You don’t hear too much about the city of Sarajevo these days, but I promise, you will.

Remember when everybody you knew was going to Tuscany a decade or so ago? And, then it was Prague. And, a while later, Peru, Ecuador and the Galapagos. Get packed. It is soon to be all about the Balkans. How do I know? Little things like (the travel blog) Foxnomad’s “Best City to Visit” competition naming Sarajevo in 2012, numero uno, beating more than one hundred other cities around the entire world. Also, if you put any stock into Lonely Planet’s recommendations, take note that a few years ago, on their list of “best cities in the world to visit”, the city of Sarajevo, ranked #43, beats out the other Balkan cities, Dubrovnik at #59, Ljubljana at #84, Bled at #90, Belgrade at #113, and Zagreb at #135 – all of them lovely – by a long shot. (You will pardon the expression.) I say that because if you mention Bosnia-Herzegovina, and in particular, Sarajevo, to anybody who has been drinking legally for a decade or more, those names, more than any thing else, likely conjure up the nasty little skirmish known as “The Bosnian War” which, sadly left it’s ugly mark on the city in the way of bullet holes and war ravaged bomb sites, still excruciatingly prominent throughout the nearby area and inside the city limits proper.

Prior to the 1992 Bosnian war, Sarajevo earned national attention as the site of the 1984 Winter Olympics, beating out Sweden and Japan for the honor. Back then, the Olympic committee picked Sarajevo as the ideal choice thinking that if indeed Sarajevo got the honor, the Olympics held in the non-aligned Yugoslavia would not be boycotted by the Cold War countries. Among the citizenry, there were also those aging naïve-niks who wished for a Sarajevo that might become a symbol of world peace in a country that had been the epicenter for centuries of religious wars as well for the actual location of the outbreak of WWI. (You can visit the site and stand on the sidewalk where the archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria was blown away.) Well, as my old friend, Butch used to say, “If wishes were fishes, we’d all be in the sea.” Fat chance. Within a decade, Bosnia was again an ethnic slaughterhouse of epic proportions.

Is there a country with a bloodier more violent history than Bosnia? I don’t think so. If you look up, “cluster-fuck” in the dictionary, it says, “*see also the history of Bosnia”. Going way way way back.

To tell you the truth, I simply can’t truly grasp what the beefs are. Mostly religious of course. (Ain’t that always the way, Grace?) And, ethnic. And, tribal. And turf. But, who did what to whom, when and where and how? Wowza. As an aside, let me just give mad props, (as the youngsters say) to the school children of the Balkan nations whom I assume have to learn (and comprehend) the complex history of the region. It makes my brain hurt to even try.

Is it safe to go there now? Hell, yes. I never felt safer than I felt strolling up and down the main drag very late at night looking for the best pastry, among many, many fine looking opportunities to buy late night grub. In the afternoon, you can sit in a hookah bar smoking sheesha among tables populated by head scarf girls, Orthodox Serbs or crucifix wearing Catholics. Currently, the only conflict among the residents and café customers of Sarajevo seems to be who’s going to take the bill. (And, btw, I will give Bosnia an A in the food department.) Fabulous coffee, too and surprisingly decent wines.

So, to sum it up, it’s a safe city; it’s also a cultural and historical mecca, if a tiny bit war-torn. And, for those of you of the Roman Catholic persuasion who might be hoping to get your Marian apparition* on while taking a little vaykay, you’ll be jazzed to know that the Bosnian town of Medjugorje has become one of the most popular pilgrimage sites for Catholics in the world and has turned into Europe’s third most important apparition site, where each year more than 1 million people visit. It has been estimated that 30 million pilgrims have come to Medjugorje since the reputed apparitions began in 1981. Mickey Mouse, eat your heart out.

*For the non-Catholics, a Marian apparition is when the Holy Virgin Mary (mother of Jesus) makes a personal appearance just for you, usually giving you some instructions like “build me a cathedral here on this spot” or, “dedicate the rest of your entire life to prayer”. Oddly, I guess, it isn’t ever anything mundane like, “hey, go get me a Fudgesicle and be quick about it”.

Okay, non-believers, be nice. I had a client back in the day who for a while saw Homer Simpson in Starbucks occasionally and when he stopped showing up she just said, “Maybe he’s off caffeine.” My policy is, just because Homer (or Mary, Mother of God) doesn’t appear to me, that doesn’t mean I’m a bad person, or other people are crazy. But, neither of those things can be entirely ruled out either. Let this lesson be an opportunity for us all to practice religious tolerance. Hopefully it catches on in Bosnia.

Wish you were here.

Why?

Why Serbia? If I had a dollar for every person who asked that question, I could have paid for an upgrade to “upper class” on that last Virgin flight.

Even the Serbs asked a plaintive, yet sincerely incredulous, “Why are you here?”

So, I’m gonna tell you.

