Peace Signs in Sarajevo

"Yes," I said absent-mindedly, still looking up. "No," she said, "here." I looked down at the spot where she was pointing with the toe of one of her sparkly slippers. "This exact spot, where the smooth stone sidewalk meets the cobblestones . . . this is where the Austro-Hungarian Empire meets the Ottoman Empire."

I looked east, down the cobblestone walkway that is the foundation of Bascarsija, highlighted at one end by the Gazi Husrev Begova Mosque and at the other by the main public fountain in Sebilj Square (colloquially called Pigeon Square). Between the two is a fusion of aromatic sweets shops, spice stores, cafes selling scented tobacco in hookahs, side streets loaded with meticulously crafted wares (almost anything made from metal, leather, wood or textiles, as well as famous Bosnian carpets), and blocks of hole-in-the-wall restaurants serving the local favorite, cevapi -- lamb sausages served with onions and pita.

To the west, I followed the smooth stones and clean Austrian lines of Ferhadija Street, which extends from the edge of Bascarsija to the eternal flame commemorating World War II. It supports a more upscale set of boutiques, coffee houses and bistros, with tables full of Bosnians spilling jovially into the street. There were also plenty of chic, young, strutting Sarajevans. "That is the catwalk," Muhic said pointing down Ferhadija. "Girls walk up and down to be seen in the latest styles. But they stop when they get to the cobblestones. Have you ever tried to look graceful while walking in high heels down a cobblestone street?"

Beyond just a place to people-watch, though, this multi-empire avenue is the spine of the city center's fish-bone layout, with galleries and museums such as the Old Serbian Orthodox Museum, the Jewish Museum and the National Gallery, featuring featuring pieces by Bosnian and Yugoslavian artists as well as contemporary Bosnian works. But maybe most important, according to my guide, the area is the source of seemingly endless open-mindedness. Renowned in centuries past for its liberal attitude toward people of all religions, Sarajevo has been called the European Jerusalem because Muslims, Catholics, Orthodox Christians and Jews all have centers of worship within walking distance of one another. "In an area of just a few hundred square meters, you have all four of the world's biggest religions," Muhic said, and then she paused for a long moment. "And still today, in spite of everything, there's so much tolerance. It is impossible to forget, but you have to go on."

Later I stopped in at Cevabdzinica Hodzic, a classic Old Town cevapi joint in sight of Pigeon Square. Hodzic is the best of both worlds. It's efficiently refined the art of serving the mouthwatering grilled sausages and raw onions that permeate the air throughout Bascarsija. And it's the kind of place where you feel instantly that you've entered a locals' hangout. As I sat and mulled over my day in Sarajevo, I munched on cevapi and pita while sitting next to businessmen in dark, Italian-cut suits stopping by for a quick bite and earphone-clad teenagers text-messaging from their mobile phones.Then I headed due south across the river to Sarajevska Pivara (Sarajevo Brewery), a recently renovated beer hall that boasts some of the region's best brews, and enjoyed a tamno pivo (dark beer).

Pieces of War

There was a crisp autumnal breeze in the air when I boarded a city tour bus the next morning. If my outing with Muhic had been a micro exploration, this one, with panoramic vistas of Sarajevo, promised to be macro -- with one big exception: the Tunnel Museum.

As our bus rumbled toward what had been the war's front line -- the site of Sarajevo's former Olympic Village -- we learned that nearly every structural memory of the '84 Games had been destroyed and that the Olympic stadium now serves as a mass graveyard. The closer we rolled, the more agitated our guide, Sunni Lagum, seemed to get. "The former Olympic towns gave us money to help rebuild after the war," Lagum said and flashed a sardonic smile. "But when we made a bid for the 2010 Games, they didn't want to give it to us."

The bus stopped near the entrance of the Tunnel Museum, and we marched down a dirt road to a family's house that had served as the only gateway to the world outside the city for Bosnians during most of the war. The house was still bullet-pocked. Inside, we watched a film that explained that the tunnel -- which burrowed from the house, under Sarajevo's airport, and to safe ground on the other side -- took four months and four days to dig, using picks and shovels. Dank and dripping, it was about 2,500 feet long, 15 feet below ground and five feet high. We walked single file through the 75 feet of the tunnel that remained.

On the other end, I blinked in the sunlight and tried to imagine myself as one of the 4,000 people who had passed through daily -- often loaded with 100 pounds of food on their backs to feed their families for weeks and months at a time, or behind a caravan of carts full of humanitarian aid or ammunition. I was told that about 2 million trips had been made through the passage without a casualty.

As we left the museum, I looked back at the simple metal hatch that provided access to the tunnel and realized that between 1993 and 1995, this was the door to the imprisoned city. When that door was closed, it meant 300,000 people were shut off from the world. A supreme price had been paid for the fun I was having in Sarajevo.

Back in the city center, as dusk fell, I made my way to Jez, a restaurant and club, for a meal of local trout in garlic sauce. Afterward, I headed around the corner to the City Pub, where hipster expats and Bosnians were sauntering in. The evening was just beginning to pop. But before I went into the bar, I paid a visit to Alan Salihagic, the owner of Bascarsija Pansion in the heart of the Turkish quarter's shops and restaurants. Salihagic is never at a loss for things to say about his hometown -- either its past or its blossoming future.

"Sarajevo is returning," Salihagic said between greeting his guests. "We are getting back what people tried to take away. And even after all of this, I've never met people as welcoming as Bosnians. Their attitude is that we were together and we will be together again. We have been part of many empires and now we have freedom . . . and, I hope, peace."

Alex Crevar, a freelance journalist who covers the Balkans, lives in Sarajevo. He will be online to discuss this story Monday at 2 p.m. during the Travel section's chat.