That Night in Prishtina

After being turned away from the first Serbian Border.

Albania>Kosovo>Serbian Border>Kosovo again... for those keeping score at home.

I was dropped off by the Serbian Coke truck driver in the capital of Kosovo, Prishtina. I had been through Prishtina before and I liked it very much. It’s a modern capital city which is a sharp counterpoint to the small community that I love in. We have three streets and a big cow and dog traffic problem.

Prishtina is developing. This is something that I hear about it constantly, "it's developing." So much so that the city center boasts a statue of English block lettering proclaiming the word "Newborn." The war in the 1990s ravaged this place and all of Kosovo, but this country, like these people, have a way of soldiering on and working to heal some incredibly deep wounds.


Kosovo for the most part, is ethnically Albania and this is the main reason for their break with Serbia. They speak the same dialect as is spoken in my town, Bajram Curri Albania. However, being dropped off late at night with no place to stay and no idea how you will get to where you are going tinges the world with a kind of oppression. There is a point while you are traveling, and I believe that this is why we travel, there is a point that you are completely at the mercy of those around you. This is when you realize how good the world is.


I walked to the sleeping bus station, it’s lights still glowing against the warm summer night. Fatigue had burned away ironically, because I had no place to sleep that night. My plan was to sleep in the bus station or in a park, take the first bus wherever it was going in the morning, and piece my way to Austria or Czech Republic from there. As I approached the bus station, several Kosovar Cab drivers approached me and asked where I wanted to go. I kind of laughed when I told them that I had no idea where I was going, so I didn’t need a cab.

Then another cab driver approached me. He offered me a cigarette as a sign of respect, I clucked my tongue and patted my chest, which generally means, “Thanks but, no thanks.”
“What do you need?” He asked.
“I don’t need a ride, but thank you.”
“No, look- I’m not offering you a ride. I’m not a cab driver right now. Where are you from?
“America, but I live in Albania.”
“Are you Albanian originally?”
“No, I just teach there.”
“Well, look you speak Albanian and I appreciate that. How can I help you?
The hairs stood up on the back of my scalp, and I knew that even though my entire plan was in pieces, I would figure something out- because people, all people, operate like this man. No one wants to see anyone without a place to stay.
“I need to get to Vienna or Prague but I can’t pass through to Serbia from Kosovo.”

He nodded, understanding. And then grabbed me roughly by the shoulder. “You go in there to the bus station, and you tell the man that you need to go to Macedonia, first thing in the morning. When you get to Macedonia they will have a bus to Vienna.”
I put my hand to my heart and thanked him.
“Good luck.” He said as he drove away.

I took a room at the cheapest hostel in Prishtina*. I showered and brushed my teeth. I hadn’t eaten anything in over 24 hours but I found a bag of stale chips in a cabinet**. I couldn’t sleep. I watched the sun rise over Prishtina. I walked to the bus station. And got on the first bus to the capital of Macedonia.


*The Professor’s House 11 Euro a night.
**Not my finest moment, but everything was closed and for what it’s worth they were delicious.