Getting lost seems to be a practice in which I am becoming an expert. Even with a map in my hand I can’t fathom where I am or where I am trying to get to. What I do know is that I am still in Prishtina and it is 9 o’clock in the morning.
Like a capital with OCD all the shopkeepers are sweeping, hosing and even mopping the paved shop fronts. They show such dedication, I just wish this was the case shown in other areas of the country. Tipping and dumping seems to be a big issue. I stroll into the Kosovo Museum, a must see on a short ‘to do’ list. I stand in the entrance hall and admire the scene before me. A spacious dimly lit, but in a professional way, room which has more of a casino feel than a museum is in front of me. The highly-buffed marble floor reflects the glass cabinets containing a whole host of Kosovo’s rich history.
1999 not only saw a brutal war in which so many people lost their lives, but the museum also lost something. Hundreds of precious artefacts were transported to Serbia for ‘safe keeping’. The war has long since passed but the artefacts are still being held by Serbia. With Kosovo’s recent breakaway from Serbia, I have to think that the livelihood of the items returning decreases as each day goes by.
Upstairs is a stark contrast from downstairs. The warm low-level lighting that provides a hospitable feel has gone. It has been replaced by natural light. It makes the cavernous room feel cold and bleak. The glass cases also have gone. Mortars, machine guns and RPG’s are left strewn about the place lying haphazardly on the floor, they aren’t even roped off. Not being able to read the Cyrillic alphabet I have to rely on the pictures to tell the story. Some of which are harrowing and gruesome in nature. As hard as it is to see, they tell the story more vividly than words could. Prishtina hardly shows the scars of war in comparison to its neighbours, but it seems there is a lasting memory bubbling under the surface.
Leaving Prishtina heading south is very pleasant. Not because of the picturesque scenery; far from it. It’s flat! For the first time since Germany I can make good time. Car breakers, petrol stations and car washes are how I will remember Kosovo’s businesses. With so many suits driving around in UN-marked cars it's clear to see that these are the car washers' prey.
The road may be flat, but is far from being a snooker table. The roads have been repaired so many times that there are more patches of tarmac than the original. In Prishtina I witnessed a man repairing a speed hump using very rudimentary tools, that consisted of a wooden plank with a log attached.
I pass both turn offs of the sights I visited yesterday. Gadime Cave, although was closed, gave me a great insight into a small Kosovo village. I constantly got lost, which I attribute to the lack of signs but I saw the poverty of which 22% of people live in.
The other sight was the very interesting Gracanica Monastery. The building alone is a fantastic piece of architecture which consists of a series of ornate arches which make the roof. The inside is just as fascinating. Top to toe is covered in frescoes, every arch, every pillar is flawlessly covered. The background is one solid colour, black. With no electricity, the monastery feels cold and eerie. The fact that the ancient Turks have scratched off the eyes of all the people in the frescoes didn’t help me feel any more at ease.
I am shaken back to reality and find myself at the Kosovo/Macedonia border. Soon I will be in Europe’s poorest country.
Like a capital with OCD all the shopkeepers are sweeping, hosing and even mopping the paved shop fronts. They show such dedication, I just wish this was the case shown in other areas of the country. Tipping and dumping seems to be a big issue. I stroll into the Kosovo Museum, a must see on a short ‘to do’ list. I stand in the entrance hall and admire the scene before me. A spacious dimly lit, but in a professional way, room which has more of a casino feel than a museum is in front of me. The highly-buffed marble floor reflects the glass cabinets containing a whole host of Kosovo’s rich history.
1999 not only saw a brutal war in which so many people lost their lives, but the museum also lost something. Hundreds of precious artefacts were transported to Serbia for ‘safe keeping’. The war has long since passed but the artefacts are still being held by Serbia. With Kosovo’s recent breakaway from Serbia, I have to think that the livelihood of the items returning decreases as each day goes by.
Upstairs is a stark contrast from downstairs. The warm low-level lighting that provides a hospitable feel has gone. It has been replaced by natural light. It makes the cavernous room feel cold and bleak. The glass cases also have gone. Mortars, machine guns and RPG’s are left strewn about the place lying haphazardly on the floor, they aren’t even roped off. Not being able to read the Cyrillic alphabet I have to rely on the pictures to tell the story. Some of which are harrowing and gruesome in nature. As hard as it is to see, they tell the story more vividly than words could. Prishtina hardly shows the scars of war in comparison to its neighbours, but it seems there is a lasting memory bubbling under the surface.
Leaving Prishtina heading south is very pleasant. Not because of the picturesque scenery; far from it. It’s flat! For the first time since Germany I can make good time. Car breakers, petrol stations and car washes are how I will remember Kosovo’s businesses. With so many suits driving around in UN-marked cars it's clear to see that these are the car washers' prey.
The road may be flat, but is far from being a snooker table. The roads have been repaired so many times that there are more patches of tarmac than the original. In Prishtina I witnessed a man repairing a speed hump using very rudimentary tools, that consisted of a wooden plank with a log attached.
I pass both turn offs of the sights I visited yesterday. Gadime Cave, although was closed, gave me a great insight into a small Kosovo village. I constantly got lost, which I attribute to the lack of signs but I saw the poverty of which 22% of people live in.
The other sight was the very interesting Gracanica Monastery. The building alone is a fantastic piece of architecture which consists of a series of ornate arches which make the roof. The inside is just as fascinating. Top to toe is covered in frescoes, every arch, every pillar is flawlessly covered. The background is one solid colour, black. With no electricity, the monastery feels cold and eerie. The fact that the ancient Turks have scratched off the eyes of all the people in the frescoes didn’t help me feel any more at ease.
I am shaken back to reality and find myself at the Kosovo/Macedonia border. Soon I will be in Europe’s poorest country.
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