XVIII - A trip to the North; Easter in Ohrid; Montenegrins vote; Another trip to Mitrovice; A European Vacation; The Serbian Assemblyman; Status Talks

XVIII - A trip to the North; Easter in Ohrid; Montenegrins vote; Another trip to Mitrovice; A European Vacation; The Serbian Assemblyman; Status Talks; Climbing Mount Olympus

Dear Friends and Family,

1

The things that I have begun to take for granted sometimes haunt me when my rational mind takes over. Coping mechanisms I suppose. A jail captain I worked with once said that jail sentences should really be no longer than two weeks to be effective. After two weeks, people learn to cope with their circumstances and what might initially be shockingly unpleasant or uncomfortable becomes part of the routine. So it is with this work. I have explained that in the northern part of Kosovo, the Serbs are in the majority and dominate all activities. It must be kept in mind that Serbia never acknowledged the UN take-over of Kosovo and so treats it still as a province of Serbia. They maintain all of their institutions; courts, police etc., in a parallel form. In most of Kosovo outside of the enclaves, those structures are not seen. In fact some operate across the border in Serbia. In the North, the parallel structures dominate, including vehicle registration. There are no “KS” – UNMIK approved Kosovo issued - license plates in North Mitrovice. They are all Serbian plates with the old Serbian designation for Mitrovice, or vehicles have no plates at all indicating that the vehicle owner is probably a Serb who lives or works south of the river. Those people use the “KS” plates south of the river and simply remove them north of the river.

We went to see the Serbian judge who we helped get appointed to the Judicial Council. We proceeded the way we normally do, parking on the south side of the bridge at the Municipal building and calling the court to have a UN registered court vehicle pick us up. Judge Jelena was conducting a seminar for municipal court judges from the Mitrovice region. Most of the municipal court judges in the region are Albanian Kosovar, but, several are Serb. After the seminar concluded, the group was going for lunch. Jelena decided that she would go and we could talk over lunch. Lunch could not be held on the north side of the river because of the Albanian Kosovar judges. A UN bus was ready outside the courthouse to take the group south of the river to an Albanian Kosovar restaurant for lunch. Jelena and her secretary and Enver and I boarded with the group. Jelena seated her secretary next to the window while she sat on the aisle. She reached over and drew he curtains closed. She said that if she were seen on the bus, she would be in big trouble. She meant of course with the local Serbian politicians in North Mitrovice who take their direction from Belgrade and despise any Serb working for the UNMIK government. We rolled through the crowded city streets toward the south. We chatted with Judge Jelena as though all was normal. As the bus moved across the bridge, Jelena reached over again and opened the curtain.

2

Muslims do not celebrate Easter, but the majority of UN staffers and USAID personnel are Christian and do celebrate Easter. Easter Monday was a holiday. We decided to go to Lake Ohrid in Macedonia for a long weekend. The majority of Macedonians are Orthodox and celebrate Easter one week after the Easter we celebrate. It seems complicated, but it is really simple. The Albanian Kosovars are Muslim and do not celebrate Easter, except those who have retained the original religion of the Albanians, Catholicism. The Macedonians are Orthodox and celebrate on the Orthodox calendar making Easter a week after the Easter we celebrate. Of course, the forty percent minority Albanian Macedonians are mostly Muslim…. Well you get the idea. Regardless, we had a long weekend.

We left in the afternoon on Friday and arrived after dark. Without reservations, we were still able to get a very well appointed small room for a good price. Unlike our seminar locations in the larger hotels on the lake, we stayed in a very small three room hotel in the city of Ohrid. We spent Saturday visiting the sites in town, such as several of the Orthodox churches set in the most picturesque of locations on rock cliffs and hill tops. There is a very well preserved Roman amphitheatre in the town. Then, of course, there are the outdoor restaurants overlooking the harbor. We ended the afternoon there and ran into several friends from Kosovo also taking advantage of the weekend in Ohrid.

Sunday we decided to go the monastery at St, Naum. As we wended our way around the lake, snaking though the mountains, we came to a point in the road where there were several young girls standing in the road. One stood unflinching as we approached, hands firmly on her hips, determined look on her face. As we closed to her, she raised her one hand in a gesture for us to stop. Several other girls stood behind her, resolute but less confident than the leader. Once we stopped, one girl stepped in front of the car with a scare crow looking affair with a horses head. They looked now to be more playful and we first noticed some adults at the roadside overseeing the incident. The girls then came to the driver’s window and asked for money. It became clear that this was some sort of ritual or event connected with the Orthodox religion as Easter approached. In any event, we handed the girls a few euros and they gleefully opened the road for our passage. A car approached behind us. The incident was repeated as we sped on to St, Naum.

The monastery at St. Naum is very near the border with Albania. We had never been to Albania and decided to go across the border and circle the lake, returning to Ohrid from the Albanian - Macedonian crossing at the far end of the lake from where we were. Lake Ohrid has a length of thirty kilometers and a width of fifteen kilometers. Roughly eighteen miles long by nine miles wide. The road around the lake is a winding two lane affair.

During the communist times, Albania was isolated more than most communist countries. The dictator of that time was a man named Enver Hoxia, In addition to depriving his citizens of wealth or a means to obtain it, confining Albanians within the borders of the country, and making enemies of virtually all countries until their last reluctant friend was China, Enver Hoxia was paranoid that someone would invade Albania. As a defense, he built bunkers along every border. Thousands of bunkers line the borders of Albania. Domed concrete silos buried half in the ground with gun ports on the sides facing, in this case, Macedonia. It has been said that the entire population of Albania could hide safely in bunkers there are so many. We crossed. The bunkers started immediately and were located nearly every ten meters. It was a surreal scene. We followed the water’s edge where families picnicked, fished and otherwise enjoyed the lake. The road was particularly bad and it appeared that, at least in this part of Albania, the economy was less vibrant than we have become used to in Macedonia and in Kosovo for that matter.

Catching the Lake Ohrid trout, a very tasty fish, is banned by agreement of both Macedonia and Albania. Lake Ohrid is a UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) site and is watched over by that agency. Internationally imposed agreements to preserve endangered species have little meaning when people need money to live. All along the Albanian side of the lake people stood holding stringers of trout and sometimes four foot eels.

After reentering Macedonia and returning to the city of Ohrid, we took the time to tour several of the monasteries in the city and the Roman Amphitheatre, a ruin being preserved and which is in excellent condition. Cut into the hillside in such a way that not only does each seat have an extraordinary view of he stage below, but also the lake as it stretches into the distance. I continue to marvel at the Roman’s appreciation for the finer things life offers. This was a good place to spend Easter.

3

By agreement, the Montenegrins were allowed to vote to determine if they would stay with Serbia (and continue to be Serbia and Montenegro) or if they would become an independent nation. We had known this since last summer, but the day came on May 22, 2006. There are just over six hundred thousand Montenegrins. Montenegro has a large Albanian population on its south coast near the Albanian border. There is also a large Serbian population. The sympathy for Serbia was strongest in the eastern mountains, the area closer to Serbia. On the Western coast of the Adriatic Sea, the people favored independence. This is where the Albanian and Montenegrin populations are largest. A vote of fifty-five percent of the population in favor of independence would carry the election. In the end, the issue passed by a margin of 55.5% of the vote. Montenegro is proudly Eastern Europe’s newest country.

We traveled through Montenegro several times this spring and summer. Billboards still stand and graffiti can still be seen painted on rocks and bridges. Da, is the only message, Po in Albanian. Literally translated – yes. And the yes votes indeed prevailed. Even the border guard proudly showed me his new badge and the Montenegrin flag over his head in the office. Although he is no longer around to witness it, Milosevic’s vision of a greater Serbia has taken one more step back from the dream. The Montenegrins are a small group for a country, just over half million, but they occupy a substantial and beautiful country. The views, both in the mountains and when the mountains abruptly end at the sea, are nothing less than breath taking. The Kosovars anxiously await their turn as status talks continue.

4

Judge Jelena was insistent that Gaz and I return to north Mitrovice to … well in the long run help improve relations between the south of Mitrovice and the Serbian North. She requested that we bring our car all the way into North Mitrovice. For safety reasons this cannot be done with the “KS” Kosovo license plates. We are mindful that the US government security regulations for the personnel of the US Office and USAID require that they travel in an armored vehicle with close security (a body guard). We had two choices; we could remove the plates as many Serbs who have UNMIK Kosovo registered cars do, or we could bring out the technically expired Danish plates we had for our new Jeep that still show a date of ‘06. We assessed the situation. If we removed our plates at the river, and proceeded into North Mitrovice with a new Jeep Cherokee, a vehicle common among international projects, but not normally found among average Kosovars, we would clearly be identified as non-Serbs. In the alternative, we could change the plate and appear to be what we are, a project vehicle. The latter seemed the safer course.

