Big Issue's Rough Guide to Sarajevo
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
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Greetings
From Sunny Sarajevo (12.8.02)
Having arrived yesterday (Sunday) I
thought that I might e-mail some hints for those who are
about to follow.
Firstly, you will be asked to fill in an immigration card
on your way in. There are two of them and you must fill
in both. If you have no idea where you are staying do not
put "Hotel TAB" in that section unless you want
to spend an hour or so explaining to Bosnian Immigration
that you know that there is no Hotel TBA in Sarajevo
etc., etc. If you simply put Sarajevo that appears to
satisfy them.
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On arrival at the airport there is
an exchange bureau that offers reasonable rates on the Bosnian
Mark and the Euro. The Bosnian Mark was pegged to the Deutschmark until its demise and the Euro exchange rate is now 1 Euro =
2 Bosnian Marks. Both are accepted absolutely everywhere but it
is advisable changing into Euro as Bosnian Marks are much harder
to change back if you have any left. It's no big hassle anyway as
there are ATMs all over the place. Incidentally if you intend to
use your credit card you'll need to enter your PIN on the machine
as they wont accept it otherwise.
There is no public transport from the airport to the city centre
so you have to get a taxi that should cost no more than 15 Euro
and take 10/15 minutes. I arrived unannounced at the 3* Hotel
Meridian which is smack in the town centre (Jaroslava Černija 3
tel:Sarajevo 446-177 fax:Sarajevo 446-176) and quickly negotiated
them down from 79 Euro a night to 40 (for a room that sleeps 2).
There is plenty of space left should anyone still be looking for
somewhere to stay. Failing that it has two sister hotels which
are the Hotel Villa Orient (Oprkanj 6 Tel:232-702 fax:441-044)
and the Hotel Emona (BentbaSa 11 Tel:271-660/661 fax:271-662).
I have been wearing a Newcastle top since I arrived and have
attracted nothing but friendly curiosity (how many fans are
coming?, is Shearer playing? etc.) The main Irish bar in the city
centre is the Dublin (Ferhadija 28) which is run by Bosnians and
sells Guinness etc. Half a litre of local beer costs about 1 Euro
but check your change that you are not getting Bosnian Marks back
passed off as Euro. (I've already been given a "1998
Official England World Cup Medal" in my change. Funnily
enough it was Alan Shearer so I'm unsure whether or not they were
merely taking the piss.)
The football stadium is about 25 minutes walk from the city
centre although it does have an Irish bar close by which is the
Harp on Patriotske Lige although I haven't been there yet so
don't know what it's like. Could be a useful meet up point
before/after the match.
In the meantime due to NUFC's incompetence I haven't got a ticket
for the match yet. Marvellous!
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GOOD
MORNING BRITAIN!!!!!!!!! (13.8.02)
Not such a good morning in Sarajevo. My head feels like a
sack of spanners but I'll get to that later.
Spent yesterday visiting the tunnel
under the airport in between several beers (still 1 Euro
a pint). For those who don't know about it the Serb
Chetniks had Sarajevo under siege between 1992 and 1996
and the only way that they could get anything in or out
(food for instance) was by crossing the airport's main
runway which was (and still is) under United Nations SFOR
control.
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However they kept on getting
shelled and picked off by snipers so they decided to dig a tunnel
under the main runway. It started off under some guy's house in
Bosnia and came up under an apartment block in Sarajevo. It's 1.5
metres high, half a mile long and a metre wide.
During the siege 300,000 people
passed through it and it was moving twenty tons of food/munitions
a day. It also had the main electricity supply and telephone
connection running through it as well as a large hose pipe that
was used to pump petrol from one side to the other (I assume that
it was no smoking).
Following my history lesson I popped into the Harp Irish bar next
to the United Nations Building/SFOR Base for some more gargle.
