A Šibenik native's Sarajevo experience: I pass by Markale and get goosebumps, maybe this time I'll go there

Nikica Šupe, otherwise an employee of the Juraj Šižgorić City Library, a seasoned filmophile and organizer of film evenings at the library, recounted his experiences from Sarajevo, which takes on a special charm during the film festival currently underway in the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina, for ŠibenikIN, reports the Bosnian news agency Patria.

My love story with Sarajevo begins when, as a kid without my mom and dad knowing, I followed the news on a black-and-white television back in 1994. That was a nasty time for a child to watch the news, so of course they forbade me. The first thing I remember about Sarajevo from that time is the place - the Markale market.

The year is 2015, unprecedented heat is tormenting the people of Šibenik, and for me, as every summer, there is only one wish, and that is films, films, and films. For others, there are concerts, festivals, and lying on the grass with a beer; for me, it's 120 minutes of auteur escapism. Summer is also the period when the film evenings at the library go on break until autumn, so my need to talk to others about film is even greater.

Film festivals come to mind; the choice is truly diverse, from the picturesque and loud Motovun hill, which I visited in 2001 when I asked someone for an autograph for the first and last time - it was the sharp Igor Mandić, who asked me what year it was, and upon my answer, he sharply, in his own way, muttered into his beard: a year with two balls; to the Pula beauty of the Arena with the best of domestic film, or (so far) unattainable Venice and Locarno. The choice, by the nature of things, fell on Sarajevo.

The Sarajevo Film Festival (hereinafter SFF) is an event that has been held for 21 years and was initiated by the cultural association 'Obala Art Centar' as an effort to restore the cosmopolitan spirit Sarajevo had before the war and to give people back the feeling of belonging to a world not marked only by shell detonations and the smell of gunpowder.

For personal reasons, I start the festival with a slight delay, and the evening before leaving, I learn that Arsen Dedić has died. With lightning speed, Šibenik wrapped itself in the sadness felt when you lose someone dear, and I must admit I'm glad to be leaving the city. It's easier for me that way.

Arriving in the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina, out of adventurous motives, I take a route I've never taken before, which of course results in the only possible outcome: I got lost.

I roll down the windows and begin one of my 1000 same Sarajevo inquiries: Hello, can you help me? I ask a random pedestrian for directions, and from my left, half a meter away, a TAS Golf 1 stops and asks, 'Buddy, where are you going?', I answer, and he replies: 'Follow me.'

Upon arrival, I seek the second goal of my stay in Sarajevo, which is volunteering at the home for children without parental care 'Bjelave', to whom I offered to give my time to show the children a few films and talk to them about film, in other words, to organize film evenings for them like the ones I run at the library.

Over lemonade and a conversation with the director of the home, Mr. Saudin Đurđević, I learn about the home's history and the current problems that trouble them, but there is no bitterness or self-pity in him. He is deeply aware of the situation the country is in and makes do with what he has.

I stop a taxi driver and ask him where to go for a view of Sarajevo; he suggests 'Kod Bibana', a restaurant with a spectacular view of the city where Danis Tanović celebrated his Oscar for the film 'No Man's Land' with his buddies. The drive to 'Bibana' goes through thousands of steep climbs, and my decision to take a taxi is more than smart. The taxi driver tells me about the city without me asking and even sits down for coffee with me. I insist on paying, but he doesn't allow it. This already slowly arouses my suspicion because it seems to me that he is trying to squeeze money out of me, as he suggests taking me to the other side above Baščaršija, from where there is a view from the opposite perspective.

We return over the Miljacka, and again he takes me on some detours with lots of talk about history. I'm already getting nervous because this now half-hour ride feels like a robbery wrapped in nice words, so I thank him and say I'd rather continue on my own. I ask how much I need to pay, to which he replies: 'What would I charge you for!? We had a nice chat, had coffee, and now I'm going home for lunch.' My surprise knows no bounds, and I feel truly humiliated because I thought he wasn't honest; I try to make amends for my sin and somehow let him know I'm grateful, but he is carefree and happy.

I realize I can't repay him because he didn't do it for gain. For him, it's a given that it should be done that way – it's the right thing. I walk towards the car in the pleasant Sarajevo afternoon; I parked near the mosque, close to the brewery for those who know. I get behind the wheel and head towards Velešići, where I rented a lovely apartment. I pass by the Markale market and get goosebumps, as I do every time. I've been to Sarajevo several times, but I've never mustered the strength to go there. Maybe this time I will.