Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina, sits in a valley surrounded by mountains in the heart of the Balkans. It’s often described as where East meets West, and you can really feel that blend—Ottoman mosques, Austro-Hungarian buildings, churches, synagogues, and cafés all sharing the same streets.
I didn’t know much about Sarajevo before I arrived. It was a stop on day four of a 10‑day Balkans trip with Intrepid Travel (You can read more about that full itinerary in my post Hiking the Balkans: 10 Days, 4 Countries).
I knew Sarajevo had hosted the Winter Olympics and was known for skiing and hiking—but I didn’t realize what it had been through. During the Bosnian War, the city endured the nearly four-year Siege of Sarajevo. It faced daily shelling, sniper fire, and huge civilian losses—scars still visible today.
I only had about eight hours in Sarajevo—three the night we arrived and five the next morning before we had to move on. Our Intrepid guide spent that first evening walking us through the city center, packing in as much as he could in a short amount of time. It was a fast-paced overview which covered a ton—architecture, history, war, culture—all laid out in the streets around us.
One of our first stops was City Hall, or Vijećnica. Its Moorish-style design really stands out with bold arches and warm colors that feel totally different from the rest of the city. It was built during the Austro-Hungarian era and later rebuilt after being badly damaged in the war.
You can’t miss it—not just because of the architecture, but because of the big yellow “Sarajevo” sign out front. It’s a popular selfie spot, including at night when the sign lights up.
Just across the Miljacka River from City Hall is a little building with one of the better stories in town—Inat Kuća, or the House of Spite. It’s just across a small bridge and sits in perfect view of the grand building it once protested. Back when they were planning to build the new city hall, the man who lived there refused to let his house be torn down.
After a standoff with the city, they agreed to move it—brick by brick—to the other side of the river. He insisted it be rebuilt exactly the same, mostly so he could still enjoy his view from the oriel window. Oh, he got it just as it was—brick for brick—but joke’s on him: it now faces the street. Today it’s a restaurant, but the name still fits perfectly—the House of Spite.
We made our way to Baščaršija Square, with narrow cobblestone streets leading off in different directions. The area is full of Ottoman-era buildings, markets, little shops, and cafés. In the middle of the square is the Sebilj fountain, with its wooden roof and old-world charm. It was built in the 1700s and has kind of become a symbol of the city.
Just a short walk from the square is Ferhadija Street, where you’ll find a marker that represents the point where East meets West. Literally. One side has Ottoman-style buildings, and the other has Austro-Hungarian architecture. Remember how I mentioned earlier that Sarajevo is known for that cultural blend? This is where you really see it come together—in the span of a few steps.
As we made our way through the narrow streets of downtown, the tall minaret of the Gazi Husrev-beg Mosque came into view —our next stop. Just inside the courtyard is a traditional Ottoman-style wooden šadrvan, built over the fountains where worshippers wash their hands, face, and feet before prayer. The woodwork is simple but beautifully detailed.
From the mosque’s courtyard, you can see the Sarajevo Clock Tower, which still follows the lunar cycle to mark daily prayer times. It’s actually one of the only clock towers in the world that does. The time resets daily so that sunset always lines up with 12:00, and someone still climbs up and adjusts it by hand every few days to keep it on track.
From there, we headed to Sacred Heart Cathedral—the main Catholic church in the city and the largest in the country. It was built in the late 1800s in a neo-Gothic style, with tall twin towers and a rose window that’s said to resemble Notre-Dame—which I’d agree with. Like so many buildings in Sarajevo, it was damaged during the war. If you look closely, you can still see marks from shelling on the outer walls.
Out front, there’s a statue of Pope John Paul II, placed there after his 1997 visit, which came at a time when the country was still healing. His visit meant a lot—it was the first time a pope had ever visited Bosnia.
On the sidewalk in front of the cathedral, a framed piece of concrete with a red splotch—almost like a painted poppy—caught my eye. It turned out to be a Sarajevo Rose. Each red-filled crater marks where a mortar shell landed during the Siege of Sarajevo (1992–1996), honoring the civilians who were killed there.
You’ll find around 200 of them across the city, but they don’t represent every loss—only where a crater remained and someone chose to preserve it.
We also stopped at the site where Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated—the moment that basically triggered World War I. There’s a small plaque and a pair of footprints on the sidewalk marking the spot where the assassin, Gavrilo Princip, stood when he fired the shots. The Archduke and his wife, Sophie, were riding in an open car when their driver made a wrong turn near the Latin Bridge—right past Princip, who just happened to be standing there. He pulled out a gun and shot them both.
