EMERGING KOSOVO FULL OF SURPRISES
I’m standing on the corner of Bill Clinton Boulevard and George W. Bush Street in downtown Pristina, the capital of Kosovo. Towering above me is a statue of former U.S. President Clinton. Just around the corner is the Hillary Boutique, specializing in the iconic pantsuits worn by the presidential candidate.
It’s a surprise I often run into in this Balkan country whose name most folks know primarily as a war zone: unabashed Yankee love.
It isn’t the only surprise, either: For all the highly visible strife of the 1990s, Kosovo turns out to be a safe, diverse, wildly beautiful and inexpensive English-speaking destination with good roads, hotels and restaurants. National parks make up 11 percent of the land area with scenic, accessible mountain terrain. There are traditional mountain villages and UNESCO cultural icons, including 13th century monasteries.
Rarely visited even by Western Europeans who flock to nearby Croatia, it’s also still charmingly unpretentious and welcoming. And, as I said, they love Americans like no other place I’ve ever been.
The Clinton crush is the result of the American president calling in NATO forces in 1998 to stop Christian Serbs from wiping out the 92 percent Muslim ethnic Albanian majority living in Serbia’s southwestern province of Kosovo. After 78 brutal days of bombing, Slobodan Milosevic’s security forces retreated, and the final war in the breakup of the former Yugoslavia ended. The country was then quickly rebuilt by the European Union to get the economy back on its feet. Today, four NATO bases remain in the country.
Being a tiny, landlocked country less than half the size of Vermont makes Kosovo easy to explore while country-hopping to check out surrounding Albania, Montenegro, Macedonia or Serbia on a single trip. (See “If you go” for border restrictions with Serbia.)
My plan was to spend five days exploring Kosovo’s culture and wilderness. I met up with my guide, Arsim Rexhepi, in neighboring Macedonia’s capital of Skopje for the onehour drive north to the border to enter Europe’s newest country: In 2008 Kosovo unilaterally declared its independence from Serbia, and today, it’s officially recognized by 110 countries, including the United States, although it’s still working toward United Nations representation.
It is also literally Europe’s youngest country, with an average age of 29.5, a statistic that is obvious in the lively, youthful vibe of Kosovo’s cultural capital of Prizren (population 185,000), the country’s second-biggest city.
Throngs of young couples and groups of schoolchildren stroll the cobblestone streets and main square of the Old City on a Saturday afternoon. Some of the girls wear miniskirts; others head scarves.
Shops are busy, and there is a buzz from the tree-shaded cafes, Turkish tea houses and small restaurants. The aroma of burek (phyllo pastry stuffed with cheese, meat or spinach), kebabs and other Turkish-style food drifts through the narrow streets lined with Byzantine and Ottoman medieval architecture, vestiges of the many empires that have passed through this east-west crossroad.
And everywhere I go, locals approach and ask if I’m American. Even when I tell them I’m Canadian, they want to shake my hand and take pictures.
The landmark 16th century Old Stone Bridge arches elegantly over the Bistrica River. I visit the 1615 Sinan Pasha Mosque and Kosovo’s grand UNESCO-protected 14th century Our Lady of Ljeviš Orthodox Church. In the well-preserved Ottoman quarter, Turkish is spoken by one of the country’s many minorities, which also include Bosniaks, Serbs, Roma and Ashkalia.
Walking up a steep pathway to the castle encircling a hilltop overlooking Prizren, there are great views of the city, with its more than 20 mosque spires pointing heavenward. Spinning around, I watch pink sunset rays lighting up the snow-capped peaks of the Sharr mountain range.
In the morning, hiking guide Edis Krusha drives us up a canyon road, zigzagging through forest and past hilltop castle ruins toward those mountains. After 90 minutes, we arrive at Prevalla, in winter a small ski center at 5,000 feet, and lace up our boots as a young shepherd urges a herd of sheep past us toward summer pastures.
Hiking up the flank of one of the Sharr’s highest peaks, 8,559-foot Bistra, we cross alpine meadows blazing with wild orange crocuses and set up a picnic alongside a bubbling spring with views of valleys and snowy peaks. Bistra is on the Via Dinarica route, a 1,200-mile hiking trail crossing eight Western Balkan countries. It was named Outside magazine’s best new trail for 2014.
