A trip I did not take has haunted me for several years. Despite my most fervent wishes I could not make it to Sarajevo for the centennial commemoration of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie’s assassination by the Bosnian Serb nationalist, Gavrilo Princip. The assassination was one of the most consequential in human history. It led directly to the Great War, which killed or maimed tens of millions leading to a reordering of the geopolitical landscape that reverberates right up to the present. On June 28, 2014 a ceremony was held in Sarajevo at the spot where Princip carried out his deadly historical deed. Due to the nature of my work, I was unable to travel during the summer of 2014. All I could do was read about the ceremony and dream about what might have been.
My disappointment was ameliorated by the memory of a visit I had made to Sarajevo in March 2011. On that trip, I visited the street corner where the assassination occurred. Little did I know that I could have done another centennial commemoration on this trip, one that had nothing to do with the assassination. That is because in 1911, three years before Princip fired those fateful shots, Baedeker published what was to be the last edition of their Austria-Hungary Handbook For Travellers. The firm had no way of knowing this at the time. Just as they had no way of knowing that Austria-Hungary would disintegrate a mere seven years later at the end of World War I. The 1911 Baedeker’s coverage of Sarajevo makes fascinating reading when compared to how one modern guidebook chose to interpret the city.
A Multi-Dimensional Portrait – The Way To See Sarajevo
The difference in descriptions of Sarajevo from the guidebook I used while visiting in 2011 versus that of Baedeker’s in 1911 are easily discernible. The Lonely Planet guide to the Western Balkans begins its description of the city with this chilling sentence: “In the 1990’s Sarajevo was on the edge of annihilation.” Contrast that reminder of the apocalyptic Yugoslav Wars with the detail laden description of the city by Baedeker: “Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia-Herzegovina, seat of the provincial government, headquarters of the 15th Army Corps, and residence of a Roman Catholic Archbishop, of a Servian (sic) Orthodox Metropolitan, and of a Mohammaden Reis-ul-Ulema, with 51,870 inhab. (18,460 Mohammedans and 6400 Jews) and a garrison of 5000 men, lies in a narrow valley of the Miljacka, at the foot and on the slopes of partly wooded hills rising to a height of 5250 ft.” Reading the former, one cannot help but sense that the city has just barely managed to survive a near death experience. The feeling that fate fell heavy handed on Sarajevo, no matter what else is said after that initial sentence – much of which is quite positive – cannot be shaken by the reader.
In contrast. Baedeker opens its introduction to Sarajevo with a withering amount of facts. While they might be construed as nothing more than hard data, these details leave much open to the readers interpretation. From this intro, the reader comes to understand that Sarajevo is a religiously diverse city. The words Catholic, Orthodox, Mohammaden and Jews are all found in a single sentence. At the same time, the reader also learns of a martial aspect – “15th Army Corps” “garrison of 5,000 men”- to be found in Sarajevo. The topographical description of the city’s situation “lies in a narrow valley” and “at the foot and on the slopes of partly wooded hills” is picturesque. The overall effect of Baedeker’s style is to create a multi-dimensional portrait. Modern guidebooks have the difficult task of trying to rescue Sarajevo from the shadows of its 20th century history. Baedeker had no idea of the future. Its job was to describe the present and past. And that is just what it did, making Sarajevo shine like a ray of sun within its pages.
Bazaar Transformations – The Near Abroad
To an astonishing degree, most of the sites in Sarajevo listed by Baedeker still existed when I visited. This, despite the destruction wrought by two World Wars and that internecine conflict of the 1990’s that was just as deadly. I was able to visit the Serbian Orthodox Church, Roman Catholic Cathedral and Husref Beg Mosque. At the latter, just as Baedeker advised, I was only allowed to enter the mosque “using the overshoes which the visitor must put on.” Business and commerce were largely segregated in much the same fashion in 2011 as Baedeker described a century earlier, with one sad caveat. The guidebook stated that in this “modern part of the town trade and business are mostly in the hands of Jews and Christians”. The Jews were decimated by the Holocaust, but the reconstructed, modern part of the city is a westernized, prototypically small European city center, largely run by the non-Muslim portion of the population.
Meanwhile the bazaar is still a vital part of the Old Turkish part of town where Bosniaks reign supreme. Conversely, many of the stalls are no longer run by Muslim merchantmen, but by attractive women. In 1911, Baedeker pointed out that many of the items on sale in the bazaar were not homemade, but reputedly came from Austria. A century later, I could not help but wonder how many of the “local” items such as rugs and copperware had been shipped in from Guangzhou. The influence of outsiders was just as pronounced in 2011 as 1911. Everything was supposed to have changed in Sarajevo during the 20th century, but I found the changes to be ones of nuance rather than degree.
An Unexpected Delight – Recreating A Lost Reality
Of course, Baedeker had no way of knowing that Sarajevo would prove to be the pivot point on which the world would turn away from peace and towards world war. They had no way of knowing that in their two excellent maps of Sarajevo could be found the place where fate and enmity would collude just a few years later, starting a process that would end up bringing an entire world to the point of collapse. It is both endearing and ominous to read Baedeker on Sarajevo a century after the fact. The no frills explanations of an astonishing city, one that Lonely Planet would later call an “unexpected delight”. An unexpected delight when what has come to be expected is war, upheaval and seemingly endless reconstruction. That was the Sarajevo I expected to see in 2011, thankfully what I discovered had much more in common with 1911. Reading Baedeker over a hundred years after its publication brought that lost reality back to me