but still displaying its traditional form around an open courtyard.  Even under the rain it’s an attractive area.  I imagine it’s pretty crowded in summer.

Up to Logavina Street.  It’s the subject of a remarkable book “Besieged” by Barbara Demick.  The story of the people living on this street during the siege of Sarajevo, it’s a superb piece of journalism that brings home the reality of the terrible war by telling the stories of ordinary people on just one street.

The unassuming Logavina Street
The unassuming Logavina Street

The road is nothing special, which is the point.  It rises quite steeply and has a good view back over the hills on the other side of the river, which is from where the murderous Serbian snipers shot thousands of innocent men, women and children.  Life in Sarajevo became a deadly challenge – moving from cover to cover, hoping not to get shot by unseen killers.

Nibbling some lokum to go with (yet another) Bosnian coffee.  Too sweet and scented for me, but when in Sarajevo…  Even though there are supposedly street dogs here, I’ve only seen one, trotting away in the rain this morning, busy on some doggy errand.  Quite a few cats, though…

After Logavina Steet I went along to the Pijac Markale food market – fruit and veg.  A terrible mortar attack on this market forms the opening of “Besieged” – the author narrowly escaped because she was delayed on her way there.  Today it’s a small, gentle place, nothing compared to the huge Central Asian markets of Tashkent or Bishkek.  But they don’t have its terrible history, with a death toll of over 60 in a single attack.  

A street memorial to one of the many shells that fell
A street memorial to one of the many shells that fell

After that, a stroll to the Eternal Flame, then down Ferhadija Street.  There I saw my first memorial in the pavement – blood-red infills of the damage caused by shell.  Looking back, I noticed a wacky Hotel Hecco Deluxe – really striking design.  Bonkers.  

Past the Grandska Tržnica market, which looks like a theatre from the outside.  Inside, huge slabs of fresh and dried meat.  A glance at the Sacred Heart cathedral – rather ugly – then past the New Orthodox Serbian church (nice onion domes).  Back to my room to upload pix, then back out to here, Restoran Čaršija, to eat something that wasn’t heavy and lamb.  Not bad.  Place empty but for me.  Ramadan, presumably.

Looking towards the Yellow Bastion from a Muslim cemetery
Looking towards the Yellow Bastion from a Muslim cemetery

Up at the Yellow Bastion – steep but easy walk, past a big Muslim cemetery.  Fine view from the top.  Next to the Ramadan gun, fired to mark the end of each day’s fasting – loud and audible throughout the city. Small café at the top too.

The Ramadan cannon
The Ramadan cannon

To the left, the very muddy river, then a weir, which makes it even more agitated and turbid.  Another Muslim cemetery on the south bank (also another behind me).  The river passes the striped City Hall, heading west.  Several mosques visible in Baščaršia area.  Beyond, more modern buildings, along with the Orthodox church and Catholic cathedral.  Further west, modern office blocks, 20, 30, 50 storeys high. Meanwhile, louring over it all, are the hills, in the Serbian portion of Bosnia, and the scene of thousands of atrocities by snipers.

A Chinese family has come up.  I’ve seen several tour groups from China – they are getting quite adventurous.  Also a few solos and pairs from the region.  Sun quite strong now.  I’m not complaining.  A lot of echoes here, and not just historical ones.  The view reminds me of Bilbao – same, river, same varied architecture.  The red-roofed houses remind me of Bratislava.  The minaret spires, those little rockets of Islam, are the tell-tale difference.

As in Bilbao, there’s a cable car here (was actually a funicular in Bilbao), but I don’t think I’ll bother riding it.  It goes quite high in the hills, and the clouds are so low that the top must have little visibility.  Here is less high, but has a fine prospect of Sarajevo.  It’s also getting a bit popular – time to move on.

Sarajevo's City Hall
Sarajevo's City Hall

Down the hill, past the City Hall, across to the south side.  Traffic snarled up as a police “spider” removes an errant car – apparently the traffic police are fierce here, and deploy their car removal systems without hesitation.  Now sitting by the Sarajevska Pivara (a distant muezzin intones).  So why am I here, given I hate beer?  Apparently the brewery has its own source of water, and during the siege people had to risk their lives coming here to get some for drinking.  Many never made it back.  Hard to comprehend now, sitting by this solid brewery in its maroon and yellow livery.  