By late afternoon, after a stop for a cold, locally brewed Birra Peja, we wind along a single cobblestone lane through Donje Lyubinje, a tiny Bosnian village. We park and walk 15 minutes through wildflower fields to a farmhouse where Rexhep Kurtishi and his wife, Halida, cook us a traditional Bosnian stew with beans and bread she baked on coals in an outdoor pit. There are yogurt and cheese from their cows, and salad from the garden. Though it’s a simple house, we’re treated like royalty.
The next morning we drive northwest past vineyards, stopping for wine tasting outside Rahovec. Even though Albanians are predominantly Muslim, drinking is quite liberal, and there is a lively harvest festival every September when locals dress in traditional garb. At Mirusha Falls, we hike alongside a cascading chain of waterfalls.
In Peja, with its bustling bazaar and strong Ottoman and Serbian Orthodox heritage, we stop for a fresh
trout lunch overlooking the river that winds through this charming little city. It’s a cultural and outdoor hub — we start with culture, driving 10 miles south to the 1327 Decani Monastery, one of two local “Medieval Monuments in Kosovo” UNESCO World Heritage Sites.
A bonus was getting to watch NATO at work at a military roadblock, complete with a watchtower overlooking the heavily guarded entrance. A friendly Austrian soldier smiles and waves us through after checking our passports.
We stroll the tranquil grounds where 25 Serbian monks live and make delicious wines, cheeses and honey for sale at the small shop. The imposing medieval church — the biggest in the Balkans — smells warmly of beeswax candles illuminating spectacular frescoes and icons under restoration by the monks.
The second protected site is to the east of Peja, the 13th century Patriarchate of Pec, an important Serbian spiritual seat and mausoleum for archbishops and patriarchs. Nuns stroll the landscaped grounds that include a convent and a group of four domed churches with ancient frescoes. In the courtyard is an 800-yearold mulberry tree and an ancient fountain spouting spring water that the nuns are especially proud to show off.
Peja is also a gateway to outdoor activities, so — to the sound of Kosovar hip-hop on the radio — we drive up through the Rugova Gorge, a steep-walled canyon with countless tunnels winding alongside a river.
We meet trained guides who gear us up for a 320-foot vertical climb up a series of cables and metal rungs on the Balkans’ first via ferrata, with spectacular views of mountains, Peja city and the gorge, and stops at ancient caves in the cliffs. Built by Italian professionals with extensive experience in the Dolomites, the route offers the vistas and adrenaline of rock climbing, but in a safe environment with no experience needed.
We celebrate our via ferrata summiting with a shot of jarringly strong rakia, a popular fruit brandy, at the Magra Austria mountain lodge in the ski village of Bogaj near the Montenegrin border. It’s a popular base for day or longer hikes, including sections of the 119-mile Peaks of the Balkans Trail that winds through Kosovo, Montenegro and Albania.
In the morning, a thin dusting of snow covers the village as we head eastward to Kosovo’s capital of Pristina. It’s a culture shock of quirky old and new, with streets that go from paved to rubble-strewn as you turn a corner, with sleek contemporary architecture alongside communist Brutalist structures, historic landmarks and abandoned buildings.
I visit the surreal National Library with its metal grates and white bubble roofs, designed during the Communist era, and drop into the Cathedral of Blessed Mother Teresa (she was ethnically Albanian).
Locals are keen to chat on a stroll through the lively “green” farmers’ market on my way to two beautifully preserved Ottoman houses in an enclosed walled garden, a complex that makes up the surprisingly excellent Ethnological Museum. The cluedin, enthusiastic, English-speaking staff gives a fascinating tour, bringing to life various unique pieces of clothing, weapons, jewelry and household goods on display, a great introduction to Kosovar culture.
Late that afternoon, near the Brutalist Gradski Stadium, I make the pilgrimage to the Newborn Monument that captures the country’s youthful spirit. It’s a typographical sculpture of the word “newborn,” a selfie magnet for the young people who make up so much of this country.
As the sun goes down, the volume goes up for a noisy, free-spirited nightlife, stoked by a generation that grew up with international brands brought by nongovernmental organizations in the early 2000s. Craft beers are now taking off, and restaurants serve everything from coconut curry to trendy Kosovo locavore fare.
I opt for traditional on my last night, at the Liburnia Restaurant in a historic Turkish-style home tucked away on a small street, with a romantic aura and old-style music. Because when you’re surrounded by so much new, it’s nice to visit the past for a while.