Thankfully, Snoring -- Prizren, Kosovo

I'm starting this post from the common area of Driza House in Prizren, Kosovo. Three red velvet couches form a U shape along the white and floral wallpapered walls. Crisscrossed wooden floor underneath me, sagging wooden ceiling above me, giant plate of orange peels on the flimsy coffee table under which the yellow dog likes to hide.

Dali clock melting off the computer desk on the wall to my right, hands fixed forever at four thirty five. 

Johnny Cash plays on the laptop next to the melting clock. 

I'm trying not to be irritated. I'm trying to just be grateful that I have a place to be and I'm not outside in the snow. To be thankful that I have thirty euros to spend on a hostel for three nights. But at the same time, I am so frustrated with that couchsurfing host. If he didn't want to host me, he should have told me right off. I could have made other plans. Instead, he told me an hour after I'd arrived in Prizren that he was in Belgrade. Then he told me he'd call me later and that he'd pay for my hostel as apology. Then he didn't call me later. And he's not paying for my hostel. Nor is he responding to any of my Whatsapp messages. 

Blurgh. 

This is what happens when you book with people, Bourget. Some people are like Igor, and even though they have to cancel on you, are incredibly communicative and helpful. Some people are like this guy and totally leave you hanging. In Kosovo. 

Blurgh. 

I lingered at Sweet Cafe until four thirty, then received the message from Zafir saying he was still in Belgrade, so he most certainly wouldn't be hosting me that evening. I sighed, paid for my fifty cent syrupccino and complimentary lemonade, mapped a route to Driza and shouldered Ellie.

At least Ellie is now two and a half kilos lighter. Which is... umm... not a small deal...

Google maps directed me into a parking lot with no signs for a hostel of any kind. 

Which doesn't mean anything. As I learned from Dada. 

"Hostel?" a large fellow wearing a reflective vest asked. 

"Yes!" I happily responded. 

That was easy. 

"It's here. EY!" he yelled at the house in the corner of the lot. 

"Thank-you," I hurried towards the hostel, fingers curled into my grey sweater, hiding from the biting air.  

"Can I book for one night?" I panted to the young lady at reception, optimistically hoping that Zafir would still be able to host me for my final nights in Prizren. 

"Yes. A bed in a room of ten is nine euros. In a room of four, it's eleven euros." 

"The cheap one." 

Always the cheap one. 

"Okay,  may I see your passport?" 

The lady wrote down my passport number, took my money and escorted me to my room. All the bunks had curtains for privacy, their own reading lights and large lockers underneath the bottom bunk. 

This'll be okay. It's not couchsurfing, but it's okay. 

I shoved my valuables into the locker and went for a quick walk in the frigid night air. I didn't have high hopes for Prizren, or any hopes, really. Partially because Podgorica had dramatically lowered my expectations of cities in general, partially because of feeling immensely irritated at my couchsurfing host and partially because of the sickening bus ride from Podgorica to Prizren. A bus ride that was not sickening due to cliff edges or narrow roads, but due to the unbelievable amount of trash in the fields, in the ravines, piled up on the side of the road. 

The banks of streams and rivers looked as if they'd been made out of garbage. Trees which had shed their leaves for winter revealed a new kind of foliage. Blue, pink, yellow, green, white plastic bags clung to branches in thick clumps. The water itself was teeming with bottles, tires, plastic cups, every kind of refuse imaginable. A few men stood here and there, clenching fishing rods between gloved hands, breath clouding in the cold, stealing from the water whatever life was left. 

They have time to fish, but not to pick up the plastic bag, the plastic plate, the plastic fork, the plastic cup they used to carry and eat their lunch.

My stomach churned. 

How can people live this way? I realize I'm coming from a very privileged place wherein I've never had to worry about simply staying alive. Those men down there could be survivors of the Kosovo War, which didn't end until 1999 and which ended the lives of over three thousand civilians. I wonder how priorities shift after an experience like that. I'd like to think I wouldn't mindlessly toss my garbage out a bus window into the river, but I don't know. 

