Rewriting History in Visoko 3; Indiana Jones and the Aliens

At 7 pm, I went to the top floor of the hotel, where the predominantly over-55 Hungarians had gathered to wait for Sam. Despite a significant language barrier, there were many smiles and “hellos” when I came in, and one of the Hungarians asked me, in stilted English, if I had felt a special “force” when I was climbing the Pyramid of the Moon. I said, “No, I’m from Los Angeles”; he smiled, pulled out an extra chair, and asked me if I’d ever had goulasz. Travel conversations are like that.

One of the retired Hungarians was actually Australian, from Melbourne, and was travelling with his brother and sister-in-law from Serbia. The Serbo-Hungarian-Australian looked at his brother and said “Oym six yeahs older than he is, and look – this is what happens when you live in Austraylia instead of Serbia!”, smiling and opening his arms to reveal gold chains and a white muscle T with some grey curly hairs peeking out over the top under his Hawaiian style shirt. His much-balder, freckled and hairless in fact, shorter, smaller brother, in buttoned-up really bad pale blue polyester, smiled back at him, with yellowy-silver teeth — I had to agree; the Aussie did look better preserved. Pickled, even. And the younger, Serbian brother definitely didn’t speak English, either.

At about 7:30 or so, Sam, who’s a bit of a cross between the first Indiana Jones and a softer, Bosnian, version of the actor Rutger Hauer, finished fiddling with his powerpoint; and the Pyramid guide who had originally insisted that I come to the presentation and had cajoled me to join the Hungarian tour was smiling and waving at me, very pleased that I’d come. Before Osmanagic could begin his Pyramid a la Al-Gore lecture, the Hungarians gave him a gift, carried and carefully wrapped in a tube from Budapest — a felt wall-hanging with an embroidered and printed impression of hieroglyphs allegedly found in Transylvania, almost identical to the hieroglyphs discovered on the slab at the Pyramid of the Sun. Sam was deeply honored, but he didn’t appear to be surprised; must happen all the time. The Hungarians were very pleased with their gift, and clearly felt that the evidence in support of the existence of the Bosnian pyramids was mounting; with the Transylvanian doodles a key piece of the world-wide puzzle. I felt that the plot was thickening, and the stage had been well set.

Sam presentation began with a flash of the slide detailing his extensive educational credentials (a couple of Masters in something-or-other, a PhD in Mayan cultures from University of Houston, etc.), but he admitted that he was not an archaeologist by training; rather that he was fascinated by the pyramids and drew from his other areas of expertise to arrive at his hypotheses, with the help of experts from the civil engineering school in Visoko (I think), and experts in Egyptology. There didn’t seem to be anyone from Houston on the list of 70 “experts” attending and speaking at an upcoming Bosnian pyramid conference, in August…but all the presenters looked like they were very wise and learned experts, judging from their academic institutions’ mug shots. Sam described the discoveries and excavation of the various pyramids in Mexico; talked about the pyramids in Egypt, and those suspected to be in China (who’da thunk! – and the Chinese government won’t fund the research!); and addressed the similarities between pyramids in different countries, with respect to the use of π, placement of the sun, moon, and other pyramids relative to each other, and overall construction and composition, etc.

He constructed a compelling argument, at first glance, using his powerpoint and some moderately cool low-budget graphics; but then, he dropped the bombshell question everyone had been well-oiled for: there were so many similarities between all these pyramids (including the unexcavated Chinese and Bosnian pyramids), maybe they had the same…architect? Although he never said it, he dangled the alien fly in front of the Hungarians…but the Hungarians were still happy chewing on the mystery itself, and not quite ready to go to other worlds…yet. He spoke about the Bosnian Minister of Culture shutting down the excavation of the Pyramid of the Sun, and all the disbelievers and naysayers – and he spoke about the unusual materials and “stone glue” used in the pyramids’ construction, and about the temples, wood and stone, at their peaks. And suggested, shyly, that if perhaps, just perhaps, these pyramids were real – then that discovery could revolutionize history, and cause us to reexamine our ideas about the origin and development of the human species.

The Hungarians were spellbound. Their translator and guide, a heavyset woman with frazzly orange hair, couldn’t stop smiling. And one of the women sitting next to me, a 50-ish strudel with black fish-net pantyhose and beige patent strappy stilettos, couldn’t stop drooling, between puffs of her cigarettes. You could tell she was a believer. Sam, whose last name, in anagram form, is not Indiana Jones but rather “Magic Son”, was humble, and charismatic, and self-deprecating. He never mentioned Oksana, his wife, nor his son, and the sacrifices he was making being away from them, here and in Sarajevo, working on the Foundation of the Pyramid of the Sun, while they were back home in Houston. He answered his cell phone, four times, over the course of the lecture, in various languages; every time, so polite, whispered apologies in soothing tones into the phone, as muffled female voices begged for his attention.

I have to admit — he just might have something. Ya never know. I’ve never seen such big hills with such straight slopes, and equilateral sides; then again, I’ve never paid that close attention to landscape and topography. I will now; maybe I might find some pyramids in the Angeles Crest. I saw the sandstone “layers”, and it didn’t look like anything natural to me — but then again, what do I know? I’m neither a geologist, nor a bricklayer, both of whom would be much more expert than Semir “Sam” Osmanagich, at least, initially. The Franciscan brother I’d met earlier rolled his eyes when I mentioned the pyramids; Damir just said, yes, okay, but Shaq was much better than Kobe, but he’s too old now, at 36 (a very polite way of changing the subject). And then he joked that perhaps the pyramids were more real than what had happened at Medjugorge. (He’s Muslim, so there ya go; only fair). But then, he said that it didn’t matter, whether the pyramids or the apparitions were “real” or not — because what mattered was what people believed. And it was an amazing thing to see, all the pilgrims, praying, and believing, and full of hope and awe at the miracles of the universe. Bob, my taxi-driver, didn’t say much of anything about the pyramids, but as I mentioned, we had had some communication challenges.

When the questions started, I became anxious. That, and it just seemed like there was too much competition to ask Sam the questions I really wanted to ask – like – what did you do, during the war? What happened, to the house you grew up in? Is it buried, now, too? Just like the pyramids?

Too many Hungarians, too little time. And I was eager to get back to Sarajevo. Although the Pyramid guide insisted that I meet Sam (“She’s from Los Angeles! She may make a documentary!”); and of course, Sam generously offered to meet with me privately, the next day, to answer any further questions I might have, I demurred, and high-tailed it out of Visoko.

I asked for help to find a taxi from the lovely Nina, and her equally lovely friend Anma who I met on Visoko’s main walking drag, (“you are from California? super! Do you want to have coffee? Oh, too bad. I need to practice my English! It would be super!”), I got in a cab heading back to Sarajevo, with a driver who said “I do not speak English – like Tarzan – only in present”, whose mama called him a few times over the taxi’s hands-free on the 20-minute return trip.

I slept soundly in my twin bed at the Hotel Astra-Garni that evening, even though there were boisterous Euro 2008 football celebrations on the street outside my hotel window. I dreamt of suns and moons and sandstone, and Tarzan and Kobe and Shaq, who spoke only Hungarian and Spanish, shared a delicious goulash with me, smoked cigarettes and brought me presents, in the Bosnian Temple of Doom.

~ by mimi on June 22, 2008.