Bosnia – my first impression driving from the airport was of wolves and gingerbread houses. After a week nothing has changed.

And I am Little Red Riding Hood.

The airport is tiny. Smaller than Queenstown. Nestled among hills. The drive from the airport into Sarajevo confusingly goes through different ‘countries’ – the federation, into the canton, and then back over the border. The government is very confusing. The Prime Minister has the power. There’s a different president chosen every 8 months representing the different religious/ethnic groups. But he is a figurehead role. So confusing. They are working towards jumping through all the EU hoops – but there’s tricksy things like genocide and war-crimes in their way.

The very steep hills have little houses with red Ottoman style roofs and smokey chimneys. And dark forest creeping down. Where the wolves are I imagine.

Although there’s wolves in the city too. I had dinner with one. (He calls me Little Red Riding Hood). More later. And another night, a lady in the restaurant I was having dinner in lost her TWO passports, her money and her phone from her stupid little backpack. She remembered being jostled coming into the restaurant. I ate as fast as I could and ran away before the police came. Never any reason to have too much to do with local police.

There’s a pretty river running through the middle of the city – the Miljacka. With bridges  – including the Latin Bridge, next to my hotel, where Arch Duke Frans Ferdinand was shot.

There’s an old Ottoman part of the city with mosques and baths and towers. I’m staying in an extremely gracious, beautifully restored Hammam bathhouse from 1450 attached to the oldest mosque in Bosnia. One of the nicest places I’ve stayed on this trip – although the Azeri hotel set the bar pretty fucking low.

I went to prayers at the old mosque one evening in full ninja , and then weirdly to a wedding – attended by Erdogan’s son and about 80 bodyguards. A very surreal experience and very spooky to be so close to a member of the Evil Empire.

Turkey throws a lot of money around here. Especially at high profile restorations. Bosnia is the only Islamic ‘European’ country. A show pony for Turkey. And there’s not much of a Sunni majority so Turkey wants to throw their non-secular weight a round to make sure their team is winning.

Its definitely a Muslim majority city. But only about 5% of women wear scarves – and I assume they’re all Arab tourists – but there is religion everywhere and its important.

By comparison – Azerbaijan is a 99% Muslim country where there is no call to prayer, no mosques (that aren’t 1000 years old) and plenty of places to drink wine.

Like everywhere I’ve been there’s a very strong Arab tourist influence. Lots of money and investment creeping in, mostly from Qatar I think. But there are a few English speaking tourists here. The sorts of dumfucks who wear tiny backpacks filled with everything important.

The guys at the table next to me in this café are Russians, from Moscow. They’re trying to persuade me to visit Москва. They are having some sort of business meeting and keep talking about ‘Sarajevo/Moscow/and Istanbul’ – I am less than surprised. They also look like the sorts of guys that are packing. But so do most guys here.

The food here is unremarkable. Very simple. Unseasoned. Its very Ottoman – stuffed dolmas-y things, meat, bread … cucumber salads. Its super touristy in the old part of the city. Like a tiny Prague.

The next part of the city is Austro-Hungarian. So very beautiful late 19^th C buildings, not as grand and luxurious as the Azeri mansions of a similar period, but huge and run down and shabby. Lots of pale lemon, pale pink and grey. Pigeon colours.

In the Ottoman part of town you drink tea and eat baklava. In the Austrian part you go to Viennese cafes and drink coffee and eat cake.

Two beautiful cathedrals – one Orthodox and one Catholic. And a lovely old synagogue from 1902. I went to see the famous Haggadah – a very important Jewish 660 year old manuscript. Its off display – the room its in is being renovated. The museum man was very apologetic and very emphatic that they have NO IDEA when it will be back on display. There are lots of Israeli conspiracy theories about whats happening to it. And knowing that its Turkish money involved in the upkeep of the museum I’m hardly surprised. But coming to Sarajevo and not seeing it is like going to Dublin and not seeing the Book of Kells. So I’m pissy.

And then beyond the Austro-Hungarian part of the city are some big new garish modern buildings. That stand out appallingly like wolves balls.

I drove up into the hills above the city to watch the sun set. And if you ignore the ugly balls buildings it could still be medieval. Mosque towers everywhere. Smoky chimneys. Red roofs. Steep rolling hills going forever into distance. Ottoman heaven.

Further up into the mountains is where the war was really fought. The Wolf told me about how terrifying it was. The Serbs were at the top of the mountain firing missiles and rockets into the city and the soldiers from below had to creep up through thick fog to try and catch them, neither side knew exactly where the other was and the fog would be so thick in the morning ‘that you couldn’t see your finger held up’. There are burnt out buildings and hotels up there. Probably plenty of bodies in the trees.

The siege here was the longest of any city in modern times – from 1992 – 1996. And there were battles in Mostar and Srebrenica as well. Over 5000 civilians killed. And 100,000 mostly Bosniaks.

The mountains are famous, other than for the war, for the Winter Olympics in 1984. There’s still a lot of Olympic infrastructure around the city and outskirts. Including the famous bobsleigh track – it’s partially destroyed by tank fire. But the bad-arse kids still use it now. Death wish.

It’s a very snow focused city and it must be beautiful here in winter. The hills are full of little coffee houses and chalets and ski lodges.

I think it’s a very positive vibrant places – for young people to get drunk and have a good time. Maybe that’s what happens after a civil war – the next generation just want to move on and have fun – like in Beirut. But its not as dynamic and sexy as Beirut. Maybe a tiny little cold version.

I like it here. Although its very small. And the food is pretty rubbish. But the wine is really nice and the people are very friendly.