Although Gaz is fluent in Serbian, we took an interpreter along to allow Gaz to better participate in the conversations. There is more than one bridge to get to the north. The main bridge is the one we normally cross. This is the bridge that is always used in news clips and photos of Kosovo. This time we crossed at a less conspicuous bridge where we, along with one or two other cars, stopped to remove or change plates. Once finished, we proceeded to the court. After a meeting with Judge Jelena and some folks form USAID, we went with Jelena to tour the city. She took us first to a coffee shop owned by her brother where we had something to drink. Then we went to a restaurant for lunch and talk. On the way, we saw many of the areas of the city that I had never seen and which Gaz had not seen in years. This included a very popular municipal pool where Gaz said he used to come and swim as a boy. We passes the ominous looking Trepce mine smelting plant where the lead was extracted from the ore mined in the nearby mine. It lies idle today awaiting the resolution of a lot of political issues.

We had a great meal, a great tour, wonderful conversation with Judge Jelena and Kaplan, the President Judge, an Albanian Kosovar married to a Serbian woman. We took Jelena home to her downtown apartment and returned to the secondary bridge where we changed plates again. It never ceases to amaze that once the river is crossed it is as though a border was crossed. Any license plates that are exposes are either UN plates, European plates or the Serbian plates issued by the Belgrade government for Mitrovice. These trips are grounding for me. They remind me that all is not as we see it in Pristina. The divide is still great. As status talks proceed, the focus is increasingly on how to deal with Mitrovice and the North of Kosovo.

5

When Sharon returned from the US in late May our son Patrick came along. He was to attend a summer program in Nimes, France through Michigan State University where he is a student. We had to take him from Pristina to Nimes. The fastest way is to go through Serbia. This, of course, would have required that we first go south to Macedonia then enter Serbia at the Serbian - Macedonian border and re-enter Kosovo near Gjilan. This trip of about three to four hours should be done a day or so before leaving Pristina and crossing into Serbia at the Kosovo - Serbia border near Podievo, or spend the extra three to four hours traveling south through Macedonia to cross the border and go north again. The road through Serbia is four lanes, making the trip generally much faster. If anyone attempts to cross into Serbia with a passport showing that they entered Kosovo through an UNMIK border station, such as the Kosovo - Macedonian border crossing or the airport at Pristina, they will be turned back as having illegally entered Serbia in this case, Kosovo. Since Serbia considers that Kosovo is still a part of Serbia, they do not recognize any authority of the UN administration, including the authority to control border crossings.

We decided that we would take Patrick down the Dalmatian coast of Montenegro and Croatia, making the trip longer but avoiding the hassle at the Serbian border. This route is far more beautiful as well. We would travel through Peja in Kosovo, cross into Montenegro (though part of Serbia until May, they have always had more realistic relations with Kosovo) and proceed across Montenegro to Croatia, then up the Croatian coast to Slovenia and into Italy, crossing the north of Italy to France. It would be a mini European vacation. Like many of the vacations we have taken in the past twenty-seven or so years, planning for this one was thin. I had a project assessment team here and I was unsure if I could leave at all, attributing in part to the lack of planning.

Patrick needed to arrive in Nimes on Sunday for check-in. We decided to leave on Thursday to allow for all contingencies. We had previously arranged to stay at the home of some former USAID employees who had left for the US but have a house near Nimes, France. We agreed to take several boxes of “stuff” that they were unable to get to Beaucare before they left for the US. We managed, as usual, to get on the road by ten or eleven in the morning on Thursday. Traveling the winding two lane mountain road from Peja, across the border through Montenegro and finally to Croatia at Dubrovnik took the balance of the day. We arrived at around nine in the evening. We found a nice apartment thanks to the young woman at the hotel who inadvertently told us that he parents had apartments for fifty euros per night rather than the eighty euros per night her hotel charged for rooms. We had dinner and the next day was spent exploring Dubrovnik with Patrick. We left Dubrovnik at noon and commenced up the Croatian coast.

By late evening we arrived at the Slovenian border. As one of the newest entrants to the European Union, we entered the EU there. We have traditionally purchased “border insurance” (liability insurance for the car) and did not have such insurance for the EU. We went to the only insurance office open and were told they did not sell “green card” insurance and the only office that did would arrive back at six in the morning. We backtracked to a motel we found with the assistance of a gas station attendant. The following morning we returned to the border. We were a bit short of euros, counting on the use of credit cards easily in Europe. To our dismay, the insurance office did not take cards; nor did they take US dollars which after some time I remembered I had tucked in my wallet for emergencies. Fortunately Patrick noticed a money exchange on the Slovenian side of the border. We were allowed to cross to exchange three hundred dollars for roughly two hundred sixty euros.

The piece of Slovenia on the Adriatic coast is small and we soon crossed, without stopping, into Italy. The advantage of travel in the EU is that borders between EU countries are now passed the same way we pass state lines in the US. I have not traveled the Autobahn in Germany where there are no speed limits, but the next closest thing to that is travel in Italy. Speed limits are posted at one-hundred-twenty kilometers per hour (roughly seventy-five mph) but even when I inadvertently edged up to ninety mph, I was passed as though standing still by the Italian drivers. West to Genoa then south and west again along the coast we traveled what has to be the most expensive highway in the world. Each of the hundred or so tunnels opens immediately onto a bridge which ends at another tunnel. Finally we entered France Saturday evening and were soon in Beaucare resting at our friend’s home. Sunday we traveled the twenty kilometers to Nimes, found where we were to go and dropped Patrick off. We then took the opportunity to visit Avignon, a forty minute drive from Nimes and even closer to Beaucare.

Avignon is the city where for about a century the Catholic Church had its headquarters. Several of the Popes ruled from there during the fourteenth century. The palace and cathedral are now museums. Avignon, like many of the ancient European cities, is walled. The popes returned to Rome about ninety years before Columbus discovered America. Columbus is the marker by which I keep perspective on the places we visit in this hemisphere.

Monday morning we left Beaucare for the French Riviera. We stayed in Nice and played a bit there and the following morning in Monte Carlo. As we raced back to Italy and down the coast for Pisa, Sharon, with the assistance of a guide book, decided that Pisa was worth a two hour visit and the place to stay would be Lucca. Indeed the small quaint walled city of Lucca was worth a visit. The leaning tower and its surrounds were all that Pisa had to offer and we left for Rome after that stop.

Though warned by all people and books otherwise, we drove fearlessly into the old capital of the Empire. Whether oblivious or fortunate we had very little difficulty with Rome’s traffic, scooters included. One day for the Vatican and all of its magnificent art and splendor. A second day to pick up a few of the other “must sees”, like Circus Maximus, The Forum and the Coliseum.

Our final Italian visit was Pompeii. Of all the sites in Italy we visited, this was the crown jewel in my opinion. Having read about this place since grade school, I thought that it would be a bit anticlimactic. To the contrary, to visit a city that was destroyed in 79 AD and which was built centuries before that was extraordinary. Except for the missing roofs, we walked the streets as the ancient Romans did, viewed their restaurants, homes and businesses. We saw their tiled floors, mosaics, and paintings in the same condition as they were left when the ash of Vesuvius engulfed the city. We walked the sidewalks beside the stone streets rutted with chariot tracks. We crossed intersections on the stepping stones. Washed streets, indoor plumbing, municipal water sources; it has taken civilization nearly two thousand years to return to the level of sophistication that was enjoyed by the Romans in places like Pompeii.

Time was running so we cut across Italy to Bari on the Adriatic coast and took a ferry to Kotor in Montenegro and then back to Pristina. A ferry designed to hold several hundred passengers made the early season trip with four vehicles and eight people including an infant and a small child. The ferry crossing, taking eight hours or so, was uneventful. As we reentered Kosovo, we were again struck by the contrasts that exist between the developed and the developing worlds. For all the advances we have seen here in Kosovo, new super markets, ATMs, constant building, there is still a long way to go.

6

The Serbian Kosovars boycotted the last election per Belgrade instructions. At the last minute they decided to participate. As a result their representation in the assembly was significantly reduced. One of the members that is active is a fellow from Leposovic who is on Haydajet’s committee. He attends regularly and I appreciated his defense of Judge Jelena when we were working to get her on the Judicial Council. In spite of, or perhaps even as a result of, Haydajet’s time in Serbian prison as a dissident (he says political detainee), Haydajet maintains a warm relationship with his Serbian colleague. I was talking with Haydajet in his office after a committee meeting when the Serbian Assemblyman came in. He laid his brief case on the small table Haydajet has between his chairs and opened it. From the inside he pulled a two liter bottle filled with what I immediately recognized as homemade raki. In all the Balkan states, the making of homemade raki is as much a ritual as an art. The Serbs make it from plums or pears, sometimes apples. The Albanians make it from grapes. It is essentially a very strong brandy made from distilling the wine that the fruit produces. This version was made by the Assemblyman from plums. In addition to the plastic two liter bottle filled with nectar, he also took out a very nice decanter wrapped in a wicker covering; and a shot glass. Twisting off the two liter’s cap, he poured the shot glass full and proceeded to drink it down in one swallow. He then poured a shot for Haydajet followed by one for me. After visiting for a few short minutes he departed leaving the gift with his colleague Haydajet.

