First let me descirbe to you the method of getting from Budapest to Sarajevo. We took a 12-hour train ride. That might not seem like much to those of you who think 4-hour train rides are pleasant, or those of you who have never been on a train in Eastern Europe. We were lucky; we had a whole compartment to ourselves, and we brought lots of snacks. But in 100 degrees Farenheit no one is really lucky. We sweated through our clothes during the first hour. At three of the short stops Scott rushed out of the train to fill our water bottles at the station--we were afraid that the train might leave without him, but we were more afraid that we might die of thirst. Our big bag of snacks steadily dwindled, and we finaly arrived in Sarajevo filthy and starving.

As we drove into the Turkish Quarter, full of pedestrians and mopeds, our taxi driver told us, "these people, my people, are crazy," with a mischevious grin. Late at night, this square swarming with people seemed like a familiar scene from Morocco. But I have been slowly figuring out that Sarajevo is totally unlike anywhere else. For one, it is the most diverse city I have ever seen--every neighborhood is full of Serbs and Croats, Muslims, Jews, Catholics and Orthodox. I don't know how deep it goes, but as far as I saw, there was no intolerance, only brotherly love.

On our first day, we made a very smart choice by heading straight to the History Museum. The first room told us in great detail the story of a people with a grand Medieval Golden Age, who have been occupied and oppressed almost constantly ever since. The room ended with the confusing story between WWI Yugoslavia was formed (Bosnia joined its bigger brothers in order to be safe from stronger powers) and 1992, when Bosnia finally declared its independence.

The next room told a very different story. Instead of learning about politicians and dates, we saw the lives of ordinary people during an extraordinary time. From 1992 to 1995 Bosnia was under fire and cut off from all its resources, and the exhibition showed how resilient and resourseful these people were during impossible times. Durin the four years without water, food, or electricity, the publics schools continued to teach in Sarajevo; the people learned ways to grow food on their terraces; they cut down all the trees in the city parks for firewood, made lamps and stoved out of tin cans; the arts flourished.

Now it is twelve years later, and it is hard to tell that this city was once under seige. Most of the buildings are restored; the trams are up and running; and there is even peanut butter in the grocery stores (a rare commodity in all of Europe). The cafes are full of stylish young people, who would have been in their formative years during the war--they seem so untraumatized that I wonder whether most of them moved here recently. The people seem unscarred, but I'm sure it's down there somewhere. The only man who would speak honestly about the horror was the museum curator--and he seemed more interested in applauding Bill Clinton, announcing his love for the USA, and apologizing for Al Quaida on behalf of all Muslims everywhere.

We also took a day trip to the Visoko Pyramids, which might be 10,000 years old, or not. And we spent an afternoon in the Srvzo House, learning about how the Ottoman high class lived in the 1800s. Scott and I were drooling over the intricate wood-work, and the lavish rooms filled with nooks and crannies.

So I learned a lot, but I feel like a tourist again. Taking pictures and eating local treats, but never really getting into the culture. I am glad that we will soon be leaving to volunteer with a group in Serbia. From July 28 to August 10, Scott and I will be spending our days on our hands and knees cleaning up forests, and spending our days relaxing with 10 other young people who we will get to know very well after 2 weeks. So if I don't respond to your emails just now, please don't talk it personally.