Far away a dog barks and another answers it from almost directly under my window.
At three in the morning it is dark and relatively quiet, though the dogs who run wild in the streets can get loud and occasionally a car or truck rumbles past and I believe some of them lack mufflers.
The air is fresh each morning and smells somewhat exotic, like fields and trees that I do not know all the names of.
It is cool, but as the sun climbs the air becomes thick and warm. The scents of the country are quickly replaced with a heady mixture of smells that at times can be ignored and at times can overwhelm -eau de diesel fuel-garbage-cigarette smoke-frying meat-sewer water-dirty dog.
During the day things are lively on this busy corner of town. People shopping and walking, calling to each other, cars zooming by, kids laughing, horns honking, jackdaws chattering in the trees where they congregate in great flocks. And don't forget the roosters! There is a great deal of construction going on and there is the noise from that too and when the power is off there is the low grumble of generators behind every shop. At noon and five pm the call to prayer rings out from the mosque across the street, it's spire rising high above the trees and stony houses.
Despite all the recent growth and modern construction in the cities and despite the fact that trash often litters the streets and rivers, there is an ancient beauty about this place. The rocky walls and cobbled courtyards. The traditional garb of the older generations.
The jagged mountain peaks that tower in the hazy blue distance which make one feel that they just might be in Middle-earth and that possibly orcs really do exist.
These tall peaks border the country on all sides, like the rims of a great bowl, the inside of which contains rolling green hills, shrubby forests, and beautifully lush valleys. Red-roofed villages are tucked and folded into every nook and cranny, patch-work fields spread about each one. Red, yellow, white, purple, and blue wildflowers polka-dot the fields and brighten the roadside. Butterflies flutter and bees hum. Pigeons swoop over the town and ring-necked doves call from their perches on lamp-posts and balconies.
It has often seemed to me that Kosovo is a land of contrasts -perhaps all places are like that and I notice it more outside of my own culture? To me it seems Kosovo is quaint, yet bustling. Quiet, but loud. Dark, yet light. Harsh in ways, comforting in others. It is a land steeped in tradition, yet awash with the changes that westernization brings. A perfect example: You will see young boys herding their family's cattle in the hills, using sticks to prod them along and you will think, "This looks like a snapshot from a hundred years ago!" -Then one of the boys will pull out an iPod or a fancy cell phone and start clicking away on it.
(Goats stopping to drink from an ancient spring as they are herded back home for the day)
The people here are generous and hospitable nearly to a fault. The average Kosovar does not mince words though -they say what they mean and they mean what they say! Conversations to me often seem loud or boisterous, and if you did not know some of the language you might think that people here argue a lot. But this is just normal interaction and is (mostly) in good humor. They are a friendly people. Where else in the world would women that you just met (as happened to us this morning as we shopped for carpets) kiss your children and tell them how beautiful they are? Where else will near strangers usher you in and practically force feed you cookies and tea?
Aaaahhhh, munch munch, yep, it's good to be back in Kosovo!