I had observed, but not digested a peculiarity of the incident that Haydajet pointed out after the man left. Haydajet said, “he shouldn’t do that.” I said what? He said, “you saw that he poured and drank the first shot. That is a gesture to tell me that it is okay; it is not poison. We are friends; he shouldn’t have to do that.” And so it goes….

7

The status talks continue. A few months ago, the international community was very optimistic that the talks would conclude by the end of the year as planned and a Kosovo with some degree of independence would emerge. Now it seems that the optimism has waned and internationals feel that the talks will not conclude by January 2007 and that any result will be a long way off. By contrast, the locals were very pessimistic a few months ago and that pessimism has been replaced by great optimism. Constitutional drafting talks are occurring among the Kosovars. Plans are being laid for the exit of UNMIK and the entry of the European Union delegation who will manage things after UNMIK leaves. The locals view this transition as the final movement to an independent Kosovo. Time will tell us who is right.

8

Patrick returned from Nimes by plane to spend two weeks with us in Pristina. We used this opportunity to do some more traveling. A trip to Greece was in order. It being summer, trips to Greece mean trips to the sea and the beach. We chose Leptokaria, a beach town dependant entirely for its existence on summer tourism. It also sits in the shadow of Mount Olympus, home to the Greek gods. I had always wanted to climb the mountain. Patrick, as a student of the Classics, was also eager to scale the slopes to Zeus’ throne. I had done enough prior research and talked to enough people who had made the trip to know that the summit would be out of our reach on this occasion, but a healthy climb to the refuge building that is the stepping off point for the last leg to the summit was possible.

We drove the next town where the entrance to the National Park is located. Once there, it was a half hour drive up the foothills to a rustic building and the start of the hiking trail. Confident, we set off. We had the good sense to bring a bottle of water and a sweatshirt, though the temperature at the base camp was in the high eighties. We began the trek. First was a sparkling waterfall. We climbed on. Up and up. There was a canopy of trees. The trail was well defined and often had steps cut into it. We walked. An hour passed and we saw a sign reading “Refuge A” and an arrow. We were on track for our destination. I began to tire, my hips ached and my feet were sore, but I was determined. I became acutely aware of my age. The trail turned to rock. The trees thinned and snow patches were on either side of us. We climbed, switching back and forth on the winding trail. The clouds covered the summit and we were nearing them as we climbed. Finally, when I was sure I could go no more, we could see the outline of the refuge on a high ridge in the distance. Placing one foot in front of the other without thought or regard for my aching joints, we closed the remaining distance to the Refuge. Something over two hours from our departure from the base camp, one thousand meters (a little over3000 feet) of elevation to a height of 2200 meters (close to 7,000 feet above sea level), we were in the clouds that concealed the summit. Still sweating from the hike, we bought a cold sandwich from the dark and heated refuge building. As we rested outside and enjoyed the hazy view of earth below, we became quite chilly and put on our sweatshirts. It would take two hours to return to our car, a descent as arduous as the climb.

I knew that I was as close to the great god as I would ever be. Dark majestic clouds surrounded Zeus’ throne. I could not see him as I gazed up into the gray ominous clouds, interwoven with angel hair of pure silver and draped in a golden translucent sheen. Behind his misty cover, I knew that he knew all that was to be. I inquired about the final status of Kosovo. The mist swirled, the trees swayed ever so gently, the thin air pricked my skin with its chill, far below the sun shown on the red tiled roofs of the town, but he did not answer.