The Sarajevo brewery
The Sarajevo brewery

Sitting in the At-Meidan – presumably the “horse place” where Ottomans exercised their horses.  A tram rumbles behind me, and the muddy river in spate roars.   An elderly lady asked whether I minded her sitting next to me on the bench – the point being that she, like practically everyone here, was going to smoke…

Then across the river to the north side, to Febodija, got a seat outside Caffe slastičarna Badem, took a Turkish tea and baklava.  Watched the (busy) world go by.  Then a wander east to Baščaršija itself, now bustling too, then back to the room to plan for tomorrow. Weather still looks dodgy, so a visit to Blagaj probably not feasible if I have to drive in the rain.

Baščaršija under the watchful eye of the Serbian hills
Baščaršija under the watchful eye of the Serbian hills

Back out for supper, now the iftar crowds are diminishing.  First, along  Ferhadija Street, very full, lovely atmosphere.  Then to here, Morića Han, the old inn.  Practically deserted now.  But food was good, big portion – and they are playing Safet Isović and his fellow Bosnians, singing their hearts out in sevdalinka songs.  What more could I ask?

26.3.25

So, it is bucketing down, and there are weather warnings both here and in Mostar.  Even if I were foolhardy enough to drive, I wouldn’t see anything along the way, would doubtless be stuck behind lorries and their sprays, and would end up walking around Mostar under the rain.  So I won’t be going.  Fortunately, there are plenty of museums here in Sarajevo – although quite a few are understandably about the Bosnian war, Srebenića, and the siege of Sarajevo.  So there’s that…

Went out to cancel the car I had booked, but at the pickup point Hotel Europa, they knew nothing.  Not surprisingly, since the pickup was actually Hotel Old Town.  So I went there.  They also knew nothing, and said that Europa Car often gave them as the pickup point, which was impossible, since they were in a pedestrian only zone.  Fair point.

I didn’t want to ring the car hire company, because my eSIM wouldn’t let me do that, which meant switching back to my UK SIM, and paying absurd rates.  But then I remembered that in Central Asia everyone used WhatsApp – as does my taxi company for my return to the airport on Friday.  So I thought I would bang in their phone number in WhatsApp – and bingo, there they were.  So I sent a message, asking where the car was.  I got a reply straightaway, saying it was a white Škoda, parked on the road nearby.  I asked which road, but then I saw it.  And indeed it was my car, with a helpful man inside.  I told him I was cancelling, which confused him a little, but then we agreed that was it, and parted.  I expect I will have to pay the full day rate, but that’s only fair.

The interior of the Gazi Husrev-Beg mosque
The interior of the Gazi Husrev-Beg mosque

Since it was nearly 9am, I want along to the Museum of Literature, which was open.  Theoretically.  In practice, not so much….  The rain even heavier now, but I am inside the delightfully warm Gazi Husrev-Beg mosque.  The only one  here, aside from the cleaning ladies.  A fine dome, characteristic honeycomb corners, as in Samarkand and elsewhere.  Outside, the courtyard is flooded in places, soaking my shoes.  They will stay that way for all of today, I think…  Around the dome is a gallery, quite high.  I wonder how you get up there, and what it is for… The cleaning lady has started vacuuming, breaking the tranquillity.  Time to move on.

The exterior of the Gazi Husrev-Beg mosque
The exterior of the Gazi Husrev-Beg mosque

Now in the madrasah (makes me think of the Registan).  In the visitor’s book, a message in Turkish, visitors from Istanbul.  Old Gazi Husrev-Beg left a lot to Sarajevo (his waqf, or gift).  As well as this madrasah, he gave the mosque, a hammam (now an institute), the covered market and even Morića Han.  This could accommodate 300 travellers – impressive, but probably a bit crowded.  I wonder what it was like to stay there back then…

The entrance to the Siege of Sarajevo exhibition
The entrance to the Siege of Sarajevo exhibition

After a resuscitating Bosnian coffee and baklava, to the Siege of Sarajevo museum, which I expect to be grim.  The personal stories.  In one room there is a 1300 page book “The Siege of Sarajevo, 1992-1996”.  Amazing and invaluable oral histories – unprecedented in their number.  Incredible.  The personal testimonies in the museum are fascinating and important.  But they are ill-served by the formatting (sorry, it’s true).  There are around 200 characters per line – it’s impossible for the eye not to get lost as you read across… 

A room about the attack on the market I visited yesterday.  Probably the most brutal pix I’ve seen – shredded bodies, limbs lying around on the ground…  Another room with an unflinching video of doctors trying to save people – children – with gaping holes in their bodies.  What’s even more terrible is that exactly these same scenes are playing out now in Gaza.  We never learn from the past.

