Category Archives: Story

We stay in a towering residential block in a suburb of Sarajevo. The meetings for this day are rescheduled for another day. By the evening, a plan B has been arranged. There would be music! Three violins and a mandolin start their B repertoire. Melodies from Bulgaria, Bosnia, Brazil, Belgium,… pass in review.

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We are standing in Mostar, Bosnia. We are looking at a bridge. That bridge. The bridge.

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UNESCO? or Tito? Sisan, a small village in Istria. They speak Croatian and Italian. The only restaurant is packed. Let’s stay hungry.

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We are in Pazin, a small town in the middle of the Croatian peninsula of Istria. A group of local musicians is playing songs from the region but also from far beyond. Some contradictions linger in the air, but nearby, violins and an accordion, wind and fire, thoughts take their course: who are we, where and when…?

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Minorities are sung about in all music, all over the world. Hiraeth is also a story with minorities. Count them. Because a minority is never far away. Even if there are many of you.

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The suitcase is packed, expectations are high. Departing for the Balkans, in search of music, images and stories of melancholy in all its tones.

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A very hot summer evening in Slovenia. A courtyard of a hostel in Ljubljana. There are three musicians. At the very back, 4 security guards stand around, hanging out uninterested and talking a tiny bit too loud. What exactly there is to secure is not entirely clear. But is it ever?

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Music is music. The source of melancholy? Here’s a music school around the corner. Maybe that’s a good place to start that search?

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All the good consists of 3. Right through the traffic-free center of Ljubljana, the Ljubljanica flows. The bustling, tourist part on one side, the calmer historic center on the other side of the river. In the center of that center is a beautiful square. Named after France Prešeren a well known romantic poet. To connect his square with the other bank, one built three bridges at just 10 meters apart. Three! Why three? What is the story of these bridges?

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They step. They climb. Two Slovenians, Two Belgians. The four climb a hill. A hill, not a mountain. But when does a hill become a mountain?

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20/27