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Sarajevo doesn’t let you decide for yourself. It does it for you. The calls of the minarets reach upon the North. I hear their call just before the infamous Sarajevo Film Festival is about the begin. The next day I’m on a plane, excited to get to the bustling downtown of Sarajevo, get lost in the narrow streets of Bascarsija, sip strong grainy Bosnian coffee from the tin cups with the sweet rahatlokum on the side, get immersed into the stories random people tell you at random squares, random markets and random coffee bars. Even before the spicy flagrances of Bascarsija reach my nose, the adventure begins. Upon my arrival at Sarajevo Airport, someone standing next to me calls a taxi and invites me to join for free. She sees in me a fellow Sarajevo Film Festival addict. We recognize each other in our craving for good art house cinema in a region where there are more stories to be told than movies can be made. Wherever you are in Sarajevo, you get interconnected with whoever. Besides interconnections, Sarajevo is also king of unexpectedness. When I arrive at my hotel, there is no room left. Two phone calls later I sleep in a room belonging to the daughter of the owner of a neighboring hotel. I find myself uphill in the mountains surrounding Sarajevo, the old town at my feet. I’ve landed for just about two hours and Sarajevo already has me back in its grip. "It's always about the war. Everyone is trapped in it.” She happily offers me her room. And her thoughts. I look at her hesitantly. Waiting. Doubting myself and my ideas about the new generation Sarajevans. “I grew up after the war. And all my young life everyone talked about the war. About life before and life after it.” I look around her room, amazed at her words. Torn Vogue covers adorn her wall, in addition to lipstick ads. "But it has changed your country and its population, right? The war left scars on everyone who survived.”, I try carefully. "Sure," she says firmly, pinching her young lips. "But those who survived still seem to live in the war. As if life stopped after that. There is no longer a future. As if my whole life has not happened.” These words, from a young girl with her future still ahead, overrule the strength of a Bosnian coffee. “It is always only about the war here. We are a tourist attraction for disaster tourists from the rich, peaceful West. The same ones who left us, when we needed them here.” I swallow. She sighs. Suddenly she feels caught. I too fit the description of a Western disaster tourist. She pulls herself together, buries her stuffed animal deeper under her arm. “Well, as soon as I'm 18, I'm out of here. I take the first plane to California, to the beaches and palm trees. The American Way of life. Where anything is possible and the focus is on the future, not on the past.” "Away from lovely Sarajevo", I laugh, “the reason for me being here.” She looks at me naughtily from behind her pointed eyelashes and smiles. There is a peaceful silence. Our gaze wanders to the window frame, covered with girls stickers. Sarajevo shows his best side behind it. The same image is completely different for both of us. I get enraptured by those distant lights in the valley. Amina cannot run away fast enough. For her, time stands still here. I too am pleased to see that despite two years of absence, not much has changed in Sarajevo. Dance temple Pussy Galore now resides elsewhere. But Kino remains a party on Monday evening. The city is preparing for the Sarajevo Film Festival. The good parties are coming. The buzz is on the way, while the festival tents are still empty. Sarajevo before the rush. The best is yet to come. For me, that is.