Christening Kosovo…Leah Farr Style

I am finding already I was ill-prepared for my trip to Kosovo…which I’ve learned that they call Kovova.

First order of business: Track down country’s true name.

After a brief stop for a Bulvarian pretzel in Germany, we landed in the Bulkans this morning near a beautiful snow-capped mountain range. My first assumption was that I’ve now seen the Alps; but only because I know of no other mountain ranges and therefore I have blanketed the “Alps” title on any peaks I see around here, until I am told otherwise. (PS. Don’t tell me otherwise. That just helped me cross off an item on my bucket list).

I think sleep deprivation much be hitting for a few reasons. One: a billboard I just saw of a newborn baby reminded me of a chicken nugget instead.

From 10,000 feet, and from the ground, Kosovo is unlike any place I’ve ever seen. Flying into the capital city of Pristina, the land is lush, dotted with long rectangular patches of green farm land. Matching green smoke pours out of a tower at the city’s electric plant and covered the air in a cartoon-ish colored smog.

Unemployment in Kosovo is around 45 percent so I’ve seen a lot of groups (gangs?) of young man wandering about with tough looks on their faces. When you see them, its hard not to wonder if they were  boys who lost fathers in the war. Many men were taken out into the street and killed by the “Christian” Serbs in the area, and there is a strong sentiment against Christianity here for obvious reasons.

As we drove through the country toward the north where tensions still run high between the mostly segregated Serbs and Albanias–who warred with each other heavily between 1998-1999–I couldn’t help but feel the sadness for the people we passed, knowing that they had all lived through a war, and probably seen death in a very first-hand way.

Piles of rubble line many of the roads leading me to play movie reels in my mind. Was it a house abandoned in the war? Was it a bomb that leveled the area? Is it neglect or poverty? Is that grave over there a cemetery for those who were killed in genocide? The story I’m weaving in my head isn’t hard to be overwhelming or true.

About 600 yards from me, there is a bridge that has become an international symbol for the division in the country; it splits the country by a small creek, and marks where Albanians live in the south, and Serbs live in the north. We were told as Americans we would probably be okay to cross the bridge, but if an Albania crossed that creek, there would be severe consequences. It’s odd to me that such a division of hate is right outside my window. I’m rethinking any plans to go for random walks…afraid I might cross into the North accidentally and end up like some high profile America news story about the dumb girl who went into a forbidden area and was forced to work in labor camps until Ex-President Clinton could pull a humanitarian  visit and convince them I’m not a spy–Which frankly won’t be easy with the backpack of camera gear, wires, and recorders I’m carrying around.

We got to Nadine’s house where we are staying with 5 other women, this afternoon. But the lack of sleep, odd foods (including soda that tasted like a asprin melting on your tongue), and stress of travel had me responding in the most appropriate way. I got to Nadine’s, introduced myself, and then christened her toilet Farr style. Nothing like puking in a new country. I really love that I could have a map that would read “I puked here” with push pins in about 15 countries around the world.

I guess it’s really a gift. Hopefully one that I only give to Kosovo once.

Welp off to dinner. Tomorrow we begin the real adventures!