Last Friday night, my colleagues and I went for a beer at a pub in Vysehrad. I was chatting with the husband of my co-worker when I heard something like “jako Sarajevu” from the other end of the table. “It was strange,” I thought to hear anything about Sarajevo in this country. Then Tomas, the husband explained that they have a popular expression in Czech: “Sedm koukle jako Sarajevu” meaning “Seven bullets as in Sarajevo.”
Sevdah is a form of Bosnian traditional folk music, strangely and surprisingly are played everywhere in Sarajevo. It looked so odd to me to see teenagers humming along Sevdah tunes.
C(udna jada od Mostara grada,
sve od lani pa evo do sada.
Kako Biba, C(elebic’a zlato,
bol boluje nikom ne kazuje.
The first meal I had in the city was the chicken sandwich or sandwich “sa piletinom” at Piceriza Pomodorino on Branilaca Sarajeva Street, behind the main street walk. The sandwich is pita pocket bread stuffed with chicken and some white cream I had trouble distinguished. I came from an extensive sauce-flavored dish culture, thus if being asked, I can pick out one or two sauces.
My name is Cindy, also rhymes with travel junkie. A friend said I was probably a gipsy in my previous life. One of my many secret missions in life is to convert you to run off every once in awhile.
