It finally stroke - homesickness

Yesterday we celebrated Thanksgiving by having lunch in a fish restaurant Trofta in Istog. Before that, I woke up to a freeeeezzzzzzzing morning. It was cold. It was humid. It rained outside. I really didn't want to get up, only to stay under the blanket. Having even just the head outside the only warm thing in my house, the blanket, was too much. And then there is an ice-cold bathroom, with an ice-cold toilet seat and even colder bathtub. Kitchen instead- it feels like a huge fridge but it's not, because temperature in fridge should be lower than elsewhere and my whole downstairs is like one big cold beer - at least temperature and humidity match. Which means that if I want to cook something that takes longer than a few minutes I need to wear gloves.

And the worst is that outside it's not even below zero. I'm not sure of inside. This kills me. In Finland they had new records for coldest November weather, up to (or should I say down to) -33 C. Inside it's still pleasant +22 C. Or knowing my father, up to +25 C when he heats the fireplace.

I miss proper insulation. I miss proper heating. I miss big fireplaces that store the heat and keep the house warm the next day. And then it hit - So I started to actually to miss home. I started really missing home. I miss snow. I miss cold but dry weather. I miss skiing. I miss my friends. I miss supermarkets with wide selection of food. I miss easy cooking. I miss Finnish coffee. I miss candy. Christmas songs and decorations that start already in October. I miss driving a car. I miss reading newspapers and magazines. Sauna. PlayStation. Family. Ballet. Movie theaters. Did I mention coffee already?

So when we were going to the restaurant my mood equaled with cloudy and rainy, grey weather. (Oh, forgot to mention, I miss boneless fish dishes, yogurt, cheese, milk, salads, feta-spinach pie etc.) Coming back towards Peja, clouds gave way to sunshine and revealed the mountains that had been covered in snow. I hadn't seen them for a few days because of rainy weather. They were so beautiful, untouched. My miserable mood changed to smile. An easy life - didn't I try to escape that? What's there to complain anyway? A little suffering won't kill anyone. Next time, I need to bring my skis here.

Consumer protection? Copyright? Patient safety? Never heard.

I don't mind that all movies and music sold in this country are pirates. I don't mind ordering Coca Cola in the most expensive restaurant and get an already opened bottle of so-called Coke, which actually is flat AlbiCola... Or buying a liquid detergent for washing clothes and it turns out to be almost water, in color and otherwise. But when it comes to products for babies – I get mad. I heard the other day that my local acquaintance's seven months old son was in really bad condition and was in a hospital, parents fearing of losing him. Why? They had fed him milk for babies.

Don't trust the best before or use before-dates. Not only shops sell old stuff but the dates may even be changed.

Don't get to a condition that you need a doctor if you don't want to give bribes. Or, at least don't get so bad that you need to go to hospital. If you do, bring your own clean sheets. And use a toilet before going there, unless you are a masochist and want to use a toilet with pee, shit, puke and blood everywhere. Well, at least there shouldn't be worry of getting nosocomial infection. Though of course you can get other nasty diseases just from going there.

I need to believe that some doctors are still good. Sometimes it's hard, just thinking the stories I've heard. Like about a doctor who was having a section on a becoming mother. He leaves the mother open on a table and goes to a husband, asking 250 € or the mother and a baby will die. The husband asks some time to collect the money and calls the police. He gets instructions to pay and take serial numbers of the notes he gives, and then the police will come. If they find these bills from the doctor they'll arrest him. And they did. This happened on Saturday. On Monday the doctor was back to work. Less dramatic but equally horrible was a story of a poor couple, mother giving birth. Hospital treatment should be free, but she had been in pain for three days because the couple couldn't afford paying a doctor to start the delivery. The couple was from a smaller town, and the husband couldn't afford traveling every day so he slept outside in a hospital yard.

You want to hear more about bribing and corruption? Closer than health”care” system, I have been able to follow what happens inside the education system. Now THAT is something unequal.

Yet, life is not miserable. Just DON'T end up in hospital. And don't study.

2 Young 2 Furious

Last weekend I was again in the mountains. Time there makes me think. This is what I wrote down.

---

14.11.2010 10:55 Pepaj

I had just laid down on a terrace of F.'s house in Pepaj, and starting to write to my notebook, when something caught my attention. In my hair there was something that didn't belong there. It was a glimpse of silver in copper. One curl was grey.

I pulled it out, trying to find out if it was just the top that was burned from the sun and had lost its color. No - the whole hair was all grey from root to top.

I'm 24 years old, soon to be 25. From my face, people think that I'm 18-22. How come I have my first grey hair now? It's not in genes. Parents: ~50. Grandmother: never. Me? 24?!?

At this point of year I usually have a minor age crisis. Every year. Every time it's about how old I am and inner dialogue if I have accomplished enough in my life. I really don't need this hair issue to magnify the effect.

