Strong syrupy coffee in the cobbled streets of Sarajevo’s Turkish quarter. The Muslim call to prayer reverberates through narrow alleyways, the echoes compounding as it bounces back upon itself. Just around the corner is a synagogue and an Orthodox church. East meets West to the metallic tap of tinsmith’s tiny hammers.
The centre is rebuilt, but further out bullets and shell bursts have pitted the stone facades. Bombed out buildings stand hollow and abandoned. Staccato jackhammer roar as the city slowly puts itself back together.
Old men in shabby coats and dark berets sip rakija at early morning café tables, starting the day with a long slow burn.