Out into the never-ending rain.  Which perhaps is the only weather for viewing such sadness.  Coming out of the exhibition into glorious sunshine would be cruel.  To the memorably-named ASDŽ for lunch. Interesting setup – you choose your dish from those on offer, and they bring it to you on what look like tin plates.  Good value – just 10 KM (about £4) for chicken + mash + veg + bread.  The bread is great – super soft, a bit like nan, but even softer.  Incongruously, Madonna’s “Material Girl” is playing in the background.  Still a great song.  They also do takeaways here – and there’s a local delivery service called “Korpa” – with a bloke who brings it to you in a backpack.

To Despić house.  Every room full of dark wooden furniture – a very particular aesthetic.  Also a grand piano, slightly lower than usual.  Fine carpets everywhere.  Big tiled oven for heating.  Crazy carved chairs (x6) in the dining room, which holds the piano. An ornate sideboard and grandfather clock.  The view from the south-facing windows shows the river, now swollen with rains and faster than ever.

One of the luxurious rooms of Despić house
One of the luxurious rooms of Despić house

The floor boards particularly broad – a good 15-20cm.  Strong Bosnian wood.  Wacky wallpapers everywhere (e.g. what looks like endless rows of exploding brown marrows, separate by infinitely long millipedes.  In the main reading/relaxing room, the stove looks like the world’s most insane boombox, with dozens of speakers.

To the National Theatre, where a children’s opera seems to be playing.  Then to here, the National Gallery.  A section with a few icons close off, which is a pity since they look interesting.  A dramatic woodcut of a Bell Foundry by Đurić Milenko.   Looks like a close-up of a Piranesi.  A surreal “Flight  to Egypt” by Đoko Mazalić.  A very un-Middle Eastern landscape of mountains and green hills.  Looks more like Georgia…

Đoko Mazalić's "Flight into Egypt"
Đoko Mazalić's "Flight into Egypt"

As I move around the gallery, Mazalić emerges as the clear leader of Bosnian painting.  A wall with “Dependent”, showing a musician playing his lute-like instrument; very intent.  A city behind, its tower full of foreboding.  “At the Doctor’s” shows three women, sitting in front of a man – the doctor, presumably.  He is serious, one woman on the right turns away; the role of the other two is unclear: relatives, perhaps.

“The Peasant Woman” shows a figure as fierce as a native American chief.  “Coppersmith” depicts two men in shadows, surrounded by circular objects they have made (and still make in the picturesque backstreets of Baščaršija.  Two other pictures are of female nudes.  The first has two figures, the other just one. The skin is silky smooth in both.  

But what is most striking are the distant landscapes, seen through an opening behind the women in both paintings.  In “Summertime”, there is a river running between fortifications on two hills.  Rounded mountains loom behind.  The other is called “Heroic End”, and the distant landscape is even odder: a stumpy hill of rock just out of water – a river? Lake? - and on the top is a small conflagration burning red with smoke bending away.  A metaphor, perhaps…?  Those unexplained landscapes are clearly of the same stuff as the “Flight into Egypt”, and just as disconcerting.

Đoko Mazalić's "Old Poplar"
Đoko Mazalić's "Old Poplar"

In the next room, more by Mazalić – rather attractive small landscapes.  “Old Poplar” – where trees shoot out of the ground like geysers.  “Village in Bosnia”, bathed in a gentle evening light.  “Old Town” – which consists of of a few simple houses perched on steep, Georgian-like hills.  “Vogošča motif” – a study in forms, where trees and houses and mountains dissolve to become pure volumes.  “Early Spring” – abstract, almost Kandinskian in its twisting lines and colours.  A self portrait in the next room.  Mazalić wears thick round glasses, looking well away from the viewer.  

Đoko Mazalić's self portrait
Đoko Mazalić's self portrait

To PekSar café.  Unusual design – small space, but on three floors – the shop and two seating areas.  All quite news.  Photocopies menus.  I asked for a Turkish tea, and they brought me English tea. <sigh/>.

After a rest, and quick catchup online, out to the Museum of Literature, which I find is semi-closed for repairs.  No fee, but only a small temporary exhibition of set designs by Miroslav Bilać.  Usual stuff, only of interest to historians.  At least it’s warm here.  It’s striking that many of his designs consist of a table with a few chairs.  A bit melancholy, really…  On the way back, I tried to visit the modern Gallery of Contemporary Art Manifesto, but they were setting up new works, so it was closed.

Back in the Morića Han, after failing to get into the Dveri restaurant – even though Google Maps falsely claimed it was “not too busy”.  Ironically, a year ago I had a reservation here, but obviously couldn’t use it when I failed to make it to Sarajevo for various reasons.  Slightly busier in here tonight.