I keep the hair between my fingers, study it carefully. It shines like silver. It's beautiful, and yet it just doesn't fit in. Still, it's a reflection of me. Like I am a reflection of the world. Beautiful, shining, but don't fit in. I let wind to catch my silver hair. I let it fly. I stand up and promise myself not to have any age crisis this year. (Though I still hope not to make any more such findings.)

Environmentally Responsible Action (ERA) group in Facebook

I actually wanted to put this in the sidebar. First try didn't work out fine. I'm lazy.

Time flies

The countdown has begun. My EVS-time in Kosovo is ending. I have less than three weeks "normal" life (whatever it is) before I start some maniac traveling. Prior to that, I need to pack my life into a suitcase and couple boxes and to move to a corner of a room in my boss's apartment.

First there will be a weekend in Switzerland (thank you Easyjet for opening new routes to Prishtina!). Then back in Peja for a couple of days. A trip to Boston for Christmas and New Year, via New York. Back in Peja, for... three days, I think, before saying adios amigos and moving back to the land of lakes, snow and Sauna.... for a month or so. Until I return back home.

There are certain things to do before the travel season (aka things that I have had, what, 10 months time to do but still haven't accomplished). Such as:

- visiting a mosque

- visiting the ethnographic museum of Peja

- baking Karelian pasties

- at the "rush hour", arms linked with at least two other people, walking from one end of Korza to another, turning around, walking again, turning around and continuing this some time, and making sure not giving way to anyone

- going to the city to check if someone happens to be there and randomly going for coffee

There are more small things and some bigger ones too, mostly something to do with mountains, but I won't stress because of them. This time, there will be next time.

November rain

Today is the first day in November when the maximum temperature has been less that +20 ºC. Now it's only +15 ºC. Is this winter or what?

The moments that matter

Last weekend I spent some quality time with our executive director in the mountains. Beautiful spots where I hadn't been before, home-made raki, some hiking and some more raki.

This reminded me of the most meaningful moments of my whole time in the territory of Kosovo. That moment lasted some two hours.

Our executive director is one of the most inspiring persons I have ever met. He is a man from the mountains, yet a great speaker and a really charismatic person. If I had to choose one day from the past nine months that has been the best, I would not only select one day but two hours that I will never forget. Of course the previous and following days play also an important role in this act. Describing the experience is not easy and it may not sound so special, but for me those moments belong to the collection of the most meaningful moments in my life. This is what happened in May:

On Friday we went to the village of Pepaj, which is the highest of the 13 villages in Rugova. The plan was to stay overnight in F.'s house, and to continue early next morning to Hajla to work on building a cabin. This was one of the first of those nights that I have since spent with F. drinking heavily, being foolish and talking. A lot. Sometimes something deep, sometimes chit-chat. However they are, I value those golden moments. Through words I sense his passion to the mountains.

At some point of the night F. decided that we should go for a hike when sun starts to rise and try to catch some deer on film. Both of us stayed awake, and 4:30 we left, with a video camera (to film deer if we see them) and an AK-47. Just for safety. F. said that he wouldn't shoot other animals except only a wild boar.

We sneaked as silently as possible, stopping from time to time to catch our breath so it wouldn't be too loud. F. showed me how I should step to make as little noise as possible. We arrived at the edge of a forest and sat there for some time, lurking deer. Nothing. We continued a bit further, stopped. Watched. Listened. Nothing.

Until - behind us, in the forest we hear some cracking voice. Both of our eyes light. F. shows with signs that it's a wild boar. I hold my breath. He unsecures the gun.

The next an hour or so we try to track the boar. We move almost silently. We hear the boar from time to time but never see it. Sun starts to get higher in the sky. We spot a red squirrel, F. films it. I go further trying to make it move closer to F. and his camera. We hike back to his village. It's 6:30.

After spending two hours in the forest and not to sleeping before that, I fall into sleep almost immediately. F. continues working in his garden. After two and half hours I wake up, and we drive closer to the spot where we start our hike to Halja. F. carries his chainsaw. The whole day he works like a maniac, cutting the logs to boards. After staying awake the whole previous night, after drinking a lot of raki, after our hike, after other physical work, he continues working until it's dark. Then he eats. Then he falls asleep. Next morning, he wakes up and starts working again.

For me, that two-hour hike was the most inspiring thing I have experienced for a long time. Those hours had it all - the magic of the Accursed mountains, sunrise, silence, excitement... It was the moment that had all the answers. It revealed all the reasons to be here, to be alive. It was the moment that mattered.

All Creatures Great and Small

Spiders fascinate me. I love them, and still I'm a bit scared of them. I don't have problems to take them to my hand (though I really used to). I even have a spider tattoo. And the word spider - regardless the language - somehow it fits my mouth. It kind of tastes good.

Spider. Marimanga. Hämähäkki. Spindel.

It hasn't always been like this. When I was little, I used to be scared of spiders. Very scared. Now, after years have passed by, I have turned to love them. It's funny. Another thing I used to be scared of and later turned to love is thunderstorm.

I am not a big fan of other bugs than spiders. On the other hand, I can't kill any bigger animal than a mosquito (ok a deer fly, my greatest enemy, doesn't count here).

