Kosovo: Pristina

Almost every single Serb I met who knew I was going to Kosovo asked me the same question - why?  I was told that the Kosovar Albanians were liars, thieves, pigeons, dirty, and every other name in the book, nevermind the fact that I would be robbed and possibly killed.  When I told them I would also be visiting Albania proper after Kosovo and Macedonia, they merely shook their heads in disbelief.

"There's nothing to see in Kosovo, especially Pristina, it's ugly."  Well, after everyone realized my persistence in going to Kosovo, they basically told me, "You'll see."  So my Kosovo adventure began at the bus terminal in Belgrade.  There are two buses a day that go through Kosovo, and both leave around 08:00 p.m.  Apparently the bus terminated somewhere in southern Kosovo at some small town.

In Care of the United Nations

However, it would go through Pristina, the capital, at some point early in the morning which is where I was going to get off.  To say I was nervous is an understatement.  Kosovo was the great unknown to me.  I had never met anyone who has been there, and had only heard the news reports of destruction from the war and constant ethnic tensions between the Serbs and Albanians in addition to the warnings from my Serb friends and their parents.

It didn't help that my Lonely Planet Western Balkans guide stated that the Kosovo section had not been updated in a couple years because it was too dangerous for the author to visit.  Further, the United States, the United Kingdom, and virtually every other country gave strong warnings on their websites for people traveling through Kosovo.

Undeterred by the countless warnings, I threw my luggage in the bus storage compartment and took my seat on the packed, hectic 1960s bus.  I bid farewell to Maja and her friend, and, five minutes into sitting down, I was promptly kicked out of my seat.  Apparently I did not have the proper seat as detailed on my ticket which I could not read.

I sat down next to a young male, presumably Kosovar Albanian.  Just as I sat down, a large commotion began in the back between a couple and a mother with her daughter.  I don't know if the bus was oversold, but the shouting continued on and on.  People ended up switching seats and apparently the situation was resolved.

The bus took off about an hour late, and I settled into my fairly comfy seat for the 8/9 hour journey into Kosovo.  My seatmate knew a few sentences in English and we had some light conversation.  His generosity knew no bounds, however, as he offered me every type of food and drink possible during the journey.  Not just him either.  Everyone around me was offering me food, thrilled and bewildered that I was an American heading into Kosovo.

At one point, my seatmate asked me where in America I was from.  I told him Boston, and he replied, "Boston Celtics?"  He then asked if I worked in Kosovo. I told him I did not and I was just a tourist.  At that point, he apparently told the people around me and there was a huge burst of laughter, followed by loud mumblings in Albanian.  I guess they were quite shocked to see a tourist.

The bus took a midnight break at some hilarious rest stop somewhere in southeast Serbia.  The truck stop type restaurant had a Tito (former dictator of Yugoslavia) theme, complete with Tito buttons, pictures, and anything else you could name.  My seatmate insisted I sit down with him for a drink, proud that he had befriended an American in front of his fellow Albanians.  He wouldn't let me pay for the drinks either.

We finally hit the unofficial border of Kosovo around 2 or 3 a.m.  Apart from the locals on the bus, there was one tourist passing through to Macedonia (a French girl), and two Canadian NGO workers.  Of course, being an American, I held up the bus at the checkpoint.  Everyone around me was excited to see an American passport, and I let them all check it out.

The Serb checkpoint was fairly quick, but then we hit the United Nations checkpoint.  Kosovo, although technically still part of Serbia, is now a United Nations protectorate, the only one of its kind in the world.  UNMIK, or the United Nations Mission in Kosovo, is the technical name of the UN authority.

Kosovo uses the Euro instead of the Serbian Dinar, and the United Nations, through KFOR (Kosovo Forces), still has around 18,000 peacekeepers in the province (in an area slightly smaller than the state of Connecticut).  In addition to the United Nations, there are literally thousands of foreign aid workers representing numerous NGOs (non-governmental organizations).

The UNMIK border patrol entered our bus and checked everyone's identification.  The French girl and myself were the only ones pulled off the bus.  We went to a small booth where we were both asked how long we planned to stay and where we were going.  The officer wrote down this information and gave us each an arrival card, complete with the United Nations stamps (which I was quite excited about).

The bus then left and, about two hours or so later, the driver's assistant announced we were in Pristina.  To my surprise the only people on the entire bus who got off were the French girl, myself, and the two NGO workers.  Everyone else stayed on.  I found it hard to believe they would all be going to the same small town.

