Like most towns in this neck of the Balkans, Sarajevo has a history. Even before the Turks arrived in the mid 15th century, it was a thriving market town. It nestles between wooded hills and is split by the babbling river Milijica, right in the centre of Bosnia Herzegovina, near the source of the river Bosna, which kindly gives the country half its name.

The Bašèaršija is the main market square, and the hub of the inner city. Over forty cramped streets radiate off it. In the market you can buy carved wooden toys, Tag Heuer watches, handmade tin coffee pots and cups, and AC Milan football shirts. Or you can do what most locals do and sit outside a cafe with your tiny cup of coffee and watch the world, and the SFOR peacekeepers, pass by.

Sarajevo is jammers with places of worship. The neo-Gothic Roman Catholic Cathedral is a youngster being only just over a hundred years old. The Jewish museum was a synagogue when it was built in 1556. A nearby Orthodox church has been there since 1539. But the daddy of them all is the Gazi Husrev Beg mosque, which first opened its doors in 1531. It's one of many mosques in town. Even if you don't see them, you'll hear them. Chants or prayers ring out over the city from each mosque, even at night. They woke me up.

Among the few secular buildings of note is the nineteenth century Town Hall behind the market. This is where the Austro-Hungarian rulers used to hang out before World War I was kicked off by a Bosnian Serb shooting the Habsburg heir from a nearby bridge. After Yugoslavia became a country, the town hall became a library. Unfortunately it, and thousands of books, were destroyed in a fire caused by the Serbs during the war.

To the west of the market is Novo Sarajevo. This is where most locals live. There are lots and lots of tower blocks. Through them runs the road to the airport. During the war this was known as 'Snipers' Alley' because the Serbs shot anything that moved on it. You probably saw it on TV. Many of the buildings in Novo Sarajevo remain in ruins, and most still show scars of the siege. The surrounding hills are dotted with red roofs and graveyards. It's quite a shock, as you wander around marvelling at the quaint streets and picturesque buildings, and then you're confronted by thousands of new bright white tombstones, shining in the sunlight.

Besim was very eager to please. I was a bit apprehensive about staying with an unaccredited stranger, but he seemed more worried that I would steal his stuff. On the first morning we had breakfast. Besim produced a tray with some syrupy cake, a pot of Bosnian coffee, and a glass of water flavoured with rose petals. I was impressed. As we talked a mix tape with Santana, Moloko and Bob Marley played in the background.

Besim brought up the subject of the war. He said that under Tito everybody lived together ok. Then Tito died and Tudjman and Milosovic messed everything up. For three years the Serbs laid siege to Sarajevo, and Besim had no electricity or running water. Ten thousand civilians died during this time.

The next afternoon we had coffee on the terrace, which overlooks the Bašèaršija. There's a super view of the surrounding hills. He says he dared not go out on the terrace during the siege, that from his window he could clearly see the Serbian positions on the hillside. One night three grenades landed on his roof and blew up his home. He didn't want to say anymore. Like I said, he lives alone.

Now, instead of Serbs on the hillsides, there are graveyards. Besim's home was rebuilt with help from the Norwegian government. He is thankful and just happy the war is over. He doesn't seem to hold any grudges. He says he is a telecommunications engineer and he works from home. He says most people lost their jobs during the war. He spends most days in a cafe near the Bašèaršija, keeping an eye out for someone to fill his rooms. If he can get someone to take his bed, he sleeps in the kitchen. He smokes all the time. He doesn't talk much or make eye contact when he does.

Besim strongly recommended I visit the source of the river Bosna, just outside the city. I wasn't planning to, but such was his vehemence I thought I'd better go. The source is at the end of a dappled three kilometre tree lined avenue. It's a serene place, with bubbling springs and placid pools in the shadow of darkly wooded mountains. It was picturesque enough, but I think it has a more important symbolic significance for Besim. These few scattered springs and pools combine and flow on together, giving Bosnia its name, and maybe its right to exist. And even after all the madness of the last ten years, they still do.

Sarajevo is a challenging city for visitors on a more practical level too. No bankomats would take my card. Only one bank in the city would cash my travellers cheques.(Hint: bring deutschmarks, most places take 'em) No one in the bus station speaks any English. There are no hostels and the hotels are very expensive because of all the international observers and non profit organisations. But this only adds to the challenge.

The rebuilt/medieval inner city is very beautiful. The people are friendly. The weather was fantastic. The SFOR patrols didn't bother me. The food was good: I recommend burek. The coffee was great. It's an eh, educational mix of east and west. It's also very busy. International money is helping rebuild houses, public transport, educational establishments and tourist facilities. But the most impressive, and already finished, new and renovated buildings are the places of worship. As we walked through the city the first day, Besim pointed out a Mosque, Roman Catholic Cathedral, Synagogue and Orthodox Church, all side by side. He said he was proud that they could all live together in peace. As he said this three SFOR soldiers passed by. Later I asked Besim what would happen if the peacekeepers left. He shrugged his shoulders.