So, here's the pattern:

six legs -> not so happy with them

eight legs - > love

(Should I put here also two legs...?)

But: now I have encountered a new creature that lives in my house. And it has 30 legs. 30. Like, T-H-I-R-T-Y! And I can assure, it wasn't a small creature. I mean 30 legs already need some space themselves, not to mention the body that holds them. According to my formula (more legs, more love?) I should have really warm feelings towards this one. Unfortunately it wasn't the case. Though I had some strong feelings - I had a nightmare the night after meeting a centipede. These are the rare moments I find myself missing Finland (a little). At least it's so cold there that not all these weird things come to lurk in your house.

Learning to learn outdoors

Another great weekend in Rugova behind!

This time ERA organized a training course about outdoor experiential learning. Our trainer was Petr Kubala from Outwardbound Czech. He led us to nice games and activities inside, outside and during the hike to the lake.

The last two weeks it had rained almost every day, so I was a bit worried how it would turn out with all the outdoor activities. But - sun was shining the whole weekend. And autumn colors, all the frosty mornings... I just love it there.

Again, I have left a piece of my heart in those mountains. I wonder if one day it will be the last piece. Then I'll have to stay there and never come down to the city?

Boys boys boys

They are raised to be kings of the city, if not the world. They are let to do whatever they want, and even encouraged to do stupid things. They are spoiled, they are wayward, they are sons. They are loved. More than daughters.

Within a week I have twice stopped a bunch of boys tormenting a stray kitten. Last time yesterday. A kitten was running under a car, three boys following and trying to kick it. I flipped out (in my mind) and angrily compelling them to stop. I got some weird faces but didn't care. Finally boys ran away and the kitten was safe for a while at least.

The other day we were having a walk with my friend. In one hour timeline two random boys tried to kick or hit us. And what do parents do? They laugh. Boys are boys.

Here, a family concept is different. A new wife moves to her husband's home after the wedding. And I mean home-home. With a mother-in-law, and other brothers' families. She goes to visit her own family once a month for a week or so. In her new home, under the eye of the mother-in-law, the newest bride serves everyone. She stands up whenever someone comes of goes to the room. She brings coffee to guests. This continues until she gives birth to a son. Daughters don't count. Sons do. Oh, and only the sons inherit, too.

What is this patriarchal society? Raised to believe in equality, I find it really hard to accept such things. Today, (I would say luckily) more and more city girls share my thoughts. But village girls - this is their dream. To get married to a wealthy family. To get a son. Because they are so precious. They are kings of the city.

Tik-llakat

If I ever have hated something, it's this thing. Life in Peja has been peaceful, until around two weeks ago... streets started suddenly to fill with these things. They are strings with a ball at each end. And they make noise. And they cost 50 cents. You put that plastic ring in your middle finger and when moving your hand, balls hit against each other and make extremely annoying noise. It's tik-llakat, and its only function is to make irritating noise. And that it succeeds to do.

For me, tik-llakat represents everything bad, evil and disgusting. It is cheap, it's crap and it has no reason to exists. Yet it's so popular. Now, absolutely everybody has tik-llakat. Bunch of kids in the street have them. Youth have them. Roma people have them. A mobile operator salesman has them. A waiter in the café has them. A taxi driver leaning his car waiting for customers has them. A stray dog has them. And they make noise. They make me crazy. All the time, also right this moment, home, in my bedroom, I'm forced to listen that tapping noise as my neighbor's child has one. Though I'm not alone hating them. Also other neighbor's dog hates them. He barks. I just curse in my mind where all the silence in the world has gone.

One night in Prizren

The title may be a bit misleading. It was only a half an hour adventure and we made it to the hotel before 21:30. Alcohol was not involved either.

I was in a coordinating team in SALTO SEE's study visit in Kosovo, in this case in Peja, Klina and Prizren. After Peja and Klina, we arrived in Prizren, accommodated in a hotel, went to the youth center to eat flia. After dinner, participants headed to the city center to continue evening but the coordinating team decided to have a meeting and join the others later (at 21:00, to be sharp).

The meeting took longer than we originally thought, as we started to have ridiculous problems with a really small practical matter. Discussion went further and further and at one point everyone was just laughing and laughing. At the end, we found a simple solution to our problem. It was time to join the others. Except... a couple of people decided to stay at the office, and as it was raining and we being tired, me and D. decided to go to the hotel.

As mentioned, it was raining. We didn't know where the hotel was located (except that it was quite far away) so a local guy promised to call a taxi for us. But then his friend Arijon was leaving to same direction and was supposed to take us.This guy left to meet the others and me and D. went outside to wait Arijon and his car. We stood under my umbrella, waiting. Waiting. Waiting. And at exactly same moment started laughing. It was clear that our driver had vanished.

We still standing outside and laughing, a boy who has been inside the building approaches us. We ask if he is Arijon. He doesn't speak English a lot, just a few words, but it's clear that he's not our driver. I'll try to explain the situation to him with my rusty Albanian, D. tries if he speaks Serbian. I put almost all my existing vocabulary there and yet he doesn't seem to get it. And of course he doesn't - he works for TV, not the organization we were visiting. They just happen to work in the same building.