Unbelievably the pub is run by a bunch of Irish peace-keepers and
is expat HQ. On the way back a Bosnian guy spotted the Newcastle
top and adopted me, insisting on paying for my tram ticket and
introducing me to the tram driver who is one of the leading
lights in "The Maniacs" their lunatic fan base. He was
also one of the war veterans who defended Sarajevo during the
siege. I've come to expect the unexpected around here but what
happened next defies belief. As we were travelling down
"sniper alley" I asked him where the Chetniks were
sniping from. He stopped the tram, got out and started pointing
out where the Serb positions were on the hillside above. Five
minutes later once he was satisfied that all of my questions had
been answered we returned to the tram and continued our journey
into town. He's given me his mobile number and wants to take the
Newcastle fans on a piss up before the match tomorrow. It's his
day off on Thursday and Hess taking me on a tour of the Serb
positions and minefields in the hills above the city. Should you
hear nothing further there is a corner of war torn Bosnia that is
for ever Geordie.
Anyway to last night. There's a rock club here called the Marquee
which has live bands and plays Pink Floyd, Zepp etc in between.
Having had a monster steak meal with large amounts of beer and
Bosnian brandy (five quid the lot) I popped in there for a quick
one at 9.00pm. Once again several "Maniacs" adopted me
and wouldn't let me buy a drink. I vaguely remember 4.00am and
the hotel informs me that I arrived back at 5.30. Sarajevo claims
to be mostly Muslim but all I can say is the ones that I've met
must belong to some obscure sect that encourages getting pissed
at every opportunity. Cirrhosis will probably get me before the
minefields anyway.
Anyway, must go. More beers to down. When in a Muslim country, do
as the Muslims do.
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I
Really Must Change My Lifestyle!!! (14.8.02)
Yesterday I thought that I
had a hangover. Today I have definitely got one. Talking
about today in the same terms as yesterday is like
comparing AIDS with hay fever.
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I have finally worked out
why I'm in a Muslim country but end up pissed all the time.
Apparently originally there were two types of Muslim, Sunni and
Shi`ite. The Bosnian Muslims are descended from the Shi`ite
faction but didn't like a couple of the rules i.e. no booze and
covering up the bints' faces with veils. They therefore formed a
separate sect that allowed them to drink and see what the bints
looked like.
This new sect is therefore
known as "Shi`ite Faced", hence the English expression.
I do hope that the Ayatollah doesn't hit the Yorkshire Mags web
site. (But in the unlikely event that you do and are still
dishing out Fatwahs sir my real name is David Stead and I live in
a small Yorkshire city called Bradford in the north of England.)
Anyway to the events of
yesterday. I've learned a couple more survival techniques such as
the kippers and herring rule. Basically this is that all Chetniks
are Serbs but not all Serbs are Chetniks. Serbs are a race that
makes up roughly twenty percent of Sarajevo`s population.
Chetniks are the Serb followers of Radovan Karodich who besieged
the city between 1992 and 1996. Absolutely all Chetniks are
complete bastards. Serbs are only probably bastards until they
prove otherwise.
Mentioning Chetniks is like chanting Sunderland songs in the
Strawberry. Whenever they are introduced to the conversation it
is customary to mutter "bastards" or something similar
to show your sympathy. Yesterday I took a horse and cart (I kid
you not.Three quid each way!) for two miles to the springs at the
foothills surrounding Sarajevo. As ever I ended up tanking down
60p pints with some new foster parents. The woods above the
springs are mined to hell and have become one of Europe's biggest
nature reserve as no-one in their right minds would set foot in
the place (not if they wanted to keep it attached to their leg
anyway). As I was consuming the fourth or fifth pint (see
"Hazy Sarajevo" previously) a loud explosion came from
the forest about half a mile above us. The conversation was being
conducted in German and my latest dad pointed up at the plume of
smoke and said "schwein". Obviously I took this to be a
reference to the Chetnik bastards and nodded my agreement and
muttered "Chetniks". I quickly realised that this was a
mistake as he became extremely excited waving his arms around
shouting "Chetniks, Chetniks wohin?". After another
five minutes conversation it became clear that he really was
talking about real pigs. They have wild boars that roam the
mountains and every now and then one gets unlucky and turns
itself into a sausage. Easy mistake to make.
Needless to say I ended up comatose in the Marquee with yet more
Maniacs last night, hence the hangover. I'm meeting up with them
all again at 12.00noon.