Searching online for the Mazalić painter that had struck me in the National Gallery, I discovered that Google Arts & Culture put together a feature on his work, writing: “It would be difficult to find a person that left a deeper trace in BH art scene.”  There are quite a few paintings online there, including many I did not see, even though they are listed as being part of the National Gallery collection.  They certainly confirm his stature.  I couldn’t help but notice that the National Gallery held an exhibition of his works, and that there was a catalogue for the show “Đoko Mazalić 1888- 1975”, published in 2017. Horribly tempting…

Food portion more moderate this evening.  Good.  Now trying hurmašica – pastry drenched in syrup.  Apparently a favourite for Islamic holidays.  It is very sweet, but surprisingly pleasant.

27.3.25

One of Sarajevo's older trams
One of Sarajevo's older trams

On tram #3 – one of the old ones.  Looks very Soviet – rusty, dirty, old.  But I like trams, paid just KM6.30 (`£3) for a day ticket.  Needed to go out to the History Museum, by the station.  Quite a way out.  Miraculously, the rain has stopped for a bit.  Quite cold now.  Passed the market, thinking of the images I saw yesterday… The Eternal Flame.  One of the digital ads in the tram had “Mubarak olsun”.  Turkish soap operas on the TV in the restaurant last night.  Already further out west than before – unknown territory.  Amazingly, the old tram had wifi.

The unlovely History Museum
The unlovely History Museum

To the History Museum, one of the ugliest, most depressing modernist buildings I have seen – a huge parallelipiped of concrete, with everything rusted and decaying.  Downstairs, an exhibition about the Second World War.  Posters, rifles, 1942 newspaper, photos of women workers – sorry, heroines.  Out to the garden, full of artillery.  Plus a huge wooden grinder for grain.  Rather impressive.

Before and after
Before and after

Fascinating photographic exhibition by Jim Marshall.  Called “15 years” it shows locations around the city in 1996, just after the conclusion of the Bosnian War and siege, and again in 2011.  Dramatic differences, from buildings pock-marked by shells and bullets, windows smashed, some ruins, to the modern-looking city.  Shows the remarkable ability of the human spirit to repair and advance.

Another photographic exhibit.  75 pix of women and girls, taken twice: once smiling with a light background, and again frowning, angry, against a black background.  Quite striking.  Upstairs, more gut-wrenching scenes from the siege of Sarajevo.

To the National Museum.  A rather steep KM20 (~ £8) but surprisingly modern and well designed.  Presumably recently renovated.  In the prehistory section, sitting under a huge log canoe… Upstairs, I find that the wood of the boat has been dated to 6000BCE…

An 8000-year-old canoe
An 8000-year-old canoe

Lots of good exhibits here – a reflection that this was a populous area for prehistoric peoples.  Same is true for the Roman epoch, as evidenced by lots of archaeological finds on display in the west wing of the museum.  Upstairs to the medieval section, less impressive.  Aside from a huge “judge chair”. 

Ancient funerary monuments
Ancient funerary monuments

Outside, in the garden.  Some massive funerary monuments, hewn from single blocks of stone, some carved with figures, animals, others with old Slavonic writing.  Overall, a very impressive museum, one I almost left out, assuming it would be boring…

A slightly long walk to the 142 metre high “twisty tower”, officially the Avaz Twist tower, then up to here, Caffe 35, on the 35th floor surprisingly enough. Pretty good view of the city, spoiled a little by the excessively blue-tinted glass.  Will go up to the open observation deck afterwards.  Rain has stopped, even the odd glimpse of sun.  Ironically, they didn’t have Bosnian coffee here, so I’m drinking a cappuccino.  Rather good, it has to be said.  Disappointed that the sealed packet of the bicky I was given was open and thus had to be discarded…

Looking towards the old town, and the surrounding hills
Looking towards the old town, and the surrounding hills

Up on the observation deck, a watery sun above me.  I can pick out landmarks of the old town.  And see how utterly vulnerable it was to snipers…  Air slightly hazy, maybe smoke.  Car horns rise from below – they are used a lot here.  Also striking how people will park anywhere – even worse than in Italy.  Actually, looking towards the airport, pretty clear the haze is fumes.  The air not too healthy, I suspect.  The tower good and stable – I’ve not felt any swaying…. The railway below looks rusty and dilapidated – a bit like those in Tbilisi and Chisinau.  I love these views from high places.  

Sarajevo train station, seen from above
Sarajevo train station, seen from above

To the train station, which is as forlorn inside as it is decrepit outside.  A huge hall, with several boarded up shops.  A café, the ticket office.  Two horrendous murals advertising Coca-Cola.  No departure board, probably because there are so few trains…

Took (shiny modern) tram back to the stop near the National Gallery.  I was hoping it might still have copies of the Mazalič catalogue from 2017.  They kindly went off to look in their storeroom, but only found a catalogue for a different exhibition with some of his works.  KM35 – too much, and too heavy, and not really what I wanted, alas.