The TV-boy leaves, and D. decides it's time for us to call a taxi. Of course we don't know any taxi company, so we go inside to search for the TV-boy. He seems to have vanished too. We split up and look for him everywhere. Finally he comes out from one room, next to the office we had our meeting. We ask him to call a taxi as he can explain where it should come. There's a lot of confusion when we don't have any strong common language, but finally it seems to be solved and taxi coming.

Both me and D. realize that we don't remember the name of the hotel. D. opens the door to the office to ask from our colleague who stayed there working. Immediately the same idea pops in our heads and we start laughing hysterically - all the time we tried to speak with the TV-boy there has been an Albanian speaker right behind the door! We can't stop laughing but manage to ask the hotel's name. We go out and the taxi comes. We hop in and tell our destination. The taxi driver is a young guy, he asks D. where we are from. D. tells his origin, I mention being from Finland. And the guy starts speaking Finnish! He tells that he lived in Espoo and worked in Helsinki for one year, in Eerikin Pippuri. I don't know the company but smile widely. He pronounces it perfectly. We arrive at the hotel. Kiitos. Hyvää yötä!

May I introduce my dear friend - headlamp

My house has been without electricity for 24 hours. Typically it turns off every now and then for technical difficulties with delivery. Now it's different. This neighborhood hasn't paid their electricity bills. Which means KEK (Kosovar Electricity Company, or something like that) has decided to cut the electricity until they pay. The problem here is that though households have their individual electricity consumption meters, the houses are still connected so that the company can't cut the delivery to houses separately but it has to torture the whole neighborhood. So thanks to my neighbors, my house doesn't have electricity either until they pay. Too bad that most of my neighbors seem to have a generator. Guess if I have one?

So now I'm sitting in pitch dark. Can't take a shower. Can't cook. Can't do laundry. I'm waiting my laptop battery to die. After that can't listen to music. But it's not that melancholic and depressing that it may sound. I can always read. Or go to sleep early. Not being able to cook is also a great excuse to eat only corn flakes. Life goes on without you baby.

I have the freedom to listen to any music I want

It's starting to be too much. It's already third or fourth day. Every morning, he is waiting me in the corridor. I go down, ready to put my shoes (or still, as it's warm, flip flops) on and there he is.

Or technically he is not there, but I hear his voice. Or actually, I don't hear his voice either, but a specific song starts to play in my head. Always in the corridor, always in the morning and in the morning only. Every morning, David Hasselhoff accompanies me and starts to sing his hit song I've been looking for freedom.

I have to say that the song is not in my list of top-10 favorite songs. I haven't heard it for a long time either. Sometimes, for some weird reasons, some random songs pop up in my head - what to do. But today it started to be too much. I had to find out why it is stuck in my head, why it appears always in the corridor. So I googled the lyrics, desperately trying to find some answers. I read them, and listened to the song. That's the moment when my eyes turned wide open. I don't remember never actually listening to lyrics. But now when I see them it obvious - I've been looking for freedom.

I headed down the track
my baggage on my back
I left the city far behind
walkin' down the road
with my heavy load
tryin' to find
some peace of mind
father said you'll be sorry, son
if you leave your home this way
and when you realize
the freedom money buys
you'll come running home some day

I've been looking for freedom
I've been looking so long
I've been looking for freedom
still the search goes on
I've been looking for freedom
since I left my home town

No matter what, the song is still not in my favorite top-10. Nor in top-50. And actually the lyrics are not so special. Sorry David, I'd prefer to continue looking for my freedom without you, so please, get out from my corridor, thankyouverymuch.

Cafe latte, please... and a brownie

Sweet Bean - an American style coffee house - is my favorite café in Peja. It surely is not a typical one. How come? Five unique facts make it special: 1) This place really is the only café in the city that has non-smoking policy, 2) Music is played with such volume that it's possible to hear what a person next to you says, 3) It also happens to be the only one that sells something to eat with your coffee, american style sweet pastries in this case, 4) They have books and magazines to read, 5) Also girls work there.

Four first points are also the reasons why it has gained the first place in my list of cafés here. Conveniently, it's relatively close to our office. So we go there almost every day. To support local business of course. Not to mention the brownies - they are soooooooo good. If the word devour is created for something specific, that would be for me eating brownies.

P.S. 6) It is the only café that uses metal spoons instead of disposable plastic spoons.

Not just anyone.

Sometimes - not too often though - you just meet someone that you feel to have connection with from the very first second you met. Someone who you constantly notice doing things you would do (and not only would, but you do), and those things fascinate you. Such as talking to bees - patiently explaining to them that no, it's not their food, would you please leave. Or jumping to puddles. Or catching raindrops with tongue. And you would do the same.

Except you won't. Not this time. Because you are so attracted by this other person you forget who you truly are and start acting like and idiot. Like start to slobber for example. That someone must feel the same connection that you do, right? Right?