I've noticed on NUFC.Cock that I can expect to pay 20 Bosnian
Marks for my match ticket which is interesting seeing as the
normal tickets are eight marks and "corporate" is only
fifteen.
Anyway, must return to punishing my liver prior to the match.
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Mines
A Pint! (15.8.02)
Yeah
I know that I promised that my last despatch would be the
final one but I knew how worried you'd all be after my
trip to the minefields so thought I'd send one more.
As you've probably guessed I'm back from what was the
front line and have an interesting photo for Mr Jensen. I
never knew what trust meant until I ended up having a
picnic surrounded by Christ knows how many mines.
Great idea sinking five pints then
following a guy who tells you to tread exactly where he does.
Beats arcade games any day.
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The cavalry flew out on Crossair at
6.00pm tonight and I waved them goodbye from the end of the
runway. The team have also buggered off leaving just me and egg.
Will see everyone Monday barring torrential downpours.
Big Issue's Rough Guide to Scousers
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Back
in a war zone (Liverpool)
It appears that Thursday
morning’s report disappeared in cyber space
somewhere giving the impression that I spent all week
pissing around in minefields and didn’t even bother
going to the match. As I’m now safely back in
Blighty I thought that I’d remedy the situation.
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The
cavalry finally arrived at 12.00 noon on the day of the
match in the form of three hundred Toon fans who had paid
around £350 a throw to travel on a charter flight direct
from Newcastle. The city centre Irish bar was quickly
established as HQ with several outposts set-up in the
main town squares. I quickly bumped into Paul Clark and
friends who had been sold tickets at twenty Euro each at
the airport. Strangely these tickets had no price on
them. There was a very good reason for this - which I
discovered when I purchased mine in the same section
later that evening for fifteen Bosnian Marks (7.5 Euro).
Pub crawling the city centre we then
met Egg and his missus who had been staying in the
Holiday Inn on "Snipers Alley" since Sunday.
Apparently the team were also meant to be in the Holiday
Inn but switched to The Grand at the last minute. The
reason being put forward was that it was a ruse by Sir
Bobby to shake off the home fans and avoid being kept
awake all night by klaxons etc.
Myself, Paul and his mate
got a taxi to the ground at half seven and as mentioned
above I easily bought a ticket. The home fans however
weren't quite as lucky as there were hundreds of them who
appeared to have perfectly valid tickets but the gates
had been shut and they were locked out. Incredibly they
were still selling tickets at the ticket office knowing
full well that the home sections were full. An
interesting system - there were an awful lot of very pi$$ed-off Bosnians on the street.
The atmosphere inside was
brilliant and there was plenty of room in our section but
the home sections looked awfully overcrowded. The only
problems that we experienced during the whole stay came
immediately after Kieron Dyer’s goal when we were
pelted by an array of missiles including loose change,
cigarette lighters, fireworks, stones etc. I was hit by a
large bag of monkey nuts which were absolutely delicious
as I munched my way through the second half. The guy next
to me wasn't quite as lucky as he got twatted on the back
of the head with an ash-tray. The fireworks blew a hole
in the seat in front of Egg and set fire to one next to
me. Egg won the prize for the most unusual missile of the
night when he was hit by an extremely large bag of pasta!
( I can just imagine Bosnia’s equivalent of Edna
checking with young Gordanovitch on his way out of the
house. "Got your money? Ticket? Pasta?")
After the match they kept
us behind for the usual thirty minutes prior to the long
walk back into the city centre through suburbs which
appeared to consist almost entirely of hastily created
graveyards. After that it was back to the Irish bar and
more gargle.
Thursday I spent getting
smashed in various minefields (see above) and took a tram
and a taxi to the airport on Friday morning where yet
again I bumped into Egg and His missus. I was looking
forward to buying some dirt cheap duty frees but the ba$tards that had left on the charter
the previous evening had completely emptied the place and
it was closed for stock- taking.
All I all it was a
fantastic week and I’m definitely returning some
time. I the meantime I’m meeting up with a bunch of
Bosnians who want me to take them to Idols before the
return leg.
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