"All I wanna do is have some fun./ I got a feeling I'm not the only one..." The bus driver had selected Sheryl Crow's slow-paced ballad, hoping perhaps to induce a mellow atmosphere as his passengers neared the end of their three-hour ride. The setting, however, was a bit incongruous for the song's theme. We were entering the suburbs of Sarajevo, the Bosnian capital whose ordeal during the 1992-1995 siege and bombardment has come to symbolize the false promises of the so-called new world order. What is more, we were traveling along the Zmaj od Bosne, the six-lane thoroughfare that only a few years before had become infamous around the world as Sniper Alley.

Things have changed, however. Since Dec. 14, 1995, when hostilities ended with the signing of the Dayton Accords, Sarajevo has been recovering. It is a gradual process, because repair costs are so high and the damage was so extensive. Ninety percent of the glass in the city's buildings was destroyed. Bullet holes are everywhere, pock-marking buildings, fences, cars and homes. The city's few high-rises, built in the uninspiring Social Realist style, loom like ghostly, darkened, burned-out shells. Unexploded mines are still a threat in some heavily damaged areas.

Many of Sarajevo's most important municipal, cultural and industrial sites were specifically targeted during the siege by Serb artillerymen in the surrounding hills. Some of these buildings, such as the pseudo-Moorish National Library, an important cultural monument completed in 1896, are being rebuilt. But many others have to wait their turn.

Despite the harsh economic realities - the unemployment rate in Bosnia and Herzegovina is roughly 33 percent - many homeowners are busy with the process of recovery. During a walk in Bistrik, a hilly district close to the city center, I observed a buzz of activity. Gates, house walls, windows, doorways and sidewalks were being carefully restored. Children could be seen playing outside everywhere. Some parks even had electric cars and train rides for the youngsters. That would not be a remarkable sight in most places in the world, but in Sarajevo it seemed to signal that the city's collective psyche was being repaired as well.

Three 'entities,' one song

In another encouraging sign, tourists have begun to trickle back into Sarajevo. 1996 saw the opening of a tourism office on Zelenih Beretki Street. A complete revival of the tourist industry, though, will have to await political developments. As things stand, Bosnia and Herzegovina is effectively divided into three entities. Two have formed a Muslim-Croat Federation, at best a mutually suspicious marriage of convenience. Republika Srpska, the Serb entity, remains apart.

Tentative and symbolic steps toward unity have been imposed by the international community. A common currency, the convertible marka (KM), was speedily introduced in all three entities, car license plates were standardized and the Independent Commission for Flag and Symbols of Bosnia and Herzegovina sponsored a competition for a new national song. According to the competition prospectus, proposals for the anthem were to "express universal values [and] have a ceremonial character, with formal parts A-B or A-B-A or A-B-C." Three entries were chosen as finalists, recorded and sent to the BiH Parliament in
December of last year for a final decision.

Enforced reconciliation has met with some snags. For example, the international community, led by the Office of the High Representative, wanted references to the recent war in Sarajevan school history textbooks significantly revised to eliminate bias and propaganda. All parties to the conflict were to be consulted about the revisions. However, an OHR committee report of Dec. 12, 1998 accused Sarajevo of reneging on a previous agreement to facilitate this and other interethnic matters and suggested that 1999 reconstruction-aid payments might be affected.

Visitors welcome

Getting to Sarajevo was not difficult, since Bosnia (except for the Serb area) is one of the seemingly few places in the world where no one needs a visa. Entry at the time of my visit was evidently being permitted on a case-by-case basis. In fact, when I entered by bus from Croatia at the Metkovic border crossing, the driver accelerated and sped past the post without stopping. Metkovic is in the Bosnian Croat area and Alma, a pleasant lady working at the Sarajevo Tourism Office, emphasized Muslim suspicions about the prospects for reconciliation. "Metkovic is a checkpoint. I wouldn't call it a border. We know where the 'real' border is," she said.

Alma was just as candid about the potential for tourism. "We'd like to have many more visitors," she said, "but since this is the first year our office has been open, we have to be satisfied with the numbers we have. Although many of the museums have been damaged or destroyed, you should see and enjoy the large open-air museum that is Sarajevo."

As an "open-air" museum, Sarajevo is indeed fascinating. The city's name was derived from a Turkish word "saraj-ovasi," which meant "the field in front of the governor's palace." Turkish influence, the result of centuries of rule, or misrule as some might claim, is still to be seen today and not just in relation to religion, the flash point of the recent conflict. The historic Turkish commercial quarter and psychological heart of the city, Bascarsija, for instance, has been almost completely restored.

Where old meets new

Bascarsija comprises a number of small, cobblestone streets, dotted with mosques and lined with tiny, interconnected, one-story wooden shops. Calls to prayer are made in person, not by recorded cassettes, as the muezzins summon the faithful from the tops of the gleaming white minarets. In the past, individual streets were associated with specific activities and goods, such as leatherwork, brasswork and jewelry. One street, Kazandziluk, is still the preserve of coppersmiths. The clever merchants of Bascarsija have been quick to capitalize on a new opportunity - selling to the thousands of troops from the Stabilization Force, the multinational peacekeeping force in Bosnia. Items directed at this market range from the quaint - Sarajevo Hard Rock Cafe caps - to the macabre - spent shell cases, engraved with Sarajevan motifs

A few blocks from Bascarsija is the Miljacka River. Some 10 meters wide as it flows through the center of town, it is crossed by a series of small bridges, one of which achieved permanent notoriety on June 28, 1914. It was on the embankment next to this bridge that a young Bosnian Serb, Gavrilo Princip, fired the shots that killed the Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie, thereby igniting World War I. The day I was there, groups of American soldiers were photographing themselves on the bridge in an ironic illustration of the ways the old world order intersects with the new.

