THERE IS A MOMENT, rounding a bend in the highway that links Sarajevo to the small, mostly Muslim hamlet of Visoko, when the humongous, four-sided mound of earth that may or may not be the largest and oldest pyramid ever constructed first peeks over the horizon. Upon seeing it, there are two reasonable reactions. First: "Holy crap, how big is that thing?" And then: "How is it possible that no one discovered it sooner?"

The answer to question one is approximately 700 feet, about a third taller than Egypt's Great Pyramid of Giza. The answer to question two is a little complicated.

Until recently, the sleepy town of Visoko was known, if at all, as the home of Bosnia and Herzegovina's largest leather-goods factory, and the symmetrical, forested hill called Visocica that looms over it was merely a picturesque backdrop. In April 2005, a Houston-based Bosnian expatriate and self-described amateur archaeologist named Semir Osmanagic visited Visoko at the invitation of the local museum director, Senad Hodovic. Osmanagic, 46, had come to see the ruins of a 14th-century castle that once sat atop the hill. As he stood peering out across the valley, he noticed another hill nearby that, strangely, was also shaped like a pyramid.

At that instant he experienced a flash of inspiration, a moment when "his mission in life" suddenly became clear. He turned to Hodovic and made a startling statement: "Professor, did you know that we are standing on top of the Bosnian Pyramid of the Sun, and the hill across the valley is the Bosnian Pyramid of the Moon?"

Osmanagic walked to his car and brought back a book he'd recently written about the Maya pyramids. He opened it to page 108, which showed a photograph of the Pyramid of the Sun in Teotihuacán, Mexico, and held it out at arm's length. "Clearly the shape and design of both pyramids are the same," he told Hodovic.

It wasn't long before Osmanagic christened three other nearby hills: the Pyramid of the Dragon, the Pyramid of Love, and the Temple of the Earth. Six months later, he was overseeing the launch of a massive archaeological dig. He and a crew of locals uncovered what Osmanagic claimed were stone terraces encircling the pyramids, rectangular megaliths that sheathed them, and a network of tunnels leading right into the heart of the Pyramid of the Sun. The excavation has turned the little town of 17,000 into a tourist pilgrimage site and an archaeological carnival. Hundreds of residents have since picked up shovels. Thousands of volunteers and tourists have flocked in from around the globe to see the "Bosnian wonder."

But this is not a simple story about archaeology. It can't be, since every serious scientist will tell you that the "pyramids" of Visoko are nothing more than oddly shaped hills, the product of tectonic uplift. There's no debate about this among the archaeological establishment. Which means this phenomenon is about something else: how one man's wacky New Age vision grew into a collective national fantasy.

In Bosnia and Herzegovina, where walls are still pockmarked with bullet holes from the wars of the nineties and hatred still festers among Roman Catholic Croats, Orthodox Serbs, and Bosnian Muslims (or Bosniaks, as they now call themselves), the sudden discovery of ancient, mystical structures in the Muslim north has been embraced as a divine gift. Though their land is still littered with land mines, Bosnian Muslims now have their own Machu Picchu.

Yeah, maybe the pyramids are more like Atlantis—a glorious pipe dream—but that hasn't stopped them from becoming a source of great pride. The Bosnian media has feted Osmanagic as a hero and publishes breathless updates on the dig. A flood of government grants and corporate donations has underwritten the budget, roughly $500,000 in 2006. Bosnian radio buzzes with hip-hop and turbofolk songs about the "find"; Osmanagic has even appeared in a music video.

In Visoko, many residents are creating guest rooms for tourists in their homes. The biggest and swankiest hotel in town recently changed its name from the Hollywood Motel to the Pyramid of the Sun Motel. (It has not taken down the caricatures of Eddie Murphy and Steven Tyler in the lobby.) Down the street, Pyramid Pizza cooks triangular pies, while pyramid-shaped key chains, coin banks, and bottles of pear brandy are as ubiquitous as Turkish coffee sets in the old market.

"This is the first good news coming out of Bosnia in a long time," Osmanagic likes to say in his self-assured drawl. Last fall, the Web site for Pyramid Travel, the new Bosnian arm of a Swedish tour company, succinctly summed it up with what's become a national mantra: "This discovery symbolically represents light in the end of the tunnel."