Zurich
I said goodbye to Katarina and flew back to Zurich.
Dreams above the clouds. A cold gust from the air conditioning woke me. But Katarina wasn't there. Andrea Boccelli was luckier than I.
On me was lying only the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung. I leafed through the paper, and came upon an opinion piece on the recent history of South-East Europe:
"The experiences of the former Yugoslavia under Tito showed that the ideology of fraternity and unity of the peoples laid down by the Communists was as just as little incapable of ensuring the stabilisation of the region as of the tyranny at home or elsewhere... The "latecomer nations" of the Balkans need the West's help on their road to Europe, because the region has no tradition of democracy: despots must be fought with violence if need be, and democracy must be built with resolution and tenacity."
In Sarajevo I was one of the stones in the mosaic of this help from the West. That's what I was. Should I not go back? Many people had felt abandoned by me, let down, as I had found out a few days ago. I had a bad conscience above the clouds.
In Zurich I decided to book a flight onward to Sarajevo. I wanted to go back again.
