Drinking mulled wine- warm red wine spiced with cinnamon, cloves and orange in a smoky old Sarajevo pub. Reading Dickens' "Oliver Twist" with jazz blaring through the joint and a smattering of languages bouncing off the wall. I don't get much happier than this.
I moved on to a smoky old restaurant where I sat on the top floor with old Bosnian folk music blaring. I ate ćevapčići (small lil spiced sausages) in a lepinja, a giant Bosnian pita bread with a side of sliced onions and ajvar- red pepper and eggplant spread, while I chatted with Amer and Hassan.
"Is Brooklyn dangerous?" asked Amer as he bought me a large bottle of Sarajevsko beer.
"Is Sarajevo dangerous?" I replied.
50 Cent came on, and we bobbed our heads. It's your birthday. Not mine, but I will accept it.
It did not take me long to love Sarajevo- sitting precariously on old Ottomania and Austro-Hungaria.