Until Next Connection,
Dan



XVII – A dog story; Rama’s for lunch; Almost a trip to Skopje; The Government resigns; No electricity; International Women’s Day; The Boxer; Milosevic diesDear Friends and Family,1We have Olga, the street dog that Sharon took as a pup from some boys who were looking for homes for Olga and her three siblings. Olga has always preferred running free to being in our backyard looking out. While we were in the US this past Christmas we got news that Olga had escaped and was gone. Enver did not know where she was. A few days later we got another report that Rama had found her downtown at the National Theatre. She of course recognized Rama and went to him. She would not have done that with me because she would know that our next stop would then be home. Rama, on the other hand, presented an opportunity to play. Rama wrestled her into the back of the Jeep much to the chagrin of Fatmir and Albert who were not sure what this beast might do. I heard no more until I returned.I later found out that she escaped regularly and that Enver captured her several times; even Al caught her once. Indeed, when I returned she began escaping. I found her the first time on the hill across the street from our house and below the apartments. Two other dogs were playing with her. A beagle looking mongrel and a dog I had previously named Sarge. Olga and I first met Sarge when he was a pup. He found himself at a very young age in front of the TMK building. The TMK or KPC in English – Kosovo Protective Corp. – is the unit that is supposed to operate much like our National Guard. They originated as the remnants of the KLA (Kosovo Liberation Army) and were very controversial for even being formed. It happens that they are the best organization in Kosovo at recruiting minorities. For whatever it is they offer, they are more successful than, for example the courts, at attracting Serbs, Bosniacs and Roma. This is attributed to the work of General Ceku, the head of the TMK and, former KLA and Croatian Army General. The TMK buildings near our house are a training center and we often hear units marching to cadence called much as we would hear at an American boot camp. The only difference being the language. Around these buildings is a road where I walk the dog.I always thought that Sarge would make an excellent mascot for the TMK. He tried desperately to make their building his home. For months, as he gradually grew larger, he would guard and occasionally bark as we passed. He foraged for food in the nearby dumpsters while the TMK soldiers were oblivious to his presence, let alone his loyalty. As he grew, he extended his range and soon was gone. I now would see him on the hillside occasionally.While Olga, in escape status, played with Sarge and the other dog I had to devise a plan to get her to come to me. As I said, she knows that I represent return to captivity, so as much as she would have liked, she did not get close enough for me to grab her and we foolishly romped around the side of the hill in the dark. As a means of getting her to come to me, I began to play with Sarge, who was quite content to have me pet him. Olga was disturbed enough to come to check out the violation of my loyalty to her, but never so close that I could grab her. Finally I succeeded and we trudged down the hill and home again. Sarge, now feeling a part of the family, followed. As a reward, I went inside to get him a treat. He was grateful for that.The following night Olga was out again. In the meantime, I had patched the fence at every spot where I though she might be escaping. Finally, I saw a footprint on a part of the fence that indicated that she must have jumped as high as she could and then using her back paws on the wire of the fence, boosted herself over the top and out. It was in a taller part of the fence. I quickly corrected the problem and was off to get Olga. Again, she was on the hillside playing with Sarge and the lanky beagle looking dog. Again I used Sarge as the bait. As I worked my deception, the neighbor boy came out with his new puppy and Olga saw it. She immediately went down to play. The neighbor knows Olga and quickly put his tiny animal inside his fence as the bounding beast Olga came running. He grabbed her and I was able to get her home with little difficulty. I decided that what Olga needed was a friend. So, when Sarge came down again to see what was going on, I let him in the back yard. I now had two dogs; but that’s not the end of the dog story.Sarge was quick to acclimate. He was a bit taken aback by the unlimited food and had to learn a few manners. Not that Olga has manners as we might expect form a well trained animal, but she doesn’t grab for food, doesn’t jump (on me anyway) and sometimes sits on command, but not often. About the third day I had Sarge or maybe the second, I had a meeting with Jan the English lawyer who lives in Canada with her husband. There they have several horses, three dogs and a cat. She had recently found a stray dog that attached himself to her. He was a pup about four months old – not more. She called him Bear, but her local colleagues called him Ramush after the former Prime Minister who was indicted in The Hague. In any event, she had an apartment where she could not keep the dog and she wanted a home for him. She had incurred some vet bills for work on the dog but couldn’t keep it. Knowing I had a dog she asked if I would take Bear. I declined saying that I had just taken Sarge in and could not very well put him out now. And I didn’t want three dogs.The following day as I walked my two dogs around the TMK buildings I noticed a woman with a black dog walking across the snow covered lawn toward us. My dogs of course saw the other dog and were ready to make a new acquaintance. I began to move faster to get ahead of the woman and avoid an encounter. She was moving faster than I had anticipated and finally I simply decided it better to get it over with so the dogs would calm down. The woman approached and in an excited voice said, “Rambler, is that you.” She was referring to Sarge. I thought that perhaps Sarge had been taken in by her. She said that she and her dog would see Sarge on their walks and she would give him cooked hamburger. The weather was so cold that she had worried when she had not seen him for several days. I told her that I had just taken the dog in. I later learned that she had been trying to convince her husband to let her take Sarge in. She called him Rambler because he rambled around.Two days later I got a call form Jan. She asked that I come to her office to see Bear. I did. She had sneaked him into the UN headquarters building where she worked. She thought that if I saw the dog and if she made promises to defer vet and food bills and to help with walks I would agree to take the dog. She was correct. In a moment of weakness I agreed. I now had three dogs; but that’s not the end of the dog story.The next day, Saturday, Jan brought Bear to our house and when the three dogs were acquainted she left teary eyed. I decided that Ramush was a better name and called him “Ramush the Bear”. Sunday Jan came back to walk Bear and we met the black dog and the husband of the woman who knew Sarge. Everything was becoming intertwined. I wished I could go back a week or so in time and make decisions based on the information I now had. Like a lot of things in life, dog stories do not have the advantage of such foresight.The week wore on and I began to catch Bear looking and finding ways out of the backyard fence. The fence is sufficient to contain the larger dogs, but Ramush the Bear could squeeze through openings too small for the others. I followed along and jury rigged patches. Thursday Sharon called that Bear was gone. It was mid-afternoon and snow covered the ground. I came home and looked everywhere in the neighborhood to no avail. Finally, late at night while I was out in a last effort to find the dog, he turned up at the gate chest deep in the snow, tired, hungry and no collar. I made additional repairs to the fence. Friday afternoon I got the same call.By Saturday morning when Jan arrived for her visit, there was still no Bear. I had been looking desperately until late into the night and had not seen him. Jan was devastated and began her own search. Bear was the kind of dog for whom freedom is undeniable. Perhaps Ramush was the more appropriate name after all. The former KLA commander fought in the mountains to free himself and his people; his namesake was equally determined. Both have been successful. Ramush the Bear has not been seen since his final escape. Ramush the KLA commander and former Prime Minister awaits his trial in The Hague free on bond here in Pristina. Jan is still a bit sad, but no longer distraught. We have otherwise met the woman and man with the black dog who befriended their Rambler, my Sarge, and know them as Mike and Shelly from Canada. They are now a part of the group of internationals with whom we have dinner often. Olga and Sarge are getting on fine. For my part, I can only think of all this as a very long dog story.2Rama lives in a small village on the outskirts of Pristina. To get there one must go out of Pristina toward the north, toward Podievo. On that route, the traffic is often heavy and on Sundays it is impossible. Just before the turn-off to Rama’s village, on top of the hill, there is a car market every Sunday. It is known as a car market because that is where people take their cars if they want to sell them. Rows and rows of cars. There also is a flea market at the same place and time. Every Sunday morning until about two in the afternoon, people stream out to the car market to browse, kick tires and for many, to negotiate and buy.Rama invited us to lunch one Sunday. Ever since his wedding he wanted to treat Sharon and me to a meal with his new wife. I knew that the road to his house would be trouble, so I asked if there was an alternate route. I knew that there is a turn-off on the road to Mitrovice that angles to the Podievo road and meets it at a point past the market. It would be a matter of backtracking toward Pristina until Rama’s village road. Rama had a shorter way. There is a road off the Mitrovice road and before the cut-off to the Podievo road. Rama described it for me.In the early afternoon on that sunny Sunday we made our way out of Pristina on the Mitrivice road. As instructed, we drove past the monument Milosevic built in commemoration of the 1389 defeat of the Serbs by the Ottoman Turks at the epoch battle of Kosovo Polje, and then continued to the far side of the next bill board. The unmarked road turns off at that point. The main streets and roads were clear but the fields and side roads were still snow covered. We made the turn. It was a snow-covered two track. Slowly we moved east toward where we hoped Rama’s village would finally be. At the crest of the first hill, children were sledding on the road. We crept past as they waited. A snow ball hit the back window as we rolled carefully down the grade. Some things are universal. We continued; we wound around a bit as we crossed the open fields finally reaching a rise that overlooked Rama’s village below. The road made a sharp turn to the left and a rather steep decline to the village below. Here, again, children were sledding. These were Serb children. Rama lives in a Serbian enclave. They happily and patiently waited for us to roll ever so slowly down the sled-slicked icy road.At the bottom, I turned in a direction that I remembered Rama telling me. We drove through the village and finally came to a car stopped in the middle of the road. Several men stood smoking cigarettes and talking. They motioned something to the effect that we could not pass. The car blocking the road was ample notice of that fact. I believe the men were trying to tell us of some problem with the road beyond where the car sat. We stopped and got out of the car. Unable to speak Serbian ourselves, and they being non-English speakers, we were not communicating well. I tried to use Rama’s father’s Serbian-ized name – Javavic, but they did not seem to know him or where he lived, if they understood what I was saying at all. I called Rama. I passed the phone to one of the men. After much discussion, one of the men decided that we should follow him to Rama’s house. After negotiating a turn, we followed the man’s VW Golf. We had in fact taken the wrong turn at the bottom of the hill and were some distance from Rama’s house. We followed the gentleman and met Rama at his gate. The simplest things here often turn into adventures.We greeted the family, Rama’s father first, then his mother and once inside the house, Rama’s wife. As is the custom in Kosovo, we brought gifts for our hosts; some sweets and a bottle of wine. We sat in the kitchen and ate. The wood stove kept the room quite warm. Lunch was what we have seen at other Albanian Kosovar homes; far too much delicious food. Appetizers, soup, salad, main course, served with wine, and all topped off with two desserts; the work in preparation is incredible. I do not know if this is something reserved for foreign guests or if this is how all guests are treated. The meal was enjoyable as was the company. Neither Rama’s mother, father nor wife speaks English, but we had a delightful conversation through Rama’s translation. After lunch we sampled several glasses of Rama’s father’s raki. His was made in their former home in Serbia and was of the Serbian variety; made from plums and pears. Albanian Kosovars make raki from grapes. They each have a distinct flavor and are all very strong. It is interesting that the Balkan tradition of making and drinking raki far outweighs the Muslim prohibition against alcohol.We left before the darkness and chill of early evening created dangerous icy conditions on the roads. As we left we were uncustomarily presented a wrapped box of chocolates and a bottle Mr. Jahavic’s homemade raki. The bottle we received had a double ox yoke in miniature meticulously assembled in the bottle by Rama’s father. This was clearly a very special gift. The warmth of the people we meet here is moving. These days will be forever etched in our memories.3A rock slide at Kacanik closed the road to Skopje. This occurred the very day we returned from leave in January. Six weeks later the road remained closed. In need of cat food and other items that cannot be found in Kosovo, we decided to take the trip to Skopje over the mountain route and through Tetevo in Macedonia. Tetevo has a Vero’s, the store we shop at in Skopje, and Tetevo is only a half hour by good divided highway from Skopje if we needed to go there.It was a sunny Saturday and we decided to go. We left at around ten in the morning. The road south is the same road we take to Ferazji and Skopje. As we crested the hill on our way out of Pristina, we marveled, as we usually do, at the extensive building in that near suburb of Pristina. From the crest of the hill to Caglivice, the homes and commercial structures being built are nothing less than phenomenal. I do not know where the money comes from. I have never seen a building boom such as this. It seems that every trip brings a new building, a new business. It is deceiving at best. We continued south.Forty minutes from home and a few kilometers past Ferazji we turned off the road to Skopje onto the road to the ski resort at Breservice and the road to the alternate border crossing; the one that would take us to Tetevo in Macedonia. We turned to head up the mountain. The sun was shining, the road clear, the snow in the fields picturesque. The road winds and switches back and climbs to the top of the mountain. Then, in the same fashion, it rolls back down. About half way down, at a point where an expanse of the Kosovo and Macedonian countryside can be seen spreading out before us, the line for the border crossing ended. We pulled behind the last car and stopped. It was about 1130.There is a village there. People stood out along the road in the sunshine and drank drinks as they watched the spectacle of the cars lined and waiting to cross into Macedonia, a stones through ahead. We moved forward a car length at a time. After an hour or so, we were in front of a café. The owners had tables on the deck in front and the doors open. It was one of those days. People in the Balkans do not wait for summer to dine or drink coffee outside. A sunny day is often enough. The line was moving so slowly that we were able to get out and have a macchiato at one of the tables. By one thirty, we were twenty cars from the