Nachricht Nummer : 215
Übertragungszeit : 3 min 53 sec
Nachricht von    : WAM@ZAMIR-ZG.ZER.sub.org
Betrifft         : Zagreb Diary 2 August, 1993
Erstellungsdatum : 05.08.1993 09:33:00 S+2

Realname: Wam Kat

Zagreb Diary 2 August, 1993

Dobar dan,

This morning we left from Split to Brac. In the harbour we saw the arriving 
of the first 48 vehicles (mostly Italians (in private cars, a few trucks and one 
bus), I saw only one Swedish car, I total I guess about 200 people, but with 
a lot of humanitarian aid) of Sada Mir (Peace Now), who are on their way to 
Sarajevo. A strange feeling they are coming from peaceful Europe and 
going into the war, and we are coming out of the war and going to the 
peace. For a moment I was thinking of joining them, when I saw them with 
the peace T-shirts and rainbow flags, but after trying to talk with them the 
idea fastly went out of my mind, it is their action and I wish them a lot of 
success, but I don't feel part of it. When Ognjen and I tried to open a 
conversation with them nobody really liked to talk with us, they all pointed at 
their leader, who was busy to put all the cars in place and didn't had any 
time for us. We introduced ourselves as being from the Anti War Campaign 
of Croatia, but also that didn't helped, when I asked how they thought to 
drive to Sarajevo, the only answer was that everything was organised, so we 
gave up and watched them furtheron from the boat.  

I am sitting now on a the waterside in the evening sun which slowly, but 
fast, sinks in red orange burning colours behind the mountains on the other 
side of the bay, it is only a question of minutes and the sun will be gone. My 
shoes are placed on the letters NDH (the free Croatian Republic (during the 
second world war), which somebody carved in the concrete when it wasn't 
dry yet. About 50 meters away from me to small fishing boats are passing 
by, returning from their evening catch. Just about 10 meters from me sits 
an old women in obvious Muslim clothes with her paper white legs in the 
water, she is probably one of the refugees, who are living here in the local 
hotel. Besides refugees there are no strangers in the village, although I am 
sitting in front of a brand new holiday resort (the fact that somebody could 
carve NDH in the new concrete means that it must have been build in the 
last two years, at least this part).

I am on Brac, on the other side of the bay the local children are jumping in 
the water and making a lot of noise, but on this side it is quiet, the motors of 
the fishing boats have stopped a few seconds ago, so I only hear the kids. 
On my side of the bay I see only some older women from the Hotel, who are 
obvious not so used to sea water and some teenager girls from the village 
which are taking their evening bath. For the rest it is only the golden light 
from the sun which colouring my picture from a fairy tale book.

A few hours ago I went with Ognjen into the village, the only working shop 
opens when the electricity comes, at 5 in the afternoon, but the shop is 
nearly empty, there use to be thousand of screaming and wild behaving 
tourist in this village at this time of the year, but now there is none of it. I 
know I should feel sorry for all those locals who put their money on the 
tourist session, like the other part of Croatia, especially Dalmatia, Brac has 
organised themselves a huge promotion campaign during the spring in the 
hope to get their share of the international tourist market. The Croatian state 
helped them by investing in the new airport on the island, Tudjman opened 
it with a big speech some months ago, stating that this was a step in the 
direction for building up the economy of this part of Croatia. But nothing, 
Brac is if possible more empty than last year. The only regular stream of 
foreigners are formed by the Suncokret volunteers, which are beside from 
working with in the hotel here, are also active in three more places on the 
Island.

For Ognjen and Biljana, who I join in their holidays with their two children 
this trip on Brac is actually a luxe, which they can't really afford. But that is 
nothing special, now after two years of war and an economy which is going 
backwards all the time, taking a holiday is unpayable for nearly everybody. 
Due to the fact that the foreign tourist didn't came to this hotel, in which a 
few months ago Muslim refugees were living which were removed to make 
place for the tourists, the price will be not so high as normal. To be honest 
we still don't know what we have to pay, it was already hard enough to find 
anybody who knew were the keys were. They only thing what I have to do is 
keeping my mouth, since if they found out that I am not a Croat the price will 
be probably two or three times higher, but that is life.

The sun is totally gone and in the golden waves of the sea I see three 
heads, a light breeze goes over the water. What I miss is my girlfriend and 
my children, but for the rest it is like a small paradise. From the Hotel were 
the refugees are staying the smell of coffee comes with the breeze, in front 
of the hotel in the water I see children playing, who learned how to swim 
(from the foreign volunteers) in the last months. Last year when they just 
arrived here they were afraid of the water, in their small mountain villages in 
BiH they mostly only have a small river to play in, with ice cold water, here 
the water is half warm and so deep that you can't stand in it.

Slowly the golden light disappears and in a few minutes from now it will start 
to get darker, the local girls just passed by on their way to the village, the 
Muslim women also went to her room in the hotel, another day of here 
unlimited waiting is over, in an hour she will start listening to the news from 
BiH again in the hope that she can leave this peaceful paradise and go 
home from where she came. I, at the other hand, hope that will be able to sit 
on this bay in a couple of years, watching the same sun, but I think that than 
the quietness will be far away, at least I hope it for the locals.

Bok I Mir from Zagreb,

							Wam
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