I was scared shitless when I entered Kosovo. Well, first I was surprised I got in because I was coming from Serbia, but then I was scared because I realized what I was doing. There was no information about borders, visas, or really anything except warnings not to go, so I was surprised at how easily I was stamped into the world's newest country. The border guard spoke some English and asked me why I was there. He looked shocked then doubled over laughing when I told him I was a tourist. Then he shook my hand and thanked me genuinely for coming to his country.
That nice exchange aside, entering Kosovo is like entering a war-zone on pause. I go the feeling I did when I was the only person walking around and the only person without a gun in the D.R.C.. The border was surrounded by intimidating circular barbed wire and carefully watched by NATO and UN vehicles and a few choppers standing by for good measure. What they were guarding I am not sure because to put it bluntly, Kosovo is a bit of a shit-hole. It is mostly flat, a bit like Kansas, full of rusting oil drills and burnt out houses. It seemed to be the place that all the old cars in the world must be sent too. I don't know how they all get there, but believe me, they are there.
What really scared me was the approaching darkness. This is always a worry as a single woman traveling alone, but especially in a place where I had no idea what to expect. It seemed ominous and full of danger. Soon I couldn't see anything but silhouettes of houses. Kosovo is the darkest country I have ever been too. There were plenty of big houses, all in the middle of nowhere, but they were mostly uninhabited and scattered along the roadside. A couple had a light bulb shining, one for a two or three story house, but most were just dark. A few had open fires, but other than that just black. It was an intimidating entrance into an intimidating country.
But I loved Kosovo. I don't know why. There is nothing pretty about it. Pristina, the capital, is your typical socialist block city with added graffiti and plenty of signs looking for war criminals like we look for lost children on the back of milk cartons in the past. A few buildings have attempted to be creative, but the result is more shocking and garish than anything. I never thought I would say it, but they should stick to the block buildings. But what the city lacked in character, people made up for in warmth. Yes, many were confused as to why I was there, but because of NGO/UN presence, there was a little English spoken.
When the owner of the hotel I stayed at found out I was from the U.S. he smiled a huge smile and shook my hand enthusiastically. "America! You recognize my country! I give discount to you. Thank you."
People went out of their way to help me. When I was trying to leave, there was a problem with my bus. A janitor at the station saw me waiting and went in search for someone who could speak English and tell me the bus wasn't coming. When I went to use the bathroom, the station manager personally showed me where it was and made sure I didn't have to pay the fee they usually charge, then handed me a towel himself to dry my face after I had washed it. I was treated like an honored, albeit unexpected, guest. The people I met were proud of their country and fiercely optimistic about the future. It was one of the best experiences I have ever had. I have found that often, in the countries that scare me the most at first end up being the most rewarding.
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