Kosovar etiquette

An example of everyday dialog (usually in Albanian):

- Hi! (kisses to cheeks) How are you? Are you good?

- Yes, good good. And you?

- Good. How are you doing?

- Good, good.

- How is everything going?

- Good.

- Are you tired?

- No, no. It's good.

- Anything new?

- Nothing.

- Why?

- *shrug*

- How's your family?

- Good. They are very good.

...

- How are you?

At this point of discussion my Finnish side feels stupid. Didn't the other side listen at all what I just told?

And my Albanian side? It smiles and replies: good.

Market Day

A sunny September Saturday in Peja. What to do? Let's go to Green Market.

So we went there with my friend. We walked through the bazaar, so it was one big market all the way to greens. Handcrafts, flags, music (even C-cassettes 0,50€!), clothes, traditional cradles, stoves and grills, tools and spares, chickens, firewood..

As the name indicates, Green Market is a market for green stuff. Such as cabbages. Cauliflowers. Zucchinis. And some vegetables with other colors too. Currently it's a pepper season. Everyone sells them – red, green, slightly orange colored, regular, hot and hotter. The plum season is just about to end and the plums don't taste anymore as good as they used to. Or maybe they are not so good because I didn't buy them from a right person. The watermelon season is passed as well – shame, I really loved that one. So now, enjoy the peppers!

Encounters 2

I went to the same hostel. I met him again. No one had used the opera tickets. It's Sunday evening and markets are closed. I'm planning to hunt some food and ask some directions. He is just leaving home and offers to show me a couple of places. We talk more on the way. He tells about the cat who sits in hostel's garden. I laugh. He seems to be a really nice guy. We reach the place and he helps to order as the language is weird for me. He asks when I'm leaving. Tomorrow morning, early, I will go home to Kosovo. He won't come to work before I leave.

Maybe we will meet again some day. I eat and start walking back to the hostel, smiling. I still don't know his name.

Encounters

Breakfast. The guy working in the hostel shows me how to make coffee (by the way, why didn't I ask at least his name?). We start to talk, and he tells me that he is always afraid when hearing any Nordic person is in the hostel. Recently a Swedish guy committed a suicide in one of the rooms and this guy found him. He shows me the door to the sealed room.

He also asks me when I'm leaving and where heading, because.... he has two opera tickets to Jakme but he can't go. Dammit! I haven't been in any opera or ballet for a long time. We talk a little more and he tells that his father is an opera singer. Shoot! Still I haven't asked his name. He asks mine (to keep the record of the people staying in the hostel). I hurry to meet some people in the center, he is also leaving home. We say goodbyes, and I tell him that I'm coming back in a few days so maybe we will see again. Or maybe not.

Happy man

There's a special man in my life. I have never seen him, but I think of him often. He is old, not the oldest possible, but definitely not so young either. He is from a village.

Every Saturday he travels from the village to the city to sell plums. He stands in the corner of a street, with his plums. One Saturday friends of mine went to buy some. 50 cents (0,50 €) for one kilo. Not too expensive! They bought two kilos. Receiving one euro, the man seemed so happy. Later, I went to visit my friends and got to taste these plums. They were the best plums I have ever eaten. So sweet, so fruity, so fresh. I heard the story of this man, and I assure you, the plums started to taste even better.

Next Saturday it was raining. The man was there again, in the corner, standing in the rain under his umbrella, selling plums. My friends went to buy more plums. This time they were even cheaper, 40 cents per kilo. They bought three kilos and gave two euros to the man. He thanked for the generosity and seemed to be so happy, just to get two euros.

It thrills me. I don't know how I should feel about the man (or maybe I shouldn't feel anything) and I can't determine how I feel. The story seems to be at the same time happy and a bit sad. With how little one can be happy! Is that something worth aiming at? Isn't it?

Oh, by the way, the man in the photo has nothing to do with this story. He is Rrustem, an 80 years old highlander, wearing a traditional Rugovan outfit. The other photo is from the street where the man sells plums. He is not in the picture, as it was taken before the plum season.

P.S. Yes, the currency in Kosovo is Euro. Don't ask why, or how.

Does there always have to be a reason for travel?

Location: home

Mood: reflective

Energy level: 68 %

Background music: Josh Groban

Passport. It is one of the biggest differences between me and locals. Mine is an EU passport. It has value.

A couple years ago there was a campaign All different, all equal. THAT ideology for sure hasn't reached this region yet. To be born in Finland is like to win in a lottery. I get usually great service at border crossings in Balkans, as every country wants to join EU. The other option for good treatment is that I'm just too cute. I had to recently check if Finns need a visa to Republic of Korea. And we don't. It's so easy to be a citizen of European Union. But it's not so simple all the time even for us privileged. The current situation of Kosovo makes my life complicated sometimes. When I need to go to Serbia, for example. Well,... actually that is the only example.