It almost felt like a bad horror movie.  We were dropped off with all our luggage in the middle of Pristina, a deserted city of 500,000+ at around 5 a.m.  Not a single soul in view except for one taxi.  The French girl got in the taxi, never to be heard from again.  The two NGO workers were very kind; one was off to the airport to fly home, and the other, invited me to visit her NGO office later in the day.  She also provided me with directions to the hotel I wanted to stay at which was not far from the dropoff point.

She went home and I was on my own, in a strange and, potentially, dangerous city.  Eerie is not quite the word, but walking around the downtown with my huge backpack and absolutely no one around made me particularly nervous.  I made it to my desired hotel, Iliria, only about a ten minute walk down Mother Theresa Avenue (herself an Albanian, born in Macedonia).

The hotel was a gloriously decrepit communist-looking structure.  I really love those types.  Since it was so early in the morning, I was worried they would charge me for that previous night.  However, the man at the desk was nice and spoke good English, most likely because the hotel has many aid workers passing through.  I asked if he had any available rooms.  After a long, dramatic pause, he told me that he did.  What made this comical was the fact that, behind the counter where the keys were kept, I could easily tell that there were at least fifty available rooms.

The hotel standards, although good for Kosovo, wouldn't pass for a one star hotel in America.  It was bleak.  And expensive.  Again, because of the many aid workers, hotels in Pristina are way too expensive for the comfort they provide.  The bathroom was gross, and the shower had close to zero pressure in addition to the water being cold.  The toilet was not located in my room (???), but instead down the hallway.  How can I possibly have a shower in my room, but not a toilet?

I took a nap in my surprisingly comfortable bed (with sheets that probably hadn't been cleaned in years), read the United Nations Kosovo magazine, and asked myself what the hell I was doing in Kosovo.

I took an afternoon stroll through Pristina, passing the "Five Star" Grand Hotel Prishtina (hahaha) and Bill Clinton Avenue.  Kosovo has an obsession with Bill Clinton.  Bubba is everywhere.  On the entrance to the city, there is a massive banner hanging from a large apartment building with Clinton's face on it, proclaiming "Welcome to Prishtina."  There are Bill Clinton restaurants (and even a Hillary Clinton restaurant).  Many of the Bill Clinton references are actually written, "Bill Klinton."  My favorite though was the Bill Clinton cement factory, located near the train station.

Their fascination with Clinton is obvious though, as they believe he (and NATO) saved them from being ethnically cleansed by the Serbs.  He is a hero, as are Americans.  Throughout Kosovo, almost every hotel and related business has an American flag and a NATO flag in addition to the Kosovo flag in front of their establishment.  In all of my travels, I have never felt more comfortable being an American.

I did some souvenir shopping at the sidewalk vendors, after checking out the United Nations headquarters and the other various NGO buildings.  I picked up a couple Kosova (the Albanian spelling) t-shirts and began a conversation with a young Kosovar Albanian who spoke pretty good English.  It turns out he had lived in New Jersey for a while, so he was excited to use his English on an American.

Although overly friendly, he was genuinely a nice guy and offered to take me around Pristina, offering helpful and, often, hilarious advice.  He loved Americans and Kosovar Albanians, but told me the real Albanians were liars and thieves and I shouldn't trust them.  He also stated, "If it weren't for America, we would all be dead."  A pretty strong statement indeed.

He then made some interesting reference on how Americans waste things.  He couldn't understand why Americans sometimes use plastic spoons - "Why?  You buy it and throw it away.  Instead, use a silver spoon which you will have for life."  Point taken.  In a somewhat troubling piece of advice, he also told me that, if I wanted, he could get me a bodyguard for the duration of my stay.  Wow.  Comforting.

We went all over the place, including the bus station, so I could get info on my next destination, Prizren.  Obviously it was helpful having a native speaker with me; I was certainly grateful for that.  We ended up parting ways and he gave me his phone number because he wanted to go out for coffee later.  I feel bad, but I never called.

I visited the girl from the bus at the Kosovo Law Center, an NGO right next to my hotel.  There were a bunch of great girls who worked there - Ada, Abby, Jeanne, and the rest of the gang.  A couple were Canadian, a couple were American, and one girl was Albanian.  We chatted for a while; they were confused as to why I was in Kosovo and said I was the only tourist they had met since they've been there.  They graciously invited me to hang out with them later on at their apartment, and I gladly took them up on their offer.

We picked up some alcohol at the local convenience store and headed over to their apartment, which seemed quite luxurious compared to the average residence.  We hung out on the balcony and chatted for a good amount of time.  Later we hit up a great late-night food joint (with a hilarious, fake McDonald's menu) before we parted ways for the night.