Now back in ASDŽ – good quality, cheap and convenient.  Fantastic local bread – a meal in itself.  When I was in the tram, standing, a nice middle-aged Muslim lady offered me her seat.  Very kind, but I refused, since I prefer to stand.  She was a little confused when I thanked her anyway….

To Svrzo’s house.  Steep road up from Baščaršina – interesting to see several Ottoman-style enclosed balconies on houses along the way.  I note as I enter that this house was renovated thanks to funding from the USAID…

Inside Svrzo's house
Inside Svrzo's house

Outside the stable a binjektaš – a mounting stone (taš) for riding (binmek).  Fascinating to see such an evidently luxurious house.  Rich dark wood everywhere, places to wash, stoves for heating, and seats around the outside of most rooms, even the bedroom, which had its bed on the floor in the centre.

Black metal shutters of Svrzo's house
Black metal shutters of Svrzo's house

Amazing black window shutters made of metal – bronze? - they look like 3D versions of Rothko’s paintings, rich rectangles hanging in space more literally than in the pix.  Overall, the minimalist vibe plus the use of wood has a distinctly Japanese feel. A big panel of thick planks can be folded down to close the staircase leading to the internal courtyard.  As well as the beauty of the workmanship, what is striking about this place is the scale: room after room, all gorgeously appointed.  Amazingly, I had the place entirely to myself.  Also in the museums, this morning, no more than five other people.

Doorway to another world
Doorway to another world

To the City Hall.  Rather disappointing inside.  Slightly gaudy colours and fussy design.  Of course its destruction was an act of barbarism, not least for the loss of 1.5 million books and manuscripts that were burnt by this deliberate attack on Bosnian culture.  And it was right to rebuild it.  But I just can’t get excited about in the way some others seem to.  Then upstairs to the modern art collection.  Mostly dire.  People with no ideas, no originality.  I feel sorry for them.  

Inside the City Hall
Inside the City Hall

On my last night here, it seems right to listen to the intonation at the Gazi Husrev-Beg mosque.  Interesting how similar to Gregorian chant – limited range, roughly a-b-c-d up and then c-a-g-e down.  Quite a rich voice, and noteworthy how he sings the Arabic guttural sounds and aspirations – the former a swallowed sound, the latter a distinct voiceless break in the musical flow.  Quite long, a slow and relatively undifferentiated.  In fact, the melody seems to follow the a-b-c-d-c-a-g-e shape most of the time.  Quite hypnotic.

28.3.25 Sarajevo airport 

Waiting for the departure security gates to open.

Interesting chat with my taxi driver, who arrived early, and let me know via WhatsApp – efficient chap.  I asked him what the main nationalities of visitors here were.  Mostly Turkish, he said.  That fits with my impression of hearing Turkish spoken on the streets.  But the second most common nationality was surprising. He said lots of Arabs come here, especially in the summer.  I asked why, and he pointed out that there are few trees and mountains in Arab countries, but here they are abundant.  And in fact I had seen notices written in Arabic around the city.  And here at the airport there’s one offering services to help buy land with Arabic support.  I wonder how much land Arabs own now – and much they will?

I also wondered whether the man Turkish Airline flights my driver said arrived each day were because Istanbul is a hub, as I well know.  But he pointed out that the telephone numbers of the people he picked up at the airport had Turkish national codes, and were therefore likely to be Turkish.  Fair enough.

One final thought.  From the moment I arrived until I left, my eyes were constantly drawn to the hills surrounding Sarajevo on all side.  Whether enjoying the view from the Yellow Bastion, or the twisty tower, they were always there, as the backdrop.  In part, that’s because I love high places – hence my abiding interest in Georgia, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kashmir, Nepal etc. etc.  But here in Sarajevo there was a very particular reason – the main stimulus for my journey here.  

It was the thought that up in those hills, year after year, Serbian snipers took aim at old ladies, young children and everyone else as they tried to run from cover to cover across the dangerous open spaces.  With cold intent and deadly weapons they took aim at people they may have known and met all the time before the war.  

And up in those hills there were the artillery and mortars that rained explosive death on innocent civilians, trapped in Sarajevo’s terrible, defenceless geography.  Like the time the mortar landed in the fruit and veg market, killing 68 people, and ripping apart the body of one poor young man in particular, caught in a photographic image that I will not describe but can never forget, a terrible symbol of what was done to Sarajevo. Now, 30 years later, the city is beautiful and vibrant, a hopeful sign that even the most terrible wounds can heal.

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