Rewriting History in Visoko; Bosnian Pyramids?

Today I looked again, and considered other versions of history in the BiH, which has many histories, and many stories. I went on a solo journey to Visoko, where in the Valley of King, hills are being crowned as Bosnian Pyramids, and history is rewritten, overwritten, denied, and held fast.

According to Tim Clancy’s Bradt guidebook on Bosnia-Herzegovina, the municipality of Visoko is “host to more protected cultural heritage monuments” than any other municipality in the BiH; the settlement traces back to neolithic time. What made it attractive to me, though, given that I spend at least 25% of every grocery store visit reading the tabloids at check-out, and went into mourning when World Weekly News stopped its presses, was the potential discovery of the “Bosnian Pyramids”. So, I got on the bus to Visoko, for 6.30KM (about $6.50 USD) to see what was up with that.

And, as luck would have it, the only taxi-driver at the Visoko bus station spoke no English. But he definitely knew about the pyramids — and according to the book, I should go to the Pyramid of the Sun. So, I pointed to the words in the book. He said “Moon?” I said “no Sun” — like, d’oh. And so he drove me up a long, winding steep road, past random apartment complexes, and homes, and haystacks, and into the hills, where there was a sign that said “pyramid of the sun” in, like, 10 languages. He took me to the top, and this pile of rocks, with an empty small hut and a covered seating area beside.

This gave me pause. And, of course, made me think — damn, I guess I really am a blonde. Luckily, he was a smoker, and offered me a Walter (?) cigarette and we both smoked while I surveyed my surroundings. After all, it’s not like I had a whole lotta other things to do. Except maybe to NOT stumble across random Serbian landmines. I’m not much of an adventurer. But the view was extraordinary.

After many deep thoughts (such as “What exactly am I doing here, halfway around the world, instead of sitting by my moat, sipping martinis and being entertained by Bene’s being dragged by his teeth on Bowzer’s tail? Or shopping at Desert Hills Premium Outlets for discount Etro and Prada and Burberry? Or sitting at a computer all day long, going to endless meetings, wearing suits, pantyhose and shoes that hurt?”) and many foolish-sounding attempts at communication, with odd gestures (“is this IT?” “is that all there is?” “tourist?” “where’s tourist?” “pyramid, pyramid, pyramid?” – & cupping my hands in the shape of dunce cap in front of my head, and practically doing the hokey-pokey, for crying out loud) , I got back into the taxi and we drove on, pausing at every treacherous curve and picking up speed going up another steep Bosnian hill.

This time, there were signs of life, and more importantly, excavation. There was a tour bus. And there were Roma/gypsy kids half-heartedly selling T-shirts, soft drinks, and trinkets at little wooden shacks. This was the Pyramid of the Moon. And I was relieved. As I discovered later, excavation at the Pyramid of the Sun had been halted, due supposedly, to a decree of the Minister of Culture.

So, we walked up many, many steep steps, and saw just how big the pyramid really is (according to Osmanagich, the Founder of the Pyramid of the Sun Foundation, it’s one of no less than 6 pyramids in the Valley — and this one is over 200m tall).

My taxi driver, even though he spoke no English, was clearly somewhat skeptical. But nonetheless, we continued up a steep staircase, and saw more and more dug out sections of sandstone. On our return journey, we ran into a young man who spoke some English, who asked I wanted to go see the tunnel under the pyramid — and I said “of course”. But before we could get there, I made a contribution to the foundation, and met a Hungarian tour group, whose leader invited me to meet them at 7 pm at the Hotel Pyramid of the Sun (formerly the Hollywood Hotel) to hear a special presentation from Semir “Sam” Osmanagich, the self-styled “Indiana Jones” of Bosnia, who lives in Houston with his wife and son, but who is the primary force behind the Pyramid discovery. I naturally accepted the invitation — who could resist! — and we continued on to the excavation tunnel, which was promised as providing evidence of the ancient, perhaps Mayan, Egyptian, or even alien, civilizations.

The tunnel was just that — a tunnel, with a cargo container nearby, housing some folding chairs and a table for the staff. My taxi driver and I (we’ll call him “Bob”, for now) walked to the tunnel entrance, where a very loud and creaky generator was running, and Bob pointed to a book for me to sign, which I did. (Lots of Germans and languages I couldn’t read were before me). And we sat, and waited. After about 15 minutes, a man emerged, followed by three German wearing bright yellow hard hats. I asked them how it was; and they answered “scary, and interesting, too”. I told them I was from Los Angeles, and everyone nodded, knowingly. Bob looked at me as if to say — ah, now I understand. And the guide gave me a hard hat, and I followed him in the tunnel, which ran about 80m into the side of the pyramid. It was wet, and dark, and there were lots of strange holes, with piles of stone , where someone had sealed off entrances to some of the side tunnels. And there were slabs of stone, with apparent hieroglyphs on them, including this one, with an arrow, seeming to point, perhaps to the way out. And there wasn’t a whole lot anything else, except wheelbarrows and dirt.

After doing some online research, I later found that there’s a great deal of controversy around the excavations; that archeologists and local historians claim that Osmanagich (let’s just call him Sam), instead of unearthing alien civilizations and/or ancient human cultures, is actually digging up burial grounds from neolithic times, or other, known relics in the mountainside. Apparently, human skeletal remains have gone missing, and the mysterious hieroglyphs conveniently seem to appear at opportune times, when, perhaps, the media is present. Regardless, it’s entertainment.

It’s also interesting to consider the possibilities — which is what’s fascinated the local community. The pyramids, by some counts, have had as many as 50,000 visitors a year over the past two years or so; bringing tourism and a small boost to the local economy. I boosted both Bob’s and the tunnel guide’s economies, by a few Euros, at any rate.

After I left the tunnel (Bob did not want to come; think the small space made him nervous, maybe he wanted to honor the burial ground, maybe he just wanted to smoke), Bob and I had a brief conversation, where he asked me, I thought, if my “man” was in Sarajevo. I pointed to my ring and said “man? married?” and nodded my head. And then said “man” again, and gestured toward him. He laughed and got very embarrassed; and then I thought – I wonder if I just suggested something something I shouldn’t have.

After the blush, we got back in the cab, and went into town to have coffee, and consider what to do next, since I had a few hours to spend before talking goulash with the experts.

~ by mimi on June 20, 2008.