border. Knowing that we would have to return the same way and likely under similar conditions, we pulled the car out of line and headed back to Pristina. Fortunately we did not have a pressing need to go to Macedonia. The things we needed could wait for a few days. It was a pleasant sunny day; a nice day for a drive in the mountains. It helps if we can find enjoyment among the adversity that seems to constantly emerge at every turn in the road – so to speak.4Together with one of our staff attorneys and one of our consultants, John from my days in Michigan, I had been working to establish the Kosovo Judicial Council. The KJC will be the governing body for the courts of Kosovo. This required us to select three judges and one prosecutor from a list containing the names of several judges and two prosecutors that, through some process, came from the UN. These would fill the balance of the Council membership. We were required to insure gender, ethnic, geographic and jurisdictional diversity. There were two minorities on the list, a Serbian Kosovar prosecutor and a Serbian Kosovar judge from the District Court in Mitrovice. It was the feeling that the prosecutors would not be content to have a minority as their sole representative on the Council. The Albanian Kosovar, male prosecutor was selected. The Serbian Kosovar judge was a woman from District Court in Mitrovice. She would fill four categories; minority, woman, Mitrivice region and District Court. She was a logical choice and is a very capable judge. A Supreme Court judge of the Supreme Court President’s choosing – from the approved list - and a Municipal Court judge from Pristina rounded out the field. These names had to be approved by the Assembly.Our contact point in the Assembly is Hydajet’s committee. He had already been a part of the initial selection discussions so as not to take his committee completely unawares. Predictably, however, at the first meeting to discuss these appointments, the LDK member of Parliament from Mitrovice complained bitterly about several of the candidates, particularly the Serbian judge from Mitrovice. In the nineteen-nineties miners from the Trepca mine in Mitrovice went on strike and were all dismissed; about eighteen thousand of them. Many sued to have their jobs reinstated, including the MP from Mitrovice. His claim at first appeared to be that the judge was personally responsible for all of the miners losing their jobs. Her role in any discharges was a bit less clear at subsequent meetings of the committee, and finally the allegations became anecdotal and only tangentially related cases in which she was involved.In the meantime we tried to do what we could to insure that the process was fair. We are careful to not involve ourselves in local political matters. In this case, however, we did gather background information to discretely disseminate to key committee members, principally Hydajet. We made the trip to Mitrovice to talk with the judge in person. The court is on the north side of the river. In Mitrovice, the river divides the Albanian Kosovars on the south side from the Serbian Kosovars on the north. The part of Kosovo north of the river is where most of the Serbian Kosovar population live. The bridge in the center of Mitrocvice is the symbolic vanguard between the two groups. The bridge is where many pictures illustrating the tension and ethnic conflict in Kosovo are taken. Travel over the bridge is restricted. There is a check point at the bridge, a Kosovo Police Service guard house followed by a French KFOR guard post. The bridge is four lanes, mostly empty. The sidewalks free of people. UN cars can move easily across, we park our project car in the adjoining parking lot at the municipal building and wait for a car to come from the court to pick us up. Once on the north side of the bridge all vehicles either have no license plates, indicating that they probably go to the other side and need the “KS” UNMIK Kosovo plate to drive, or they have Serbian issued plates, most using the old “KM” Kosovo Mitrovice designation. It is as though we have entered another country. Our investigation showed that the judge was eminently fair and respected by Serbian Kosovars and Albanian Kosovars alike. The Serbian Kosovar MP on the committee offered the defense.Our interest in advancing this process was that we could not form the Judicial Council until the Assembly approved the names and the dispute over the Serbian judge caused adjournments for several weeks. The committee fight was enough to deal with, but also during this time the Government resigned. The ruling coalition is made up of the LDK, the largest party, a small party, the AAK and the six minority representatives in the Assembly. The Prime Minister, an AAK member, resigned purportedly at the insistence of the United States - but then, the US is given credit or blame for all major shake-ups here. At the same time, the Speaker of the Assembly was voted out by his party, the controlling LDK party. All of this occurred shortly after the new president was named to replace President Rugova, who died. The Speaker’s position belongs to the LDK, As part of the negotiations which formed the Government, the Prime Minister is given to AAK as is the Minister of Justice. The Minister of Justice was about to be appointed when the shake-up occurred. We have been waiting for the appointment of the Minister of Justice so we could finish setting up that Ministry. Our work has been to help transition the justice sector from UN control to Kosovar control, so the UN can finally leave Kosovo. As a result, I am constantly being asked for assistance from these new local institutions. Talks have begun in Vienna to determine the final status of Kosovo. Discussions between the Kosovar delegation and the Serbian delegation from Belgrade have direct repercussions on the government in Kosovo adding sudden and unanticipated changes. These are confusing and complicated times for us.The committee approval process was delayed while the new government was organized. Fortunately, the only change was the Prime Minister. The job was given to General Ceku of the TMK. He had been in the Croatian army and returned to Kosovo to fight with the KLA and later became the head of the TMK (Kosovo Protective Corps). He is generally considered to be competent and hard working. The new Speaker of the Assembly is Hydajet’s vice-chair. This gives us someone whom we know at the head of the Assembly, a situation we will use in the future. The Minister of Justice has also finally been named. He is a chemist, not a lawyer, but appears to be hard working and has a desire to do the right thing. He says his only motivation for doing the job is because former Prime Minister and war crimes defendant Ramush Hardinaj asked him to take the job. Ramush has permission from The Hague to participate in politics, but not as an office holder. The new Minister has already requested further assistance from our project.Through all of this confusion and reorganization, debate occurred in the committee on the candidates for the Judicial Council. Finally at the fourth and final session on the topic, the four were approved unconditionally. The Serbian Kosovar committee member thanked the committee and Hydajet as chair for conducting a very democratic process. I had to agree. I have seen our state legislature work in committee and I must say that the Kosovars did an equally good job and produced a result that was correct. There is a lot in politics here that is bad, but this process was a fine example of democracy in action. I felt very encouraged and optimistic for the moment.5KEK (Kosovo Electric Kompany) has been providing nearly twenty-four hour service to us based on the “A zone”, “B zone”, “C zone” concept. Our zone is rated A. That means that the customers pay their bills, so KEK will give them (us) better service. The B zone gets less service and the C zone the worst service. That is until the dam broke and flooded one unit and a land slide affected another and the coal ran out because the town under which the reserves lie has not been moved as planned. A new schedule for rolling blackouts was implemented; three hours off and five on. My generator had a workout. We are now back on the prior schedule. I am told that nearly all the electricity currently being used is being purchased from outside Kosovo. The Kosovo budget is ill prepared to pay. In the meantime, I keep the generator fully fueled and serviced.6The 8th of March is International Women’s Day. This is a day celebrated here to the extent that many men buy their wives or girlfriends flowers; take them to lunch or dinner, etc. Sharon is president of the International Women’s Club and they had a luncheon at which Gylnase spoke. Gylnase is a Member of Parliament and a doctor. She is on Hydajet’s committee and is a member and chairperson of the AAK party. During the war she was a doctor for the Kosovo Liberation Army, and to keep this in its proper perspective, it must be remembered that the KLA operated as a guerrilla army in the mountains. I always enjoy her crisp direct approach especially to the UN. I have watched a lot of UN staffers nervously moving a leg to and fro as they try to answer one of Gylnase’s very direct and often difficult questions.We were with Professor John from Michigan State University at the Palace Hotel in Mitrovice the evening of Women’s Day, preparing for a seminar the following day. The management invited us to a big dinner and dance in celebration of Women’s Day in their lower level party room. We couldn’t stay for the whole event, but Gaz, Enver and I had a few beers on the house and watched the dinner unfold. This is the best room I have seen in Kosovo. The hotel is relatively new and the management is doing a superb job. The room holds several hundred for a sit down dinner. There is a large cascading stairway leading from the main level to the party room. The room was filled with tables all covered with white cloths surrounded by white cloth covered chairs. White linen napkins folded into cones stood inverted at each place setting. A band stand was at one end and a bar on the far wall.When the guests began to arrive it was like a scene from a 1930’s movie. The couples were dressed to the nines though not in tuxedos. Two by two they descended the stairs and found their seats. The band had begun playing traditional music. The waiters began bringing the first of several courses, moving swiftly down the far stairway leading from the kitchen, carrying as many as eight plates each with the ease that I carry one. The room filled quickly. The President Judge from the Mitrovice Municipal Court sat at the table next to us and took the time to greet us warmly. Adem Volkci, the President of the Chamber of Advocates (bar association) sat with his wife and another couple or two, and at the far end of the large room, with a group of women from the Assembly, was Gylnase. I decided that I have been here too long when I can be at a function twenty-five miles from Pristina and see people I know and with whom I work.I had a forty-five minute drive on a busy two lane road so I moved across the room to the stairway. As I left, Adem, in his always gracious and smiling manner, stopped me to give me his regards. In these situations language is not an obstacle.As I exited the parking lot, I would turn left. A turn to the right and a short couple of kilometers brings you to the infamous bridge that separates the Albanian Kosovar side of Mitrovice from the Serbian Kosovar side. I reflected on the dichotomy; behind me in the Hotel Palace, several hundred people were dining and dancing in a perfectly normal fashion, yet around the bend and down the hill to the right, to where the street meets the river, razor wire and Jersey barriers restrict the flow of traffic from moving freely across the vacant bridge past the check points and into the other half of the city; to the other side of Kosovo. Stabilization, I thought, is an easy thing to accomplish, normalcy very difficult and the elimination of centuries of hatred, near impossible. I turned left and passed the French KFOR base as I continued on to Pristina.7.My wife was talking to him and his partner in a restaurant where we were sitting. I had stepped out for a minute. Azis Salihu was a boxer of some repute. He was in the Olympics as a super heavy weight boxer for Yugoslavia in1980, 1984 and 1988. In 1984 in Los Angeles, he won a bronze medal. Now he and his partner have a boxing club in Pristina. They are both Albanian Kosovars. He boxed for twenty years, an eternity in that sport. He fought professionally in the US and elsewhere. He talked of gambling his money away in Las Vegas and Reno. Like many in his profession, he was left with nothing when his ability to fight dwindled. I thought of the Paul Simon song, “In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade and he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame ‘I am leaving, I am leaving.’ But the fighter still remains.” Still fighting, Azis was remembering the gloves of excess and greed that laid him down until he left for his home and the hope of a new land in a new era. It was Saturday. Azis was the first to tell us of Milosevic’s death. He was matter of fact about it, not moved one way or the other, like many in Kosovo we would subsequently learn.8.It started on a hill outside of Pristina on the road to Mitrovice. A monument to the event six hundred years earlier was dedicated. June 28, 1989 Slobodon Milosevic gathered nearly one million people, mostly Serbs, in Kosovo Polje, Fushe Kosova in Albanian, Kosovo Field in English. It was the six hundredth anniversary of the great battle that resulted in the defeat of the Serbian army by the Ottoman Turks. Bosnia and Albania fell soon thereafter and the Ottoman Empire’s rule over the Balkans was secured. The speech that Milosevic gave is generally regarded as the beginning of his quest for a Greater Serbia and the ethnic cleansing, genocide and ultimate disintegration of Yugoslavia that followed.“By the force of social circumstances this great 600th anniversary of the Battle of Kosovo is taking place in a year in which Serbia, after many years, after many decades, has regained its state, national, and spiritual integrity. Therefore, it is not difficult for us to answer today the old question: how are we going to face Milos [Milos Obilic, legendary hero of the Battle of Kosovo]. Through the play of history and life, it seems as if Serbia has, precisely in this year, in 1989, regained its state and its dignity and thus has celebrated an event of the distant past which has a great historical and symbolic significance for its future. ….” [Opening paragraph of the Milosevic speech, 1989]It is not his speech as such, but the backdrop to it that is important. My friend Hydajet Hyseni was already in prison for espousing an independent Kosovo. The independence movement of the Albanian majority was ended by a Yugoslavian Parliament resolution passed in Belgrade. The resolution removed the autonomous designation that Kosovo province had enjoyed until March of 1989, a few short months before Milosevic’s speech. He spoke about a new Serbia that would rise from the ashes of the defeat of the Serbian army six hundred years earlier. An ethnically diverse Serbia, but in the end, when he said “long live Serbia,” It was clear that he was talking not about Yugoslavia, not about a country where a majority population could rule themselves, but a Greater Serbia ruled by Serbs. History records the rest; Croatia, Bosnia and finally Kosovo. By 1990 all the Albanian Kosovars had lost their jobs and were replaced by Serbs. Horrors occurred across the former Yugoslavia that we cannot even imagine. Despots unite and prosper by promoting nationalism and/or fear. We should always be wary of those who either tell us that we are a great and mighty people deserving of respect and power, or that we are in grave danger of attack and destruction if we do not assert our strength preemptively.Milosevic died largely in shame. The world recognizes him for what he was. The Kosovars feel, if anything, cheated. In the words of several, it is not that they wanted the court to render a verdict in his trial and have him sentenced to what he deserved, but rather they feel cheated because Milosevic died before he could witness an independent Kosovo. The monument still stands on the hill overlooking Kosovo Polje and is lit at night for all to see. It is guarded by KFOR troops twenty-four hours a day.Until next connection,Dan