Turns out Princip wasn’t even supposed to be the one who pulled it off—he was one of several assassins positioned around the city that day, and the others had already failed. It was that wrong turn that brought the car right to him.
The building on the corner is now a small museum about Austro-Hungarian Sarajevo and the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand.
The next morning, with about five hours to myself, I set off to explore more of Sarajevo. My first stop was the Genocide Museum—just around the corner from the Sacred Heart Cathedral— which my guide had pointed out the night before.
Gallery 11/07/95 is small but powerful. It’s entirely focused on the Srebrenica genocide—quiet, focused, and deeply emotional. It’s named for July 11, 1995, when over 8,000 Bosniak men and boys were killed in a UN-declared “safe zone,” the worst massacre in Europe since WWII.
And why Sarajevo? Because it sits at the center of Bosnia’s story. By placing the gallery in the heart of the city, it keeps Srebrenica visible, accessible, and part of everyday conversation.
You walk through photo after photo—black-and-white portraits, images of mass graves, personal belongings dug up years later. There’s a room playing survivor testimonies and documentary footage. It’s intense, hard—but really important.
After leaving the museum, I wandered a bit and noticed a piece of street art stenciled onto a wall: a black-and-white face with the words “RIP Vedran Puljić” under it, next to a blue rabbit holding a heart.
I didn’t know the name, so I looked him up. Turns out he was a Croat football fan from Mostar who was shot and killed in Sarajevo in 2009 during clashes between rival supporter groups. I hadn’t heard anything about it before. And with everything else Sarajevo has been through, it just felt like one more layer of tragedy. This city holds so much history—some of it officially remembered, and some of it easy to miss if you’re not looking closely.
I kept walking and ended up at Pijaca Markale, Sarajevo’s busy open-air market where locals shop for fresh fruit, veggies, and daily essentials. The market was hit by two mortar attacks during the Bosnian War. A few Sarajevo Roses mark the exact spots where the shells landed, making it a place of both daily life and remembrance.
Later, I walked to Liberation Square, where the “Multicultural Man” statue stands among rose bushes. It’s meant to symbolize peace and unity, and the setting reflects that. People were sitting on benches, talking quietly, enjoying the day. The roses made the space feel even more peaceful.
I also passed the ruins of Tashlihan, a caravanserai built in the 16th century that once served as a major inn and trading post for merchants traveling through the city. There’s not much left, just a few remnants and a sign marking the spot.
Later, on my way to the cable car station which takes you up to the Olympic park, I stopped at the Sarajevo Brewery—a well-known spot.
They don’t offer tours of the actual brewery, but there’s a small museum on site that covers the city’s brewing tradition and how it’s tied to Sarajevo’s Austro-Hungarian past. After a very quick look around, I headed to the bar and had a Sarajevsko, their signature beer –I mean how could I not?
Full from my beer, I made my way to the Sarajevo cable car station, located at the base of Trebević Mountain—climbing a few flights of stairs to get there.
The cable cars were originally built in 1959, destroyed during the Bosnian War (1992–1995), and rebuilt in 2018. The ride gives you sweeping views over Sarajevo and the surrounding mountains.
At the top, I followed a path down to the old bobsled track—built for the 1984 Winter Olympics, now covered in graffiti and overgrown in places, but still striking. During the war, Serb forces used it as an artillery position, and bullet holes and war damage scar the concrete.
The graffiti-covered track was cracked and overgrown, quiet except for the sound of my steps. It felt forgotten, but still heavy with history.
It’s a place caught between two eras—echoes of Olympic glory and scars of brutal war. And yeah, it felt a little haunted.
After exploring the area, I hiked back down to town on a marked woodland path that eventually led me back into the city. I didn’t realize until later how important it is to stay on the main trails—parts of Trebević Mountain were mined during the war, and although most areas have been cleared, a few sections are still off-limits. So if you’re visiting, be smart and stick to the marked paths.
Before heading back to the hotel to meet up with my group for the trip to Montenegro, I stopped for one last bite in Baščaršija. Just off the main square, I found Buregdžinica Bosna, a local favorite for flaky pastries. I went for the spinach-and-cheese burek—warm, crisp, and perfect with a quick coffee.
Eight hours in Sarajevo wasn’t nearly enough—but I covered a lot.
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