Cafes abound in the downtown area, which includes Bascarsija. Most of these boast elaborate music systems, blaring pop music to attract customers. Evenings are special. Sarajevans, as well as peacekeeping personnel on or off duty, promenade past the cafes, particularly on Ferhadija Street, leading out of Bascarsija, where vehicles are banned. Stylishly, even provocatively dressed young couples can be seen walking hand in hand, and sometimes kissing. It is hardly the fundamentalist bailiwick of some Serb nationalists' nightmares.

Evenings in the cafe quarter provide the opportunity for conversations that bring present unpleasant realities and future hopes into clearer focus. I noticed a group of American college students who, as part of a semester-abroad assignment, were interviewing a US SFOR soldier. The soldier's candor was astonishing. Concerning Dayton's unfinished business, he said, "Make no mistake about it, we will go after the war criminals. It's just a matter of time. My unit is the only complete combat unit here and although we have Apaches [helicopters] we'll need some backup."

Should there be any future settling of scores in the region, the Bosnian Army believes it would come out It is preparing for that eventuality. The American soldier provided a rare glimpse at what SFOR is doing to curtail these preparations. "Under Dayton, they're allowed to have guns but nothing larger than 81mm. Still we've made 3502 acquisitions since March [of larger weapons in a four-month period]. What happens is-Bad guys make a noise. We detect it. Good guys go in and get it. It's happened around here, mostly near Ilidza." Their work is not universally appreciated and the American unit's base just above Sarajevo has come under some pressure. "There have been two drive-by shootings and one bomb thrown at our fort on the hill."

The hundreds of local and foreign NGO representatives also use the evenings to relax in the cafes and to chat. Topics might range from politics and project difficulties to future career prospects. One Bosnian aid worker, Ara, was annoyed that the his government had engaged upon a massive fit of streetname changing after independence. Marx and Engels Street evidently had to go. "Even I don't know what address I have because the street names and numbers have changed. They tell me my address and I say-Oh really! "

Marina, a British woman teaching English in the city, commented that although conditions were worse in Sarajevo, Zagreb in Croatia had more beggars. Ara, although acknowledging it was his duty as a Muslim to give money to beggars, offered a rather severe way he might go about this. "I like what an American professor suggested to me. If you see a beggar, hit him hard. If he gets up, hit him again. Keep hitting him. If he hits you, immediately give him $100 and say-There, you've done something for yourself!"

Despite the difficulties of daily life there were enough hopeful signs for one to maintain a guarded optimism about the future. Economic recovery was proceeding and one marketplace, that for used cars, was positively bustling.

Situated along the Zmaj od Bosne, this market occupied an area a bit smaller than that of two football fields. It was literally crammed with vehicles brought there by individuals.. Many cars featured Swiss, German, or Dutch plates and Volkswagens seemed to be the most popular make. Some sporting Bosnian plates still bore the scars of war in the form of bullet marks marring the bodywork. Separating the front and back parts of the market was a row of shops whose main business was the sale of bulk alcohol and cigarettes giving the place a black market atmosphere.

Each vehicle had a sheet of paper taped behind the window that listed the price in German marks, the car's year, and occasionally something about its condition. The lowest priced car was DM 900 ($450). On some, the price had been crossed-out and lowered more than once, suggestive of either remarkable flexibility or desperation in making a sale. Sellers would either sleep at in the front seat and await a hopeful knock on the window, or else be outside haggling with potential customers.

If ever the recommendation "let the buyer beware" had validity, this was the place. Many of the cars' engines made sounds that it did not seem possible for engines to make. Some wouldn't start at all despite repeated push start attempts. As for test drives, well, that was difficult. There is a big problem with stolen cars in the Balkans and, in fact, a few of the vehicles on sale here may have fallen into that category. Sellers would not permit their vehicles to leave the market until a sale was made and money changed hands. Therefore, given the extreme lack of space, test drives were limited to backing up maybe two meters and then driving forward the same distance.

There are, however, other, more personal ways of measuring progress. Since Sarajevo so symbolized the consequences of ethnic divide it is often a surprise to outsiders that the municipality has long promoted diversity. The city has long been, and still is, home to a variety of ethnic and religious groups, including Muslims, Serbs, Croats, Jews, and Gypsies.

Not far from Princip's bridge, on Hamdije Kresevljakovica Street, is La Benevolencija, otherwise known as the Jewish Community Center. According to an official, "There are now about 700 Jews in Sarajevo. Before, there were many, many more, but only about 10% survived the Holocaust". Inside the building's main room was a coffee shop which had some tables and sofas. A few old men were quietly playing chess, while some ladies were amiably chatting away. That room, however small, contained a microcosm of a preserved sense of community. And a sense of community is what Sarajevo needs to build on. (RH)