IT was as near a glittering occasion as you could get to in a city recovering from four years of war: a Mozart concert in the lovely old National Theatre, given by the Sarajevo Symphony Orchestra. Beside me sat an elegant young man, delightfully foppish in a white suit. On my other side was a family, the two small girls in best dresses, their long hair brushed and shining. Their mother, recognising a stranger, leaned across: "Welcome to Sarajevo," she whispered.
There were speeches, presentation of bouquets and much clapping and it must have felt a bit like the old days. Only towards the end of the concert, as people started quietly to slip out and it seemed as if the conductor had quickened the pace, did it become apparent that residual, postwar tensions still demanded the imposition of an 11 p.m. curfew.
Sarajevo is a city finding itself again, reasserting its reputation for being a lover of the arts. In the red and gold auditorium of the National Theatre with its four rows of balconies, it was standing-room only. Emma was showing at the local cinema. The Sarajevo Film Festival had just drawn to a close. Pinter was on at a small, experimental theatre. Bars and cafes throbbed with music of every culture - including The Cranberries.
A late, benign autumn, giving a glow to the wooded hills which, until last year, sheltered the murderous mortars that pounded the city for 1,395 days, was giving enjoyment to everyone. They know a hard and penitential winter probably lies ahead. Temperatures in Sarajevo can drop to -7 Celsius - one of the reasons the city was chosen as the site for the 1984 Winter Olympics. It was during those games, 12 years ago, that an artistic venture began which has now become an annual event: Sarajevska Zima, the cultural festival also known as the Sarajevo Winter Festival.
The idea was the brainchild of lbrahim Spahic, election candidate, party leader, purveyor of books, fund-raiser and persistent persuader of people.
To reach Ibrahim's office (Ibra to his friends), you walk four flights up: lifts, even if they're working, are not yet to be trusted in Sarajevo. The tiled floors are being power-washed to remove the mud, dust and debris of the war years. Spahic's anteroom is full of people waiting to see him. He emerges, deals with two or three people, then withdraws again.
When my turn comes, I am invited into his office and the famous Bosnian coffee - heart-thumpingly strong, in minute cups - is served while the phone rings, continuously. Waiting, I notice a small, precise bullet hole, mercifully high up, in the wall behind Spahic's desk.
The desk is ornate and impressive, as befits a man who stood (unsuccessfully) as a presidential candidate in the September elections. On the wall behind is the national flag with its groupings of three fleurs de lys, symbolising the three strands of Bosnian culture. Reconciliation is Spahic's theme for, as well as being president of Sarajevska Zima, he also heads up the International Peace Centre, an organisation set up in 1991, whose work for peace includes publishing and disseminating information about Bosnia worldwide.
For now, however, we talk only about the winter festival: "Sarajevo is an international city," he tells me, in between phone calls, "and my aim is to bring people together. I have an academic background in philosophy and a commitment to humanitarianism." The formal bit over, he moves on to talking about the Irish dimension in this year's festival: the proposal to bring a James Joyce exhibition from Ireland.
"This must happen," he says, "because this is a big year for us. We managed to hold the festival every year, right through the siege, without a break so this year, our first year of peace, we expect it to be an even greater success."
Sarajevska Zima 1997 will include film, exhibitions, video, drama, concerts and children's events. This broad band of activities reflects the interests of lbra Spahic and it will come as no surprise to learn that this energetic man has a third string to his bow: the founding of the middle-of-the-road Citizen's Democratic Party of which he is president.
With so many fingers in so many inter-related pies, it is almost inevitable that he has his critics. A journalist with Oslobodenje, the newspaper whose heroic staff continued to operate despite being blasted out of their building right at the beginning of the war, finds herself overwhelmed by Spahic's enthusiasms:
"He thinks that big is best. The more we have the better. But really, it is too much. It would be better to concentrate on one or two aspects and explore them in depth."
Sarajevan poet Ferida Durakovic - who is also secretary of PEN in Bosnia - sees the value of having someone with a bureaucratic background running Sarajevska Zima: "He got the whole thing going and the great thing about the festival is that it brings people to Sarajevo." Durakovic is at present putting the finishing touches to a collection of Irish poetry to be published in Bosnian, the selection made by American poet Chris Agee, who is currently working with the Open University in Belfast and who himself participated in Zarajevska Zima last year.
Art has vivid ways of making itself felt in Sarajevo. There is a nobility in the shattered ruins of the magnificent National Library - a fire-bomb destroyed not only Serb, Jewish and Croatian manuscripts, but also some of the greatest collections of Islamic writings in this part of the world that is a continuing tribute to the architects. (Its style, unique to Bosnia, is pseudo-Moorish.) And at certain points around the city, there are splashes of blood- red paint on the pavement - reminders of the 10,615 people who died in Sarajevo, 1,601 of them children.
