I left Prizren on Friday and arrived in Reno (finally) on Sunday night. A bit of a long trip, to be sure, but it's been entirely worthwhile.
Friday, January 18: Prizren to Pristina
My landlord gave me and my very heavy suitcase (crammed full of nice clothes that are entirely unsuitable for Kosovo) a ride to the bus station. A very old man and I had to lift this suitcase into the bus's cargo compartment about 4.5 feet off the ground. We almost couldn't do it. The bus itself was my favorite kind: a double decker. Before getting on, I ducked into a cafe crammed full of smoking men to buy a burek (aka, the Balkan croissant) to eat because I was starving.
Once I seated myself on the bus in the very front seat of the upper level, I hungrily tucked into my chewy, underfilled purchase. Someone sat down in the seat across the aisle from me but left after a minute or two. He was smelly. I was relieved. Right before we left the station, another guy sat down. He looked at me. I stared into the folds of my burek. The questions began:
Where are you from?
America.
Are you working here?
Yes.
Where do you work?
At the university.
Are you a Christian?
No.
Why not?
(I smiled.)
Don't you believe in the blood of Jesus?
I considered changing seats, but I really liked the view I had so I decided to try to stick it out. He changed tactics:
Do you have friends?
Yes.
Do you have friends in Pristina?
Yes.
Can they get for me a job?
They aren't those kind of friends.
You don't believe in the blood of Jesus?
We hadn't even left Prizren yet at this point. Thankfully he turned to his newspaper, which occupied him for 20 minutes. I feigned sleep.
Have you had a nose operation?
No.
Your nose, it looks like it has been operated on. This is just conversation. Why don't you believe in the blood of Jesus?
He launched into a diatribe of his conversion. I spent a lot of time vaguely nodding and uh-uhing in appropriate spots. When he asked for my email, I gave him a fake address. I was happy to arrive in Pristina.
Saturday, January 20: Pristina to London
I arrived in Pristina a full day before my flight to London. I stayed the night with a colleague who was pretty happy to see me (even the city gets lonely). On Saturday morning, we walked down to the bus station to catch a bus out to the Gracanica Monastery. I was curious and a bit nervous to go out here because it is in a Serbian-dominant area. My personal impression was that Americans are persona non gratis in the Serbian areas. However, this could not have been further from the truth.
My colleage, who is also in Kosovo on the same fellowship program I am on, has spent some time in Gracanica teaching. Two of her students were nuns from the monastery. Once we arrived, we walked around the grounds a bit and found a man to ask if he could take us to Sister Sara. He led us into a large room with several tables where we sat and waited. Sara and my colleague's other student, Jovana, sat and chatted with us for a while. When lunchtime arrived, we were invited to join the sisters for the meal in the refectory. We accepted.
We walked down to the refectory and were shown our seats. We sat then suddenly everyone stood up. We ungracefully followed suit. The nun at the head of the table muttered something and the sisters began to sing. When they finished, we once again sat and the meal began. There was soup with dumplings; smoked fish with cabbage; whole, cooked fish; the best corn bread I have ever had; and a sweet cake. I ate three pieces of corn bread and was just dying to ask what the recipe for it was. The room was completely silent. Every so often, someone would briefly whisper to her neighbor, but conversation was not encouraged. Just as I was contemplating a fourth hunk of corn bread, a bell rang and everyone stood. Again, my colleague and I followed suit in the most ungraceful manner. Lunch was over. We carried our used plates into the kitchen.
We followed Sara and Jovana into their workshops. Both of these women paint religious icons which are sold in the monastery gift shop (they also do some on commission). I was given a crash course in how these icons are made. I can't do this explanation justice, but, in a nutshell, first a piece of wood is treated with some sort of finish. Secondly, the area that is to be painted with gold is treated with another finish. Thirdly, the figure is sketched. Fourth, the gold is painted on. Fifth, the figure is painted. Finally, another finish is applied. Icons can take months to make. I noticed that some of the ones on offer in the gift shop were upwards of 400 Euros.
An icon in progress
As the sisters were showing us their workshop, the bishop arrived. It was time for them to return to work. They walked us out to the front gate, we took a few pictures, flagged down a bus, and made our way back to Pristina.
My colleague with Jovana & Sara
I was very much looking forward to my arrival at Gatwick and my stay at the Yotel. The Yotel turned out to be an odd mix of capsule hotel and spaceship. The space was tiny. Luckily, I had only my carry on bag, so I wasn't tripping over my luggage, but there was barely any room to store even that. The staff were pretty friendly. I borrowed a power adapter so I could charge up my iPod. I tried to use the free wifi, but I couldn't figure it out and I was too tired to ask for help. The shower was terrific. Each bathroom is equipped with a rain shower head that just dumps water on you. The only downside to this was that I didn't want to get my hair wet in the morning and it was awkward to take a shower without doing so because the water comes straight down and you can't adjust it into an angle. I also managed to get water all over the bathroom and I completely soaked the roll of toilet paper.
However, the bed was comfortable and I had a decent night's sleep (although the tv at the foot of the bed puts off an annoying light even when it's been turned off).
Sunday, January 20: London to Reno
Long haul flights are a drag. I flew American. The food that American serves is worse than the food on United. The plane was packed and I sat a row with a screaming kid. Thankfully there was one person between me and him. That little bit of distance almost made it bearable. Almost. I used my iPod nearly the entire way. Once we landed in Dallas, it took me two hours to clear customs and collect my bags. There were only four customs agents working the US resident line which was insanely long. In the future, I'll try to fly through San Francisco, where clearing customs is generally quite quick. I had five hours in Dallas (a very mediocre airport). I slept most of the way to Reno. Skeena was waiting for me at the airport. I was skeptical, but she did, indeed, remember me.
Yo Gatwick, Yotel
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