It goes like this: if I need to go to Serbia, I can't go directly from Kosovo unless the last entry stamp is Serbian. There is a simple reason for this. As Serbia doesn't recognize Kosovo's independence but considers it to be part of Serbia, it does naturally not recognize Kosovo's entry stamps either. If I don't have Serbian stamp it means I have entered Serbian territory illegally, which is BAAAAAD. Makes sense this far. If I have some other stamps, like Montenegro, that are issued after my latest Serbian stamp, in case I need to go to Serbia I have to first go out from Kosovo to some other country and then enter Serbia from “outside”. It's really logical. Coming from Serbia to Kosovo is ok, there's not even border control as technically you don't even leave the country. The only thing at the border is a some sort of “inner customs” check.

Another issue which makes me sweat at Serbian border is how they treat passports with stamps of Kosovo. Currently I have ten of them so I'm every time freaking out when I hand out my passport. I have read from some sources that it's not possible to enter Serbia if having any stamps of Kosovo. True or not, that's not the case in real life. I have heard a horror story of a border police ripping off the pages with those stamps (which is really scary as it would invalidate the passport) but as I don't have any primary source I consider it as an urban legend. Nevertheless, the border police may ask some questions that make you sweat before s/he cancels the stamps. Cancels them by either crossing them over with a pen, stamping over them with a stamp of Serbia, or by using a special “canceled” stamp and stamping Serbian stamps next to canceled stamp of Kosovo. The last one I have witnessed myself, others heard. My stamps are still safe. I try to be clever – last time arriving Serbia by train from Croatian border I put my train ticket between the passport's pages which had only Croatian stamps and hoped that the border police won't check all the pages. She checked the information page, stamped and then started checking some of the other pages. I noticed a minor lift of an eyebrow when she reached one page so it must have been the first stamp. Entries to Serbia: four. Number of canceled stamps: zero. Luckily, most of my Kosovo-stamps are in the last two pages. I wouldn't like to be there if they opened those pages!

In my case traveling is still easy and simple, like kindergarten. Ask how it is for locals -for Kosovar Albanians- and then we start to talk about true obstacles.

I went to a meeting in Slovenia in June with my Kosovar friend. We flew there because he couldn't go by land. Why? For simple reasons. Shortest route would be Kosovo-Serbia-Croatia-Slovenia. But – and this is the crazy part – no access to Serbia for Kosovar Albanians (and I mean completely blocked, totally no-no). Take a detour and go around Serbia then! Kosovo-Montenegro-Bosnia&Herzegovina-Croatia-Slovenia? One little problem in this scenario too: no access to Bosnia either for Kosovars as Bosnia&Herzegovina doesn't recognize Kosovar travel documents. Go around B&H then! It would be nice to take a bus along the beautiful Croatian coast. But – Kosovars need a visa to Croatia, and still it wouldn't work. If you look at the map of Croatia carefully you will see how the tail of Croatia cuts in south. That's the place where there is Bosnian seaside. And it' maybe 10 minutes ride in Bosnian territory. The only options would have been to go to either Montenegro or Albania, take a boat to Italy (where they need visa), and go from Italy to Slovenia. Or Macedonia-Bulgaria-Romania-Hungary (only three visas needed). That would be ridiculous especially when the meeting was just two days. So we took a plane.

At Ljubljana International Airport in Slovenia we went through passport control. Or I went. A border police opened my passport, looked at it for less than a second, closed it, gave back, smiled and said “Kiitos”. He even thanked me in my language. How great is the idea of free movement inside EU! Then it was my friend's turn. He showed his visa (which he naturally needed for entering Slovenia, not the easiest procedure). The border police started to ask questions with very rude tone. “Where are you going? Why? When will you leave? Show the return flight ticket.” I came back to the desk and asked if there is a problem. He is with me. So he got a stamp to his passport, thank you, goodbye. I felt bad. Why I should be treated like I was when this young boy had to take and just accept all that mean behavior, and convince the other country once again that he has all the right to step with his feet in to this piece of land?

I started to make a list of all countries in the world that thanks to the fact that I happen to be a Finn I can access without any visa procedure. And next column for Kosovars. Sad statistics. For example Europe – I can go anywhere except to Russia without a visa. And a Kosovar without a visa? Nowhere – in the whole world – except Macedonia, Montenegro and Albania. And no access at all to Serbia, Bosnia&Herzegovina and Russia (China could be in this list too, I'm not sure). How fair is that?

To be fair, life is not that simple for Serbs of Kosovo either. To some places where Serbs from Serbia don't need visa, Serbs who live in Kosovo are still required to have a visa, though they have Serbian documents. Serbian documents. From Serbia. Just because they happen to live in this area.

Getting a visa. In an easy case, such as Slovenia, you need only two trips to Prishtina. Before that make sure to collect all the necessary documents, such as your original invitation letter from Slovenia. Fill the application, get a passport photo, get an insurance, pay the application fee. Tadah, next day you have a visa. IF the embassy hasn't decided to refuse that. Without any special reason. And guess what? If they do that, it will also be recorded. When applying again, better not to have any refused visas in your “account”. And a hard case may require several trips to Macedonia. Applying, interview, collect a visa. It used to be possible to enter Macedonia without passport if there was a proof of going to the embassy. It's not possible anymore, so getting a visa means staying in Macedonia. OR as I've understood in the worst case you may need to go to the embassy in Belgrade. In Serbia. Where you can't go. At all. How fair is that?

