Woodland writer explores new country with old customs

A road sign still includes the speed limit for military tanks. Susan McAdams / For The Daily News

Sunday, November 2, 2008 1:08 AM PDT

By Susan McAdams
Special to The Daily News

Greetings from the newest nation in the world — Kosovo. My very understanding husband, Jerry Wallace, gave me the gift of a year in Europe to research some writing projects. For now, I have joined a family friend from Seattle, Robert Sanford, on a six-week photographic expedition through the Balkans.

One guidebook began, “If you manage to get into Kosovo ....” We had no problem, except the car insurance I bought in Italy doesn’t cover Kosovo. I was directed to a small building at the border crossing, where a man quickly produced a computer print-out of a Kosovo insurance policy, complete with official seal, for 50 Euro ($75.00).

I thought it must have been a coup for whatever insurance company had gotten the border franchise. But when I looked at the policy, it actually was issued by a pool of 5 or 6 companies put together for this purpose.

One solution to one problem. But imagine how many issues, both big and small, have to be worked out when one province breaks off from its former nation, especially if the former nation is very unhappy about it.

For example, Serbia must have controlled Kosovo’s electric grid. And postal system. And professional licensing. And owned all the road maintenance equipment. And maybe Serbia could just decide to “deport” all Kosovar prison inmates and release them at the Kosovo border.

Within a kilometer of the border, the presence of UN peace-keeping troops became very evident. We passed (unstopped) through a checkpoint complete with tanks and automatic weapons. Later, we passed large UN military bases and, at various times, asked soldiers from the U.S. and from Greece for directions.

Soon after crossing the border, the roadside was lined with souvenir shops full of Republic of Kosovo T-shirts and banners and memorabilia of the declaration of independence from Serbia in February of 2008.

The new Kosovo flag is flown by some businesses and residences, but more still fly the Albanian flag, probably because the majority of the population of Kosovo is ethnically Albanian. For souvenirs of the recent fighting, we looked not in shops but along the road, where we saw signs listing the speed limits for armored tanks!

As I had noticed in Albania and Macedonia, Kosovo towns have a lot of apparently unemployed men who seem to spend most of their time sipping coffee with their friends in sidewalk cafes. (By the way, cafes here generally don’t serve food — they are really coffee bars.)

I wonder how the young UN soldiers from the US, Greece, Turkey, and Britain feel about their deployment here, with so many young local men sitting about. However, the soldiers we chatted with seemed very upbeat. The local population clearly appreciates the help of these UN troops. Many businesses fly flags from all of the participating nations, and large billboards proclaim the new nation’s thanks.

Throughout the Balkans, I’ve been delighted by the friendliness of the citizens. Earlier this fall, as we walked down the main street of a small village looking for an ATM (there wasn’t one — there wasn’t even a bank), several teenagers noticed our cameras and asked us to take their pictures. Soon, about a dozen kids had gathered, those who knew some English practicing it on us.

One boy of about 14, who desperately wants to come to America, saw his opportunity to grab our attention. He asked Robert and I if we would please come to his house and take a picture of it.

Always ready to see where an adventure will lead, we followed the boy to a tidy, quite new two-storey house in a fenced courtyard with a barn, chickens and lawn. He introduced us to his older sister on the porch, and they ushered us into the house.

The first floor held a parlor (used mostly for guests, and mostly by the men), a kitchen/dining room, and a large living room where the family hangs out. Upstairs, one side of the house was divided into the parents’ bedroom which had a Western-style double bed, and the son’s room with two day beds against one wall.

The other side of the second floor was one large bedroom for the daughters — seven of them! The girls’ room had day beds lining one long and one short wall, all of which were made up with bolster pillows so they looked like a long, narrow L-shaped sectional sofa. The other short wall had a large piece of furniture composed of armoire closets, drawers and shelves.

Throughout, the decor was Turkish-style — the furniture was fairly sparse, and there were few knick-knacks or pictures on the white walls, although there was a jungle of houseplants on the stairway. Brown dominated the color scheme, with red and purple added through tapestry-like pillows, rugs and throws. The house was pleasant, clean and seemed to invite sitting down for a cup of coffee or glass of lemonade.

We stayed in a hotel in Gnjilan, Kosovo that looked sort of like a Motel 6. There aren’t many hotels in this area, perhaps because not many tourists came here either during the recent period of instability or during the Communist years. Also, throughout the southern Balkans, there have been virtually no private rooms advertised — unlike in the northern parts of Central Europe where “zimmer frei – room available” signs hang outside many homes.

One reason for the lack of private rooms may be because most of the people here are either Muslim or Eastern Orthodox, so while many have large houses, they also have large families, often including grandma and grandpa and a couple aunts and uncles.

Ironically, another factor in the lack of private rooms here may stem from the area’s long tradition of exuberant hospitality. Guests are treated with utmost generosity and concern. For example, under the old code, if a guest were murdered, the host took on the responsibility of blood revenge --- which was not discharged until the host did away with the last male relative of the murderer or a settlement was reached by a governing tribunal.

You can see why one might rather not host some stranger off the highway in the first place.

Kosovo occupies a rich and fertile-looking land of rolling hills and pastoral farm scenes. Almost all of the houses in this area are two or three stories high, white or pastel stucco, roofed with red tile. The houses tend to be grouped in small villages with farmland in between. Unlike in Albania, where we saw people tethering out one cow or tending five or six sheep or a few goats, here there are herds of 20-30 cows and 100 or so sheep, and I haven’t seen any goats.

Lack of goats, I have learned, is a sign of prosperity.

In rural Kosovo, I saw a great photo opportunity. A large double door leading into an enclosed yard was completely carved and colorfully painted in a traditional motif of repeating geometrical shapes. I stopped to take pictures of the door. Soon, a child peeked out of the side door. Then another child and another appeared. I took pictures of them.

Then the mother stepped out, obviously wondering what kind of person was bothering her kids. I thought I was in big trouble now. Instead, the mother said, “Me too,” so I took her picture. Then, grandma and grand auntie stepped out. It became clear that the little kids were running back into the house, hauling out relatives one or two at a time.

So far, everyone was dressed in Western-style clothing — until great-grandma appeared. Here was a sweet old woman, wearing a baggy sweater over Turkish-style pants (very baggy from the waist to the calf, then tightly wound around the ankles) and head scarf.

She must have been about 4 1/2 feet tall, and smiling at the treat of having her picture taken. As I was putting my camera away, very pleased to have had this wonderful chance encounter, great-grandpa walked out from the doorway! He wore a Turkish-style white felt hat fitted to the head and round on top. Great grandpa would not say anything or act enthusiastic, but he let me take his picture, both alone and next to (but not touching) granny.

When I finally started to leave, great grandma gave me a hug and kissed me on both cheeks. The whole group waved goodbye with big smiles. I wore my own smile for the next hour.

The next day, I saw a big road sign ahead of me. It read, “Atina 2197>, Beograd 2196>.” Growing up in rural Washington State, I’m quite sure I never even dreamed of being at a crossroads between Athens and Belgrade.

What an adventure this is! On to Bulgaria!

Susan McAdams, a writer and business owner, lives in Woodland with her husband Jerry Wallace. All three of their sons are or have been students at Lower Columbia College.