XVI – Eid al Fitr, Bjram; Rama’s wedding; Thanksgiving in Paris; KLA commander found innocent; Another court visit; Lunch at Hydajet’s house; Meanwhile back in Key West; The long way home; The slippery slopes; President Rugova dies

Dear Friends and Family,

1.

Ramadan ended on November 5. After a month of fasting all day long – no water no food from sunrise to sunset everyday – the celebration is Eid al Fitr or Bajram in Kosovo and the Balkans. I sent Eid Mubarak greetings to all my friends in Bangladesh as I have each year since I left. I got messages back form the people I usually communicate with as well as others who I hear from once a year. This year Professor Muhammad Syhed Mynuddin from the World Bank in Bangladesh indicated that our old project was moving slowly forward and they had created a position for an international expert to continue implementation of the project. He said that they were looking for someone with my experience and background. As you might imagine, this set off an exchange of e-mails and preliminary negotiations between the Government of Bangladesh and me. Fortunately or unfortunately (I have yet to decide) the financial package they had to offer was inadequate. I did learn that I hold very mixed emotions concerning my prior post. I speak often of the hardships of living there and the frustrations with several of the people with whom we worked, yet I miss many of the good people we met and worked with and I miss the exotic character of the place. The Brits of pre-India independence often spoke and wrote of the inexplicable magnetism of India. I have experienced it and can likewise not explain the attraction in spite of the horror, distain and frustration that the place engenders.

Sharon and I went to Enver’s house for some Bajram refreshments. The local staff had the day off, we worked, but we found time in the afternoon to visit. We know them all now, Enver’s parents, his brothers, his sister-in-law and her babies. They all live under one roof. Our visits are no longer unique experiences in a strange land. They are simple visits with friends; friends who live in our town.

2.

Arranged marriages in Bangladesh are still the norm. Here, they are not, although they are still not unheard of. Rama is thirty-one and single. Well, he was single. He seemed to be happily single; no attachments; no regular girlfriend. One Monday morning he came to the office and announced that he had gotten engaged over the weekend. We were surprised since we had not heard of any girlfriends from him. The wedding was in two weeks.

It seems that Rama had been flirting with a young store clerk near his home. His parents found out about it and decided that it was time for Rama to get married. They contacted the parents of the girl and the rest became history. Of course we were invited to the wedding. The wedding was at Rama’s house; his parents house, but it is all the same in these extended family arrangements.

Rama and his family are Albanian but lived all their lives in Serbia. In fact, Rama’s father still bears the “vic” on his last name that the Serbs required to be added at some point in the 1950’s. Thus he is Jahavic. Rama, as a young man, decided to have the “vic” removed and return his name to the Albanian, Jaha. He recounted for me the process. The Serbs used all manner of inconvenience and discomfort to thwart or at least discourage the effort. Rama persisted. It was a matter of principle with him.

Just as things in Kosovo turned bad after the war for the Serbian Kosovars, the Albanian Serbs experienced a similar situation in Serbia. Many Serbian Kosovars have moved to Serbia and many Albanian Serbs have now moved to Kosovo. Rama’s family is among the latter. When the Jaha’s or Jahavic’s decided to move to Kosovo they migrated to a small Serbian enclave just north of Pristina. They traded their apartment in Serbia for the house they now occupy. The Serb who lived in the house moved to Serbia; and so it goes. Suffice to say, the wedding was at this home.

The traditional ethnic Albanian wedding goes something like this – and there are a few variations. The day prior to the wedding, the bride has a party for the women of her family and her women friends. There is usually much food and dancing and the bride changing into several dresses. The groom has a luncheon for his family and friends the day of the wedding. On the wedding day, the groom, or sometimes, as in Rama’s case, his family only, goes to the bride’s home and picks her up. There is a ceremony among the women at that time. The groom’s female relatives present the bride with gold jewelry, necklaces, bracelets and earrings. The men from the groom’s family are greeted by the men of the bride’s family and led to a place where they all sit around and drink beverages and smoke (always smoking in the Balkans) cigarettes which are liberally offered as a gesture of friendship and a show of hospitality.

The procession from the groom’s house to the bride’s home and back is led by a lead car with an Albanian flag flying out the window. The lead car often has a sunroof through which the video cameraman rises to tape the procession. All of the cars in the procession have a towel wrapped around the windshield wiper to identify them as members of a wedding procession. Like funeral processions in the United States, wedding processions in the Balkans are not to be broken by other cars. The last car in the procession, in which the bride will ride, is decorated with ribbons and flowers, sometimes garishly. When the bride arrives at the groom’s home, another ceremony of sorts is held. This involves her being given honey to insure a sweet life, bread so they never go hungry and a coin so they will always have money.

We arrived at Rama’s house for lunch. The road to his house runs off the main road. Narrow but paved it crosses a bridge into the enclave where, in the Balkan tradition, walls surround all the houses. We parked alongside the road. Rama’s house is two full stories with a large yard, maybe an acre or more total. An out building had a chicken cage on its side wall and a couple of nice looking turkeys gobbled around inside a small enclosed area. After a very good lunch, Sharon, Gaz, Lily, Enver and I got into Gaz’s and our cars, towels appropriately affixed, for the trip to Rama’s new wife’s home. Rama changed into his suit while we went to pick up his bride. We drove north on the road to Podeivo for several kilometers. Soon we turned onto a gravel road that led, after several turns, through a small village two kilometers beyond which was the farm of Rama;s wife’s family. Kosovo is a very small place, sometimes compared to Connecticut, but there are places that appear to be as remote as anywhere in the world. This was such a place. The remoteness has less to do with distance than the difficulty in getting there. This winding gravel road could never be traversed at a speed faster than twenty-five miles per hour. We passed craggy hills and rolling pastures enclosed with brush fences. Sometime the fences were of growing thick shrubs, sometimes they were made of other brush and small saplings woven among scrawny posts. The herdsman waved. The boy watching a few cows and sheep stopped to stare and wave. We noticed the miniature fort he had build over the course of the day. Even from the car we could see a great amount of detail in his idle work. He would leave it when he took the animals back to the barn. I hoped that the inevitable boyish play of the day did not result in any stray animals.