Through my empiric studies and discussions I have recently discovered that the whole world, at least the whole Europe, seems to hate Albanians. I'm curious to see if this all this visa-related hassle is any easier for Albanians of Albania. If it's easier, I'm happy for them. If not, it shows one aspect of the horrible idea that we lack the respect of humanity towards them. And it's happening right before our eyes. Inside Europe, towards other Europeans. How sick is that?

Disclaimer: The situation here is not unique. Similar things are happening elsewhere too. Like between Armenia and Azerbaijan (Entry to Azerbaijan will be refused e.g. to citizens of Armenia and to all foreign citizens of Armenian descent and ancestry and those with Armenian names and surnames, as well as any products made in Armenia and with Armenian labeling... or any evidence of visiting Nagorno-Karabakh (Wikitravel)). Georgia (Abkhazia)-Russia. China-Tibet. Wild guess that also Chechnya-Russia. How much hatred can fit into this planet?

An invitation to marvel

Location: couch-bed, home

Mood: deep in thoughts

Energy level: 99 %

Background music: World of Warcraft – Arthas, my Son

If I traveled in time about seven hours to the future, I would have ten more minutes before alarm will ring and I should wake up and prepare myself to a meeting in Prishtina. So perhaps I should go to sleep. But no no, thanks to the combination of coffee, a brilliant movie that made me think and overdose of sugar from juice I'm not sleepy at all.

I just saw the movie Into the Wild (2007). It's based on a true story. If you haven't seen it, go and watch it. It reminded me of one episode of the best tv-series ever, Millennium. Luminary is the episode, from season 2. (And now when I checked it, actually the book Into the Wild was inspiration for this episode.) There, Alex (!) Ventoux, who went to Alaska (!) says: Some day, some kid will tell Ian: “You're an idiot. Just like your brother who threw his life away, walked into the woods and died.” That is my favorite episode along with Goodbye Charlie. Another quote from the same episode: Imagine, for one second you could drop in on a past life. What would you like to find yourself doing there? What would charm you? Make you proud? Ask yourself that. And the question what to do in this life becomes so simple it's terrifying. Just to do that thing that would charm you. It would make you say: yes, it's the real me. Do that and you're alive.

Both the movie and the episode catch something that is out there, a feeling of not fitting in to those boundaries that have developed in the society. There's something else. Something that constantly drives us to go out and try to find ourselves. Something that gives a hint of an ultimate pleasure if it is ever to be found, something that sets barking dogs after us to tear us down if we ever dare to stop searching. Standard life is for normal people. What about us who can never stop?

I love this song (from the movie): Society

It was that moment when I turned my back to everything - and felt peace. One day, I will go to Alaska.

-Do you miss home? -No. -Why? -Because I'm already there.

Flashbacks – Slovenia. How great team of young Albanians I had! I received so many kisses, I-love-you's accompanied by looking straight to my eyes, hugs ans smiles from so many, just for the sake of seeing me.

And summer camps. This nine years old boy, before learning to say “I love you“ in English, came to me, smiled widely and said “te dua”. (Well then he learned some English and started to ask me if I'm crazy).

This (as well as many other things) made me think. How hard is it to open your mouth and talk about feelings? Extremely hard. Have I ever told my family that I love them? Not that I recall. Would I loose anything if I did that? No. Did I have to go 2200 km away to realize that? Apparently. Should I do something to fix this? How hard can it really be?

Giving and getting

After two intensive weeks in the mountains with a bunch of people, after many frustrating and drastically outnumbered great moments, the cook of our summer camps said to me (not word to word, translated from Albanian, written down weeks after): “You are the best here. You are the best because you didn't change. You remained the same. You came here as yourself.” I was moved. Regardless our limited conversation because of the language barrier she had just said aloud something that I had been thinking. She had seen through me.

I'm not good at all to bring gifts or souvenirs. I didn't bring anything to my best friends when I visited Finland. To my family I brought only candy. But all my life I have had a passion – passion to give. Not material but overall to give from myself. When I was a child it had a different undeveloped form. It has driven me not only to several years of active voluntary work in humanitarian and environmental organizations, but also it has pushed me to edge of having some relatively deep thoughts about the whole concept of social responsibility as well as selfishness. (By the way I'm not going to reveal them here.)

Why to give? What do I get from giving? Do I have to get something? Young et al (Governing, leading, and managing nonprofit organisations – New insights from research and practice. 1993) have identified six motivation and satisfaction categories for volunteers.

