Want to Feel Like an Alien? Go for a Run in The Gipsy Quarter in Kosovo

Yes, I´m back in the country of Popcorn! And it´s stifling hot. Seriously. I didn´t expect that to happen, and now I eat quantities of ice cream unheard of in the history of mankind. What´s a plus: I still got all my organs. So far.

Now you are like, what? Let me tell you the story…

Even the trip here was an adventure, to begin with. Instead of flying to Belgrade, like last time, I decided it was time to do the lazy version and fly to the closest airport here, which is Prishtina, the capital of Kosovo. Or let´s say, the city that got the title “capital” assigned to it, since it´s tiny, and to go to the airport you drive along streets alongside lush meadows that remind me of the little street between my home village and the next to it rather than being the only street to the main airport in the country.

Anyway, so I flew here with two Swiss airlines, stopping over in Zurich. What I found quietly amusing was that I had no idea of what the hostesses actually said. I knew it was supposed to be Swiss-German. But I couldn´t understand either their greetings, or the goodbyes, or the offerings they made while on-board service came, which resulted in me missing the offered breakfast, just because I generally declined everything and only later learned that “Weckerln” had been the breakfast. Damnit.

My boyfriend had generously and kindly informed me in advance that I was not to refer to any kind of Serbian connection upon coming here (you know, what with the troubled Albanian-Serbian connection) and also I might better watch I even arrive, since it seems to be happening a lot that people disappear and get robbed of their organs.

Even though I dismissed that as being ridiculous, some part of me seemed to have believed it, and accordingly I arrived at the airport sweating and nervous if I was to make the 60-km-ride to Mitrovica, my destination. Ten minutes later I was sitting in the taxi to Mitrovica ( I had planned to take a bus), conversing gaily with Urish, my driver, alternating between haggling for the price of the fare and telling him everything about my friends there and the weather, in Serbian. Long story short, I made it.

So now I am back here in this tiny apartment on the fourth floor in the Serbian part of Kosovska Mitrovica, that has grown so close to my heart. I like the simple shabbiness of it, just like I find the whole city very endearing and charming indeed. I was wondering how it came that I feel so at home here, and came to the conclusion that it reminds me a lot of the old GDR-city-style that is so well familiar from my early childhood. From the pot plants to the make-shift style of it all, it just feels so familiar, and thus nice. I like walking along the town streets and watching old people sit on their terraces that look old and crumbling (the terraces, not the people), in front of houses that might or might not fall apart, everything is everything but perfectly tended for, and still it´s the fact that is has character that draws me to it. It has a soul, and a story to tell, unlike most of the perfectly clean super orderly Western capitalist city streets and houses I know.

Since I finished writing my bachelor thesis back in Berlin, the only task I have to do here is to do nothing but everything I like. Which includes sleeping in (which I haven´t been able to do in ages), then wafting in the kitchen and checking the empty fridge (still empty), standing on the balcony and taking in the view of the Orthodox church on the hill and letting the sun warm my face. Mornings spent drinking turkish coffee in cafés or having Plazma Shakes for breakfast, chilling out on the bed or some bench reading novels, afternoons playing cards in the kitchen and evenings on the rooftop looking over nightly Mitrovica with a can of cold beer in my hand. It´s nothing much, but delightfully agreeable.

Palacinke (Pancake) with Eurokrem (Serbian nutella), Plasma crumbs (national cookie) and ice cream <3 span="">

Ah, and let me also recall the story of how I tried to keep up my sports program here, and delightfully failed. It´s the story indicated by the title:

Rule 1 for Kosovska Mitrovica: People don´t walk alone around here, especially not girls.

Rule 2: People don´t go running, at least not along the main street or along the river, maybe up the hill, but that was totally not an option for a flatlander like me.

Chrm, chrm, that´s me then, running in my Reebok shirt and my mom´s old trainers along the river. I crossed over to the Albanian part because the path there looked better. Nazalost, it was so only a couple hundred metres, just to disappear in the scrubs and weeds then. After following it nonetheless for a little while and getting my legs all scratched, i decided to turn around and follow the street next to it. It lead me along men on old camping chairs guarding their goats, an old sports stadium and into a quarter with houses that don´t deserve the name house, litter everywhere and kids and people running around playing on the streets, sitting in the shadow of their front yards, and gossiping or doing seemingly nothing at all. Never, ever before have I feld so out of place in my life. I felt like I had the word FOREIGNER imprinted on my forehead, and even though it was interesting to see how these people live (makes you modest, and humble), I was glad to return to the apartment. One experience richer, and having gained the insight that going for a run in the gipsy quarter of Kosovska Mitrovica is just a bad idea.

Upon returning, I found out the running water was already gone for the evening. And I just went like ahhh –.–

Mitrovica by night

So much from me for now, I just wanted to let you know I´m happy and very well. Hi to everyone all around the corners of the world! I hope you are all fine, and I´ll keep you updated, also concerning the fact if I make it out here with all my insides still to call my own ;)

видимо се касније :-)