Dubrovnik at night

Dubrovnik's rainy alleys and streets at 1am. It was perhaps the most beautiful city I have visited, "the pearl of the Adriatic," as Byron called it. The entire town is hewn from white marble and stone. You can tour the formidable ancient city walls which encircle it and look out over a maze of winding streets and orange tiled rooves.

The city was shelled mercilessly by the Serbian navy during the war, even though it was far from the frontlines and had zero military importance. Unlike Sarajevo, however, the scars of war are almost entirely absent, repaired by the constant, massive cash influx from the nearly unbearable tourist hordes.

Welcome to Bosnia

More photos

On my first weekend in Bosnia, I went up to my American friend Knute's mountain house just outside of Sarajevo with some international as well as Bosnian compadres of his. His family has lived in the 'Jevo (as we annoying foreigners call it), for about a year for work-related reasons.

I ended up in a car driven by an overly-stimulated Bosnian girl named Tidza, who cheerfully honked and waved at all passersby as she stormed around narrow, winding mountain roads with one hand on the wheel, all the while either singing or maintaining a constant stream of chatter. Upon getting in the car, I had asked if there was a buckle for the lonely hanging seatbelt -- she only laughed. I draped the loose strap across my lap for mental comfort. When we finally made it there, dizzy but blessedly intact, Jim, a friend from England, emerged with his arm permanently stuck upright and knuckles white from clutching the coat hanger.

On the way up, we had passed a flaming pile of rubbish. Tidza joked: "Don't worry, we're just burning some Serbs." I stifled criticism -- it was clearly not my place. I knew from Knute that she had lost friends and relatives during the war.

At one point, after an afternoon hike and hours of sitting around sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes (Bosnia's favourite pastimes), Tidza picked up a large bread knife, fixed a crazy look in her eyes and started waving it around, giggling. Her friend Ina obviously took this as a sign that we were now in a weapons-free zone, and suddenly a black BB gun emerged from her purse. She proceeded to shoot Knute in the back, me in the, ahem, crown jewels and Owusu in the leg. At this, Owusu took control of the situation by comandeering the gun and giving them a verbal dressing down. An awkward silence prevailed as they went into the corner to sulk and, of course, smoke more cigarettes.

After all this, I thought to myself: "Welcome to Bosnia!"

Becoming Britney in Dubrovnik

More photos

Mike (at right), 37-year old court prosecutor, entertains his male fans with a stirring rendition of Madonna's "Like a Virgin." I joined a big group of court people on a weekend trip to Dubrovnik, Croatia, and on Saturday we decided to hit up the town's karaoke bar.

My friend Rob, who works for the Defense, and I decided to jump up on stage and perform Britney Spears' timeless classic "Baby Hit Me One More Time." Naturally, this decision was made after a few bottles of liquid courage. We poured our heart and souls into the performance, including enthusiastic and artfully-executed dance maneuvers, hip jiggling and chest rubbing, and plenty of falsetto. The tourists in the bar lapped it up -- indeed we were later accosted in the street by some Kiwis who screamed "Hey look! It's the Britney Spears guys!" My first "Wow, I'm a celebrity" life moment.

But apparently the Croatians take their karaoke very seriously, as they all looked on with crossed arms and furrowed eyebrows. The ensuing, straight-faced performances of soft rock classics by beefy Croatian men confirmed this.

Umbrellas in the Court

More photos

I came to Sarajevo to work at the State Court of Bosnia and Herzegovina, specifically for the management section, the Registry, which supports the War Crimes and Organized Crimes sections of the Court. In a few years, the Court will be composed entirely of Bosnian nationals, but for now there are plenty of internationals like me floating around, essentially helping the Bosnian government rear this baby Court -- it is only a year old -- into a fully functional arm of the law. In the meantime, many of the war crimes cases from the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (the ICTY, which is in the Hague) are gradually being transferred here. The idea is to establish the rule of law in Bosnia and, namely, allow the victims of the war to mete out their own justice.

Strangely enough, a war crimes court is a goofy work environment. Everyone takes their jobs extremely seriously, of course -- how can you not? -- but when you deal with horrific atrocities and a highly dysfunctional governmental structure every day, laughter preserves sanity. Often the humour pertains to these very horrors in a sick but necessary way which outsiders might find offensive. I have often found that those involved in human rights have the most twisted senses of humour.

In addition, the various departments of the Court operate with strict confidentiality for legal purposes -- for example, Prosecution naturally cannot divulge details about cases to Judicial Support, the section which helps judges. So, at lunchtime no one discusses work. Instead, wisecracking is the order of the day, especially constant ribbing. To survive, you must learn the fine art of responding to rapid-fire mockery from finely-tuned legal minds.

Pictured at left is my boss, Inma, a tiny exuberant lady from the Basque region of Spain. She is a feared, uncomprising pitbull with co-workers, but also a charmer who sends me encouraging emails like "Rock & Roll!!!!" - her favourite expression. At right is my officemate, hombre, and general partner in crime, Owusu from Ghana. On only my third day of work, we were told by our administrator, Javier, that we had to move offices. He warned us that our new workspace had a leaky ceiling and issued umbrellas. As it turned out, it was just the loveable, cursing, smoking Spaniard up to no good again.

Sarajevo Sunrise

More photos

I arrived in Sarajevo at 5:45am after a taxing 40-hour journey from Montreal. As I sat exhausted on the Cathedral steps in the frigid 6:00am air, waiting for my Dutch friend Elias (whom I met last summer) to pick me up, I decided to try and finish the Yugoslavian history book I was reading so as not to arrive a complete ignorant fool. I reached a chapter about the infamous 1994 Sarajevo "market square bomb," when 68 civilians were slaughtered by a lone mortar shell. It was an event that shocked the world and did more than anything to prompt international intervention in the war. I looked up from the page and realized I was sitting within sight of that very square. Only then did I notice the bullet hole ridden walls and impact craters visible everywhere, scars still festering 10 years after the end of the war.

Shortly after this sobering moment, Elias arrived shivering, sporting a hooded sweater and bloodshot eyes, grumbling about having to wake up so early -- forgiveable, considering he was letting me stay in his appartment for a few days. I snapped this shot from his window moments after walking in -- my first picture in Bosnia.

And so it begins...

This is the first post. That is all.