I am hard pressed to really talk about Kosovo.

One of the only categorical responses I have given about my trip was that Kosovo was the place to which I had no interest in returning. Now I’m not so sure.

In an attempt to convey my feelings I’ve started this post perhaps 20 times (more if you count the versions in my head that never even made it to paper). Each time I sit down with an idea of how I want to talk about it, I am struck with additional thoughts that don’t fit within the framework I’ve constructed.

Perhaps that is my failing…trying to apply or even imply some sort of understanding or order to Kosovo.When I return to the written record of my travels I find pages of detailed notes relating to specifics like bus and train schedules. Others filled with names, addresses, things to see, places to visit. And still others filled with observations charged with feeling and emotion. Not only my feelings but those I was absorbing from the place around me.

But as I sit here at my desk with the memories of arduous travel and disagreeable lodging fading and I revisit my thoughts on this place, I look at the pictures and videos and I am struck by something. I “see” what I was photographing, what I was trying to capture and remember. I see the “subject” but I also notice something else…what I missed the first time.  The things at the edge of the frame. The things slightly out of focus. The things I wasn’t looking for.

They tell a different story.

Juxtaposition and contradiction.

Between the two main cities of Priština and Prizren, I opted for Prizren. The later is supposedly more attractive, more authentic. I really can’t say if it’s true because all I saw of Priština was the bus station and its environs, which didn’t give the best impression. But honestly what bus station neighborhood does.

And Prizren, had I entered the town on the same road I’d left it perhaps I’d have had a better impression. Perhaps if it hadn’t been bitter cold with intermitant rain and snow, it might have been more inviting. Hard to say.

As it was…

Trash.

Piles of it at roadside pullouts. Furrows of it encircling fields and empty lots. Great sluices of it avalanching into nearly every stream. Water bottles, road kill, tattered clothing, shoes, tires, cigarette packs. When seen from a distance it is as if miles of Tibetan prayer flags have scattered themselves across the landscape.

Ubiquitous construction. Everywhere structures being built. One brick or cinderblock at a time. Pristine shops ready for occupants. Empty. Many businesses. No business.

Hopelessness and fashion. Side by side on the bus. Young men sporting brand name (if counterfeit) clothes in the latest styles. Schoolgirls that wouldn’t look out of place in Amsterdam, Berlin or Barcelona.

Mercedes, BMW, Audi, parked next to Yugo, Trabant, Lada.

In the face of ethnic tension, political unrest, stagering unemployment and cripling poverty…

Activity. People. Coming and going. Shopping. Visiting. Movement. Coffee. Tea. Raki. Beer.

But. Tension. Distrust.

Or. Curiosity. Interest.

And…

Its landscape is beautiful. If you compare Kosovo’s hills to that of its southern or northern neighbors they may look rather bland. But taken on their own they gently rise into the distance blanketed by the muted fireworks of leaves just past peak. Fields give way to groves of oak and copses of birch and beech. Near the town of Peć/Pejë (Serbian/Albanian) sits Dečani/Deçan Monastery. Dating to the 1330’s, the enclave rests quietly in a gap between two ridges. Acres of fields, vineyards and orchards give way to a patchwork of craggy outcropping and steep mountain forests.So maybe I’m not so hard pressed to talk about it. Maybe there is just to much to say.