Here Comes the Bride

Sarajevo

I took a walk along the main road that leads to the airport earlier. As its former name of Sniper Alley suggests, ten years ago I'd have been summarily shot, but these days colourful trams rattle happily up and down past such buildings as the absurdly bright yellow Holiday Inn, now fully back to normal after a spell as the world's most infamous hotel.

That part of Sarajevo is away from the old town and city centre which both look great in the Saturday afternoon sunshine. The only thing that gives it away is the off-duty soldiers mingling with the tourists and locals on their day off. But down where I was today there are still plenty of huge, derelict buildings riddled with bullet holes. On the pavements, lots of what they call 'Sarajevo roses' - big gashes where wayward artillery shells landed. The ice rink used for the 1984 Olympics has seen better days too.

As I was pondering all this rather sober stuff, cars tooting their horns all started whipping by. About 15 - and yes there were some Yugos and Ladas in there - went by with flowers tied to their bonnets. Arriving back at the hostel later, I found they'd all parked up at the restaurant down the road for what was clearly a wedding reception. I stood and watched all this until I realised I was in the photographer's shot behind the bride and groom, and quickly legged it before I was pursued by an irate Bosnian mob.

The call to prayer's ringing round the streets, time for me to head on back and get ready for a night on the tiles.