  

So when I started my walk into the touristic area of Prizren, my thoughts were, Just survive until Sofia. It won't be the best experience, but now at least you've been to Kosovo. And while checking off countries is not the reason you travel, it's still awfully nice. 

But downtown Prizren totally caught me by surprise, enchanted me, stole my breath away. 

Magnificent Ottoman architecture from the 15th century, softly illuminated by street lamps and the lights from inside cafes and restaurants. November 28th is Albanian Independence Day, and as the majority of Kosovo is of Albanian heritage, people took to the streets in throngs, wearing the terrifying double-headed eagle Albanian flag, waving Albanian flags and causing all sorts of patriotic hullabaloo. 

This is worth so much more than simply checking it off my list of countries. 

The Belgian guy who shared the ten bed dorm with me snored softly all night long. Or, the bits of the night when I woke up and could hear him snore. 

After a shower and complimentary breakfast the next morning, I headed out for a walk in the first snow of Kosovo.

Boy... I wish you were here. This kind of place with its ancient architecture and narrow cobbled streets, this kind of weather with its soft, quiet snow... and its fifty cent coffee. 

Sigh. 

Why aren't you here? This is what you dream of, isn't it?

I wandered into a mosque's courtyard through very open gates, was looking at a rose dusted in snow, about to snap a photo, when I heard an abrupt, "NO!"

"What?" I turned around and saw a fierce police lady behind me.

"No!" She repeated in a tone I chose to interpret as stern and not angry. "It is closed!"

"Okay, thanks!" I smiled. "Didn't know."

'Cos, ummm, the gates were flung open...

Trash, trash, trash

Eventually, I found myself hiking up a large hill and towards a fortress. As one does.

Trash, trash, trash.

Kaljaja Fortress. A gorgeous monument that was erected by the Byzantines and served as the capital of the Serbian Empire before it was taken over by the Ottomans in 1455.

This church was closed too.

Trash, trash, trash

I spent the rest of the afternoon at the hostel, then went on another walk up to the fortress with two lovely fellows from Saudi Arabia. They had both studied in Ireland, then one had gone off traveling and had been completely seduced by Prizren, so had invited his friend to join him here.

I can't say that I blame him. 

View of Prizren from the fortress

We shared a coffee by the Prizrenska Bistrica (Prizren's river) and then headed back to the hostel, hands stuffed into pockets, chins burrowed into coats, still feeling soft, cold flakes of snow on our faces.

The Belgian guy snored again last night. And laughed in his sleep. Then I woke up at four in the morning to a rhythmic sound and my bed moving back and forth.

Is he... masturbating? I believe he is. Ew, this is awkward. Couldn't he do that in the shower? 

I spent a few moments contemplating my next step.

Should I just pretend like it isn't happening and go back to sleep? 

That would be nice. But I'm not a good enough pretender for that. 

I opened my laptop, put in my earbuds and turned on one of my yoga playlists. Which dulled the noise somewhat, but did nothing at all in the way of vibrations.

GAH. 

Once again, I turned to my laptop, punching the keys with extra oomph as I updated my status on Facebook.

When your couchsurfing host in Kosovo cancels on you last minute and then stops responding to your messages and you end up in a hostel sharing a room with a Belgian guy who only stops snoring and sleep laughing to masturbate...

Do you

A) leave the room at 4:30 am to make yourself a cup of tea and hope that he's finished when you return?
B) Make a lot of noise so that he can tell you're awake and hopefully stops?
C) Post a facebook status and then watch an episode of Doctor Who to drown out the noise?
D) other?

The punching keys on my laptop got him to stop for a few minutes, but then as soon as I settled into my episode of Doctor Who (guess which option I chose?), it all picked up again.

Jesus Christ. 

I started writing gibberish on my keyboard, making enough noise to let the guy know that I was still awake and could definitely hear everything. 

I heard a deep sigh, some turning and tossing, and then, thankfully, snoring.

This is one of the many reasons I don't do hostels. Except for when couchsurfing goes horribly awry, of course. Like it did during this leg of my adventure, thanks to Zafir.  

But this is my life. For now. Six months of travel down, six more to go.