We drove up the mud road to the farm. There were many outbuildings. Some housed tractors, some were for live stock. A few chickens and turkeys wandered the yard. There was a large house on top of the hill and several smaller houses, presumably for family members, scattered down the hillside. The women gathered at the main house to greet the bride and do whatever it is that the women do when picking up a bride. The men were escorted to a small two room house lower on the hill. We sat on couches that lined all the walls of the room. Drinks were served and cigarettes offered all around. The older man with a beret and a missing front tooth seemed to be spokesperson for the bride’s family. He was a gregarious likeable fellow and bit of a character. A stocky relative of Rama’s led the conversation for his family. Mostly the other men listened to the two spokespersons discuss Kosovo politics, occasionally interjecting a point of view. My Albanian being what it is, I understood nothing. Gaz went outside to get out of the cigarette smoke that had quickly engulfed the room and Enver was across the room; I sat and watched. I noticed two pictures on the wall. One was of a young man in a uniform – an individual photo. The other was the same young soldier with two others in a photo I recognized as a photographic tribute to KLA fighters who died in the war. I later learned that the young man was a relative of Rama’s wife.

The ceremony was complete and we joined the women for the trip back to Rama’s house. The bride was appropriately escorted in the decorated vehicle at the end of the procession. Horns honking again, we took the road back to Rama’s house. Once there, Rama came out of the house in his finest attire and greeted his new bride. They walked arm in arm down the walk to the door to the house. The neighbors all watched from the road and the wedding guests crowded around the couple. At the door, the bride was presented with honey, bread and a coin.

After the ceremony at Rama’;s house the wedding was complete. They were married in the traditional sense. They would go later to register the marriage with the municipal authorities. The party then followed. We stayed briefly, but had another event to go to – the party for Enver’s sister after the birth of her new baby.

3.

We had neither the time nor the money to make a trip home for Thanksgiving. We plan that trip over Christmas and the New Year. Our friends Danielle and Claire from Montréal, Quebec, who were here for three years and got transferred to Paris where Danielle works for NATO, as he did here. A nice thing about living in Kosovo is that Europe, once one gets out of Pristina, is very near. We were able to get very reasonable tickets to Paris and Danielle and Clare offered their home for us to stay and visit with them. They live in a near suburb of Paris, Rueil Malmaison. Danielle and Clare picked us up at Charles de Gaulle airport and took us to their house. The small three bedroom townhouse with courtyard in front and yard in back, was quire comfortable and our hosts were outstanding.

What can be said about Paris that hasn’t already been said? People either love it or hate it and some just dislike the French. I find both Paris and the French to be warm and friendly. We visited the Opera House, several other monuments that we had not seen on our previous trip there (Paris if full of them) and the Eiffel Tower at night. We drove past the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs Elysees. Danielle and I went to an antique motor cycle show – he owns twenty bikes. Clare bought a turkey at greatly inflated prices and we had a traditional American Thanksgiving dinner. In the church in the town square of Rueil Malmaison Napoleon’s Josephine is buried, or more precisely, her tomb resides. It snowed, rained, was cold and, as to be expected, was expensive. We had a great time and it was good seeing old friends.

4.

Gaz had a birthday. We have been using birthdays as an excuse for periodic late afternoon parties. Turns out that was also the day and time that verdicts of three KLA (Kosovo Liberation Army) commanders was broadcast live from the Hague. One in particular was of special interest to the Kosovar’s. He was a member of parliament before being arrested and tried for war crimes at the Hague. The International community was nervous about the reaction, either way, from the verdict. Our conference room, amidst cake and treats for Gaz’s birthday, was silent as the judge announced the court’s verdicts. Fatmir, the commander of interest, was found not guilty on all counts. An added celebratory mood came over the office. The next day saw processions in Pristina and a throng of well wishers at the airport to greet Fatmir on his return from the Hague. No violence was reported except for an unrelated incident in Gracanecia, the Serbian enclave near Pristina, which resulted in the town being closed off for several hours.

5.

Our project is very busy and we are at a very important juncture as the UN prepares to turn over the remaining competencies that they control, such as the courts, to the Kosovars and leave. Amidst this flurry of activity, we were again called by USAID to host a luncheon for Ken the Mission Director and the Supreme Court President. This time the location was in Dragash, a mountain town south of Prizren. It seems that the Minor Offenses Court President judge invited Ken at a meeting they both attended. As it happens, we are in the midst of starting a new project with the Municipal Courts of Dragash and Prizren. We made the usual contacts and the meeting was set. A meeting at the court with tour, followed by a luncheon at a local restaurant; the same drill as we did in Rahovec.

Dragash is one of the few places in Kosovo that is really unreachable for many days of the year. The two lane winding road is often impassable in winter. This creates special circumstances for the court there. The court has very little to do, but because of its unique location and the fact that there is a significant minority population there, it will likely remain open. Our project involves using the Dragash judges to help out in Prizren on a part time basis.

The road to Dragash winds continually upward affording panoramic views of Prizren spreading out in the valley below. Once the mountain is crested, the road continues partly down the other side through villages tucked in and about the mountains. The timberline can be seen just where the late autumn snow-cap begins. It is a beautiful place, remote and detached.

In Dragash there is a large population of a minority called Gorani. About half of the population in the municipality of thirty six villages is Gorani. The other half are Albanian. The town sits on a finger of the province bordering both Albania and Macedonia. I have yet to understand fully who the Gorani are. They are Muslim by religion, they speak either perfect Serbian - or Bulgarian by one account - and are mountain people. The remoteness of the area results in very traditional dress. It seems almost unaffected by the rest of the world. The town of Dragash sits nestled among snow capped mountains and is the center of activity for the area. Dragash has a population of four thousand and the municipality about forty thousand. The economy is fueled by the products of the herdsmen in the area; goats, sheep and cows. A very popular cheese is made there. About half the population is unemployed. Near the restaurant where we ate lunch there is a large project to develop a ski area. It will take several more years to complete.

Lunch was the same as Rahjovec, with less indulging in spirits of the vine. A huge meal beginning with soup, then an appetizer, then a salad, followed by a main course of meat, followed by the lamb. The lamb was again served in the traditional manner – the honored guest being presented with the head. As in Rahovec, Ken did the honors masterfully. He passed it to the Supreme Court President who then passed it to me, and on around. I don’t believe there is an acquired taste for lamb’s brains. Perhaps this is why the tradition has not survived into Western culture. The lunch took two and a half hours. The trip home another two. The event took the entire Friday.

6.

The day after the Dragash event, we were invited to Hydajet’s house for lunch. Hydajet is a member of the Assembly or Parliament and chairs what we would call the judiciary committee with which our project works closely. He was a political prisoner in the Tito era. He and his colleagues call themselves former”political detainees.” There is an organization consisting of around three thousand members.

Besides Sharon and I, Ken, the Mission Director, with his wife Viviana and Miles the DG officer were invited. Hydajet also invited a woman member of parliament and good friend of his. She is a well respected gynecologist in her private life. In her youth she was a political prisoner as well, having served a year or so. She was a contemporary of Hydajet’s.

I did not think that the luncheon of the prior day could be topped, but Hydajet and his wife managed. We ate until we could eat no more, then we ate even more, ending, finally, with dessert. Along the way, we sampled several glasses of Hydajet’s stock of Raki. At one point, Hydajet brought out several envelopes containing drawings and writings from his time in prison. Writing to relatives was not allowed, so the prisoners wrote in secret on whatever they could find to write on. In Hdayjet’s case, he showed us several poems and letters on small pieces of napkin-like tissue. The writing was so small it was barely legible with the naked eye but was as neat and straight as if typed. Both sides of the paper were used. The prisoners apparently separated covers of books, slipped the writings in the covers and resealed them. Then they could pass the books out to relatives. Hydajet’s wife saved all the letters.

Hydajet is an interesting fellow. He has four children, three sons and a daughter. All are grown except the youngest son who is thirteen. Hydajet was in prison for ten years and was apparently moving around avoiding capture for about three years. I offered Hajdayet a cup of coffee one morning at a function we were hosting. He declined and said that he had coffee already with his wife. He told me that the one thing he does everyday since he was released from prison is to have coffee with his wife each morning. He has great admiration for her for all she went through while he was in prison. They had their youngest son because Hydajet had missed the raising of his other three children while he was in prison.

It is difficult at times for us to understand what the people went through under these oppressive regimes, but the stories also are a reminder of why we must be constantly vigilant of our rights. What begin as small encroachments that appear to be necessary for some greater national good can quickly and easily lead to the suppression of all that makes us free and strong. The conversation of that afternoon was revealing. Hajdayet was a young journalist. He and his contemporaries were telling truths as they saw them; truths that those in power did not want told. Hydajet doctor friend spoke of her days in prison and how she denied knowing Hydajet and his other friends because that in itself would have resulted in her prison stay being lengthened. Today Hydajet is the best guardian of his adversaries’ rights to openly criticize his work. While we are here sharing the lessons we have learned with this emerging democracy, they are sharing lessons that will help us sustain ours.

