Three times a week, I go to exercise at the gym in the Central Hotel. I have individual training sessions with a personal trainer, and it’s going great. The workouts start at 7 a.m., but I arrive half an hour earlier to “walk” on the treadmill. I live in Dobrinja, which means I have to travel literally across the entire city to get to the Central. I’ve noticed that drivers at dawn are nervous, sleepy, and some are probably hungover. I’ve narrowly avoided accidents a few times for exactly these reasons. On top of that, there’s no parking at the Central, so I always park “illegally,” which means that for nearly two years now – going to workouts regularly – I’ve been ticketed by the police at least twice a month.
So, the decision to start taking the trolleybus to the gym finally seemed logical. A few days ago, I took the trolleybus in the morning for the first time. It was great. Clean, orderly, and during “my” early-morning time slot, there are only about twenty passengers. It’s quiet, since most people fall asleep as soon as they sit down… By the time I get to the final stop (Austria Square), I’ve already read all the emails that came in overnight and browsed through the major news headlines. A perfect start to the day, and even on that very first morning, I wondered why I hadn’t started doing this sooner.
Besides “finally coming to my senses,” it reminded me of one of my greatest adventures related to Sarajevo public transport – the first and still the only theatre performance in a tram.
It was 1970. We were sitting in the “Little Theatre,” today’s Chamber Theatre 55: Dubravko Bibanović (Biban), Safet Plakalo, Zijah Sokolović (Zike), Josip Pejaković (Conja), and myself. The Little Theatre was our favorite meeting spot. We’d sit in the bistro, sip Mujo’s plum brandy, and spend hours in great company.
One evening, Zike and Conja complained about the roles they were getting after finishing drama school. They were always cast as some kind of “court jesters,” but they felt ready for serious, proper theatre roles. Biban, who had just started studying theatre directing, said, “No problem – we’ll create the first-ever theatre performance in a tram with real roles for the two of you.” When he saw the surprise on our faces, he explained: “Comte de Lautréamont wrote The Songs of Maldoror, a very serious piece of literature that would suit you well if you’re looking for real, serious roles. We’ll mic up the tram, and you two will stand at the back and perform the text. Passengers will get on and off as they please and, in the meantime, be part of a theatre performance. Since it’s happening in a tram, we’ll rename it from The Songs of Maldoror to Maldoror’s Tram.”
We were thrilled with Biban’s idea. Zike and Conja would finally get roles that would showcase their full acting talent. We were all excited to take part in creating a historic, first-ever theatre performance in a tram.
We agreed: Zike and Conja would act, Biban would direct, Safet would do a small text adaptation, and I would be the producer – find the funds for necessary expenses, secure the tram, and take care of everything else.
The very next morning, I called Izet Buševac, director of GRAS (Sarajevo’s Public Transit Company), but had no luck. His secretary told me he’d be busy all day. That went on for about twenty days. I just couldn’t get through.
One evening at the Little Theatre, everything was ready (the text was memorized, Biban had done his directing work…), except I still didn’t have the tram. I felt embarrassed. I looked at the clock – it was 10 p.m. I jumped up like I’d been shocked, said goodbye to everyone, ran out of the theatre, flagged down the first taxi, and headed to the train station. I just barely caught the express train to Belgrade – I was off to get a tram.
Six months earlier, the Hotel Jugoslavija in Belgrade had opened – the first deluxe-category hotel in our country. It was the grand entrance of capitalism into a socialist state. By chance (which I’ll write more about in tomorrow’s diary), I had already “lived” in Jugoslavija for a month and knew it well. The rooms had no direct long-distance phone lines. If you wanted to call another city, you had to call the operator, give them the number and the name of the person you wanted to speak to. Then the operator would call that person and always say the same line: “Good day, this is Hotel Jugoslavija Belgrade, one of our guests is calling you…” When people heard that, they’d freeze – hey, a guest from Hotel Jugoslavija is calling you, that’s no small thing. That was the reaction I was counting on from Izet Buševac and his secretary. In my mind, it was the only way I could get the tram. That’s why I boarded the night train to Belgrade.
In the morning, I got a taxi from the station straight to the hotel. I booked a room, called the operator, and asked for a call to Izet Buševac. He answered immediately, was very polite, and curious to know what he owed the pleasure of a call from Hotel Jugoslavija. He loved the idea of a theatre performance in a tram, said there’d be no problem at all, that we could count on having a tram, and gave me an appointment for the next morning to finalize the details.
After I hung up, I went down to the reception to pay the bill. The receptionist said, “But you’ve just arrived?” I replied, “I don’t like the room!” I paid the bill, got in a taxi, and caught the same train back to Sarajevo.
The next day, Buševac received me “like a king.” We agreed on everything. I remember it was autumn, Marijin Dvor was covered in leaves. It was raining, and everything turned to mud. The public transit company ordered (and paid for) two fire trucks to wash down the tram platform from which Maldoror’s Tram would depart.
The performance was excellent. The passengers were pleasantly surprised, and people talked about it for days across Sarajevo – it was written about in the media, too. Theatre had “descended” among the people. That’s exactly what we need even today.
I mentioned that right after the hotel opened, when guests were still rare, I “lived” in Jugoslavija for a month – and soon after that, I would spend the last ten days of every month for an entire year in that hotel.