1) the knowledge function (to learn new skills and gain new awarenesses)

2) the career function (to enhance one’s job prospects)

3) the value-expressive function (to make a difference in the world)

4) the social-adjustive function (desire for acceptance and approval in certain social groups)

5) the ego-defensive function (a need to escape personal inadequacies such as guilt)

6) esteem enhancement (growth and self-actualisation needs)

I would love to think that my motivation that has made me to come here falls to the category 3. In reality, it certainly is an interesting mixture of all the categories, and maybe more. I consider myself to be a selfish person. The more risks I take, more passion I feel. The more I give, more I feel alive. More I get.

Getting. It's all about giving.

Misunderstandings

Usually life goes on smoothly. But sometimes - rarely - there are moments of misunderstanding. Like today. Even using common language English, still we can speak different languages. I regret the words I said, and the misunderstandings we had. I know I can be hard sometimes. Unfortunately, combining work and friendship almost inevitably leads to these kind of moments. I'm happy that we spoke it through.

Carbon footprint

My carbon footprint. Every time I test it I'm assured to have huge feet. Though being environmentalist, in past years I have become to be a hell of a consumer. And yes, I feel guilty about that. And no, I haven't changed my habits as much as I'm capable to change. But it's been a while since I have filled any on-line questionnaire about my consumption.

Question: What best describes the climate zone you live in? If you are not sure, the dominant climate for your country is already selected.

I didn't know that I live in tropical and wet climate, including rainforests. Well, technically I'm not living in a country that no longer exists (Serbia & Montenegro). Though I'm living in a country that in a way doesn't yet exist. Questionnaire, we're even?

Or actually, at least according to one website, Montenegro has some jungle, so maybe it counts. (And I had to check dictionary the other meanings for jungle to believe that fact.)

Question: Please enter the number of kilometers you travel per year for each mode of transportation:

Automobiles, including personal vehicles, taxis, and carpools

Bus, including metro and long distance service

Rail, including subways, inner-city light rail, cross country trains

Air travel

Hahahahaha! How easy. Let me think...Only for past two weeks I have traveled at least by jeep, car, van, plane, train, taxi, bus, tram, (you name it!) as well as by foot and bike (after making up some round numbers and clicking next, I get an ”Error:0” sign).

"Congratulations, you are living an ecologically conscientious lifestyle. If everyone lived like you do, we would need only 0.47 Earths."

I don't believe this. Let's check the statistics. Yeap, I was right. In ¾ sections my answers show zero. I know the truth. I overconsume, and badly. Mostly due to my passion to explore and vagabond.

Random thoughts

Location: Office couch, rainy Peja

Mood: Good

Energy level: 88 %

First of all, I'm lazy to write diary. Secondly, I really don't care to share my feelings in public. Anyhow, after seven months in Kosovo it feels it's finally time to start. Here I am. This is me. Or part of me. I will never reveal everything. How could I when it's not clear to myself either?

Today I found a stranger in our office. I sat in this same couch, alone, checking my emails and sorting some random thoughts in my head when I saw Him. But later about that. First, I want to tell you something about myself. I am an EVS volunteer.

---

Two last months have been quite hectic, especially previous four weeks. Summer camps x2 and all the hassle that is linked to them, one preparation week from which I decided to dedicate half to myself in peace and quiet but ended up being hosted by an Albanian family for two days, leading ten Kosovar youth (yes yes yes, Albanian but I'm referring to nationality in passport in this case) safely to Slovenia and back, training in Serbia, guests in Peja... great times and yet so tiring. But mountains – I could praise those mountains for hours. Or no, I wouldn't. I would just be quiet and let them take over me.

Accursed mountains. Coming and going up and down to the mountains sometimes with a van full of kids, sometimes squeezed in the backseat of a jeep with more or less random people and sometimes, some parts, by foot – with 20 kids, with a friend (happens to be my boss too) or alone. Sleeping in an abandoned (and by the way never used) school, in a tent, in a cabin, or just under the stars. The last one was the night with Perseids (google if you don't know the meaning), cheap vodka (in reasonable quantities of course), and some serious talk with the executive director, followed by quality sleep. Mountains. It's clear that part of my heart will be there where ever I'll go. I'm in love. I'm in love with the mountains.

And now we have a mouse in our office. We had at least two, I think. I found one in a pink plastic bag, wrapped in folio eating and enjoying life until I came into picture. And enjoying life after that too, as I let it be. But my colleague wasn't as cooperative and took it out. The pink plastic bag, the folio, the mouse, everything. I hope that mouse survives out there. After couple hours, one curious and brave tiny creature appeared to my vision. Another mouse. It was so tiny. I felt a bit sad. The family had lost one of its members. Maybe it was looking where its friend was. I don't think they will ever find each other again.

Who?

Position: EVS volunteer, Environmentally Responsible Action (ERA) group

Current location: Peja, Kosovo

Can be found: somewhere in Balkans, rarely home, most likely in Accursed Mountains

Home nest: In the land of forest, lakes, snow, swamps and tar, Finland

Roots: undetected, forest people

Interests: Everything.

Curious. Passionate. Caring. Detail-oriented. Analytical. Introvert. Strong. Sweet. :)