Country counters come in all stripes. The variety known as the “purists” pick nits, split hairs, quibble incessantly, take no prisoners, and they do NOT count a country if said country wasn’t a country when their little pooties touched down on foreign soil. (They look askance at the counters who double dip.) So, since Pablo tends toward this kind of purism in his counting ways, and because he was in Belgrade only back in the day, and not since…(back when Tito ruled the roost), he was loath to include “Serbia” in his final country count. Likewise, all the Balkan nations, which were back in the seventies collectively just one country, Yugoslavia. Not to be condescendingly informative, but, try to remember, Desto 3 has a few followers who were born in the nineties. They think Tito was Dorothy’s dog in “The Whiz”…IF they saw the musical. They don’t even know who Judy Garland was, forget Toto. Forget Tito.

Onward. We were bound to retrace Pablo’s steps through the Balkan region to legitimize the boy’s country count. Serbia, Bosnia-Herzogovina, Montenegro at least. Not Kosovo because we traveled with a Serbian guide in a car that had Serbian license plates and that’s a no-no. Essentially, to Serbs, Kosovo does not exist.

For my part, somewhere along the line I met and made fast virtual friends with a lovely young American writer Laura, an ex-pat living in Serbia with her Serbian husband and her two (adorable) Serbo-American kids. When I told her that I’d be in the neighborhood, so to speak, she did what is done (universally) in that part of the world, she invited us to visit. And, so we did.

Here are my reflections on the nation and the people:

I did some field research. Research consisting of informal interviews of every Serb I could get my hands on. “Give me the first 5 characteristics you think of when you try to describe the typical Serb.” Dozens of them were forthcoming. That’s my first observation. Serbs are extraordinarily accommodating – first example: we arrived at the Hotel Moskva in Belgrade at midnight our first night, starving as it had been at least an hour since we’d had anything to eat. The closing hotel kitchen nevertheless whipped us up a couple of scrumptious club sammies and sold us a bottle of (excellent) local vino while they literally swept the floors around us. They told us to enjoy ourselves and not fret about keeping them well past closing time. And, they meant it, or at least seemed to.

Notably, in response to my survey, every single subject I asked included the word “stubborn” in their five characteristics. Most of the time that was the first descriptor they listed. But, also, “loyal” came up a lot. And, “family oriented”. Which I think is why my ex-pat friend is living there.

The culture can’t be beat for child rearing. Serbs generally think that children are precious and they take delight in the little ones like no other culture I’ve seen. They also take the whole “it takes a village” thing very seriously. Your kid messes up and I’m the only adult on sight? It’s my duty to straighten them out. (But in a nice way. Like a beloved old Auntie. Children are revered in Serbia.) Also, nobody hesitates to issue unsolicited parenting advice in Serbia. To complete strangers. The neighbors will let you know in a red hot second if they think your kid needs a sweater, and what the hell is wrong with you anyway that your kid is wearing an item of clothing deemed “inappropriate”? You’ll get an earful. The best way to describe the Serbian ethics of child rearing is thus: the children of Serbia belong, in a way, collectively to everyone, as if the next generation truly is a national resource, and for that reason, everyone is obligated to protect them. Everyone has the right, nay duty, to care for them (maybe even discipline them).

One afternoon after we’d hooked up with our hired car and driver, Pablo gave a big pretzel to a kid on the street at our Serbian guide’s suggestion and when I told him that you can’t do such things in America, that a geezer handing out baked treats to kids on the street would find himself in prison answering to the name “Mr. Stranger Danger” before the sun set on the day, he shook his head and said, “Oh, yes, in America everyone has their lawyer’s number on speed dial.” (That’s a little insight for you re: what Serbs think about us!)

I’ll admit that at first I thought there were some boundary violations (in terms of “mind your own fucking business”), but then I kind of started to like it. A lot. There’s a real sweetness to the attitudes about childhood in that part of the world. We could learn from them. It was easy to understand why my writer friend and her husband packed the kids up and moved them to Serbia for their primary years. (And, I’m happy to report that this was apparently an excellent strategy because their little darlings are spectacular human beings. Bi-lingual human beings, too.)

Our guide was a 29 year old Serb who possessed seemingly infinite knowledge and absolutely zero reluctance to render his (informed) opinion. For a solid week, from breakfast to nightcaps, he lectured non-stop about all things Balkan. Culture, history, sociology, archeology. You name it. One day toward the end of our trip, half way up to the top of the climb overlooking Kotor in Montenegro (more about this area soon), after listening to Srki’s non-stop daily lecture, I asked him, “How much of what you are telling us is bullshit?” He paused and gave my question some earnest thought. “Three, maybe four percent,” he said. Then, “but, I embellish, not really make things up.” You’ll pardon me for giving him extra points for knowing the English word “embellish”. (Do you know the Serbian translation? I didn’t think so.) I also give him extra credit points for his candor and honesty about the recent history of the region, although for the life of me, I still can’t grasp the complexity of the border and ethnic issues in spite of my effort. The disputes in that region go back to antiquity. And, Serbs, remember, (everybody else, too) are stubborn.

In short, I came away understanding little more than I knew before I got there but I conclude this one thing: if you can do it, hire a guide and a driver if you have only a short time to cover a lot of ground. It’s so worth it.