7.

Meanwhile, back in Key West, the fourth of as many hurricanes that brushed but did not hit Key West full-on had caused extensive damage to that island city and to our home there. Wilma flooded at least sixty percent of the homes in Key West. We did not escape her wrath, not that of Rita before her and Katrina before her and Dennis before her. Sharon had been home to help repair the relatively minor damage of Dennis, Katrina and Rita, but left as Wilma struck. Jeff and her parents were there to assist in putting things back together, but our arrival in December still found things a bit unsettling. The tarp on the roof is said to be good for a year and it may take us that long to make arrangements for the repairs. The two scooters are gone I am afraid. Jeff has the pool nearly back to where it should be and the new plantings and re-growth of those that survived will soon screen out the neighbors again. All in all, Key West looked pretty good and the weather was it’s usual fantastic self.

We had Christmas there and a wonderful dinner in the backyard with all the neighbors. New Year’s Eve we spent in Dent’s yard visiting neighbors and letting the kids entertain us until the fireworks boomed and crackled in the New Year. We are blessed to live in a neighborhood of really nice people who look after each other and generally make paradise what is should be.

I have said that the reason that I bought a house in Key West is because it is the only place I have yet been that I never want to leave. This was no exception, damage and all. But, leave we did for our other home here in Kosovo.

8.


We drove back to Michigan where I had a bit of doctoring left to do and a few more family visits. Never time enough to see everyone we would like. The flight from Chicago to Frankfurt was delayed leaving but arrived on time. Re-ticketing for the flight to Skopje was a nightmare. We spent no less than an hour in line waiting for our boarding passes. Frankfurt airport is large and very busy. We struggled with the lines and being seated in a restaurant at a table that no one served, and on. The rigors of travel are many. We arrived at the time when the people were returning from the Hajj in Mecca, no doubt adding to the congestion of the place.

Finally we arrived in Skopje, Macedonia. Rama had agreed to meet us that Sunday late afternoon and drive us back to Pristina, an hour and a half trip by car. It was pitch dark as it generally is at that early time here, when we arrived. As we exsited the airport, Rama must have taken a wrong turn and after fifteen minutes we decided to ask someone how to get to Skopje. We were not directed back the opposite way on the highway, but rather were sent across country on a two lane road that quickly carried us into the countryside. Several stops to ask further directions confirmed that we were in fact not misled and Skopje finally appeared. The restaurant we stopped at was closed so we proceeded to the border. After passing the Macedonian side we were advised at the Kosovo station that the road was closed at Kacanik because of a rock slide and would remain closed until ten the next morning. We stopped and ate at a restaurant where the police were turning cars back then we also turned back.

There is another border crossing, a smaller one, in the mountains above Tetevo, Macedonia. We drove back through the border crossing and the twenty minutes to Skopje then on to the highway for the half hour to Tetevo. There we drove through town and up the mountain to the border. As we rounded the curve we were presented with a line of cars that must have been a kilometer long. In any event, it took us one hour to clear the border there. Then we climbed further up the mountain over the dark, snow-covered winding road and down the other side and finally back to the highway to Pristina. We arrived home at one in the morning, having left the Skopje airport at five-thirty.

The rockslide was not cleared at ten the next morning nor has it been cleared nearly two weeks later. Part of the adventure of living in the developing world is never knowing for sure what to expect next. Things happen here that do not happen else where and those events bring us closer to our root selves. They test us – are we fit enough to survive.

9.

And so winter came; frigid cold; snow. Our heat mostly is okay this year, but there are days when we dress with layers in the house. I heard the first complaints form several people yesterday of having no water due to frozen pipes. The electricity has been good until the cold snap. Now we have about four hours a day – one hour at a time over the course of the day – when we have no electricity, but our generator is working fine. KEK (Kosovo Electrik Kompany) came up with a new program to encourage people to pay their bills. They divided Kosovo into various zones; A, B and C. The A zone designation is given to areas where people pay their bills regularly, the “B” designation to those who are not so good and the “C” designation for the worst. Our neighborhood is in the ”A” zone, so we had 24 hour electricity until the cold set in and the electric heaters were turned up. Ironically, the USAID offices are in a “B” zone and Ken, the Mission Director was not pleased since AID pays a very large bill. Apparently their neighbors do not. The walk to work and back, normally ten minutes up the hill and ten back in the evening, becomes longer and treacherous. Nothing is taken for granted here. The steps are not cleaned and so they become icy. The paths across the hills are foot-warn and icy as well. This is not the “proverbial” slippery slope that I was alluding to in number 6. above, this is simply and literally a very slippery slope and I had my first fall of the season; no injuries thank you.

10.

Dr. Ibriham Rugova was President of Kosovo and leader of the LDK party. He had led the LDK party for years going back to the nineteen-nineties. He attempted to negotiate a peaceful settlement with the Serbs in the late nineties. He met with Milosevic and was accused of being a traitor. He led the first and second - the current - governments after the war. All politics in Kosovo was led and centered on Rugova’s desires. He had a “presidential flag” that represented his idea of what an independent state of Kosovo should have as its national flag. Most mocked it and have continued to use the Albanian flag as their symbol, missing his point that if Kosovo is to be an independent state it must begin to think of itself as such. His motorcade would pass our office several times a week when he was returning to his home a few blocks from our office. A moderate, he had a good sense of where Kosovo should be and how to get there. Even in ill health, he was always the beacon leading Kosovo, guiding the Kosovars in spirit if not in fact.

On January 22, 2006 President Rugova died after a long battle with lung cancer, the result of smoking heavily for years. He was 62. Fifteen days of mourning were declared and he was laid in state in the Assembly Building. Mother Theresa Avenue was closed for the week until his funeral and burial on Thursday. The crowds to view him were long and continuous for the entire time. We arranged a time on Wednesday for our office to view the body. En-masse we went to the Assembly building and after weaving through very heavy crowds all around the building and negotiating our way past several police crowd control blockades we managed to get into the building. There a young woman escorted us to the area where Rugova lay amongst the honor guard. The line of public viewers was temporarily stopped as we filed quickly through. We were not able to lay the wreath as we had planned.

Thursday was the funeral and a holiday for all including the UN and USAID. Most stores and shops were closed and our street was closed. The funeral was in a university building very near our office and the burial was in the Memorial Park on the top of Sunny Hill, actually directly behind an apartment building where three of our consultants live. There are graves in that park of KLA fighters killed in the war that ended with the NATO bombing in 1999. A memorial will be built at Rugova’s grave site.

We walked to the office and worked. We did take time to walk the street closed to vehicular traffic and marvel at the thousands of people who, beginning very early in the sunny frigid morning, were finding spots on the route from the funeral to the grave site so they could view the funeral procession go by. After the burial, thousands of people filed past our office from the grave site taking the nearly an hour to pass.

No one is certain what will happen now. Status talks have begun and “Rugova was involved with the talks. He led the coalition government. Some say that his LDK party – which garnered roughly 46 percent of the vote in the last election – will splinter in to several parties. If that happens, no one is certain of what will happen to the coalition government, currently made up of the LDK and AAK, a small party with enough seats in parliament to give the coalition a majority. Even if the LDK survives, the leadership is uncertain. It may not be as uncertain as the internationals think because his death was imminent and politicians were talking.

We are privileged to be a part of the development of this new government and new democracy. We are also privileged to witness the joys and pains that the people here experience as they move toward self determination. Their George Washington died. It was like a knife was stuck into the chest of every citizen, those with whom he agreed and those with whom he did not. We watch and assist as a new nation emerges form the ashes of a long, bloody and painful history. Our presence is fraught with peril but to be here and a part of the new history that is being made is worth the risk.

Until Next Connection,
Dan

Bunkers on the Albanian side of Lake Ohrid 

We start the hike. Zeus in teh Clouds. We make the first Refuge and rest before returning. 1000 meters of elevation hiked. Another 900 to the summit - for another day. 

Sarge and Olga in the basement.

Children sledding on the hill overlooking Rama's village. 

Rama's Parents. Rama's wife in the background. Nice people. Great meal. The cooking was on the wood burning stove at left.

Monument erected in memory of the 1389 battle of Kosovo Polje. The Serbs were defeated by the Ottoman Turks on the plain below this hill. Milosevic gave the now infamous speech here in 1989 before a million people. Center right is the green KFOR guard house.

Sultan Murat Han lies here. Killed by the Serbs in 1389 at the battle of Kosovo Polje.

Sharon and the caretaker. She shared cholocates with us from the box she holds. The last governor and the last commander of the occupying Ottoman Army, circa 1909, are buried in the cemetary behind Sharon.

Sultan Murat Han I tomb. Killed by Serbs in 1389. Caretaker at left

We finally get into a wedding party - Towel on the wiper is evidence of our arrival.

 

Sharon and me with Rama and his new wife.

 

The wedding car

 

Clare, Danielle and Sharon at the Eiffel Tower - Thanksgiving

 

Me and Enver outside the Dragash Courthouse

 

Getting my share of the BRAIN food in Dragash