Meeting on the main town square, the walking tour took me through the central promenade, Nene Tireze. On the tour, there were only two other people: two girls from Slovakia, named Sophia and Tamara. Immediately, I took a look at them and put them squarely in the friendzone category. This occurred only moments after they had done the same for me. Having established formalities, we proceeded to embark on an epic tour led by Prishtina free walking tours. Taking a loop through the old market we learned much about Prishtina that I would later forget in the night to come.
Of distinct memory and photography is the Prishtina Library, truly one of the most unique architectural masterpieces of the world. A brutalist prism, it’s a labyrinthine structure that is both imposing and enchanting, like a secret waiting to be discovered. The building, a mix of sharp, modernist angles and intricate, metallic domes, feels like a bridge between worlds—both futuristic and timeless, a place where knowledge meets art. At dusk, when the golden light spills across the library’s steel-and-concrete façade, it seems almost to shimmer.
As the light faded, the tour settled down as we tried to decide what was next. Thirstily, we settled down for cigarettes and cocktails along President George W. Bush Boulevard. In classic Balkan fare, this cost around 4 euros for a blessed watermelon cooler thing with vodka.
National Library of Kosovo…
Time passed, we sat in the air of a nation newborn, reminiscing on its people and the space of which we found ourselves in. We sat, watching the atmosphere of the city- deeply set within its history, yet rife with an air of opportunity. Tall and noisy, Prishtina bore the tale-tale signs of a city in its glow-up phase: construction cranes, graffiti, momentary art installations, pop-up markets and temporary road closures. A perfect place to discuss the maze of our respective relationships and breakups amid the haze of cheap cocktails.
…from below
Tamara was in a happy place. She had just started dating the person she had broken up with six weeks prior. Glowing in the sense of newfound love overcoming a sea of red flags, I looked at her with admiration and a sense of inspiration. Sophia, too, had a look of happiness. Only slightly bothered by my presence, she took less of an interest in me and did not see the point of overcoming red flags. After all, she had dragged her friend into a good decision in coming to Prishtina. Moreover, her ears were filled with my ranting thoughts on romance. Luckily, for her, I went on a monologue about the tenderness of true love. How through passion and ignorance, love creates a commanding aura that sponsors inclination and action in our lives otherwise defined by fairly timid monotones and a backdrop of grey raindrops. Able to revel in my perspectives, a day in Prishtina was a great springboard for their future adventures exploring the wonders of Albania for the rest of the week - or not.
City centre park
Not alone yet, we tagged along to a club recommended by a girl on the street in a shiny dress. Sophia and Tamara were determined to have a dance and despite my inhibitions toward my arms and legs, I was looking forward to it. A Prishtina club seemed like a great place to get lost in. Guessing on Google Maps for a direction, we flagged down a cab and headed that way.
We arrived at a gas station, illuminated by a bright Veda Petrol sign. “Is this good?” The taxi driver asked. In the passenger seat, I responded with “yes” before the girls could reply.
Prishtina street art
We got out of the car and gathered our surroundings, lost. We were standing next to a highway overpass, across the road from a gas station that jutted out next to a car dealership. Satisfied, we wrapped ourselves in the nighttime air and walked towards it. Moving closer, the beats of music and the flashing of lights gave us a hope that we were in the right place. Turning the corner past the storefront, we locked eyes with the sea of young single men waiting to get into a pitch-black building with big checkered doors manned by four big burly Balkan geezers. A sort of menacing stillness hung through the air, the men watching me with two women must have not made much sense. A gulp sat in my throat. The biggest and baldest of the bouncers signalled to us.
Dua Lipa mural
Feeling like a group of gazelle about to jump the Nile, we walked forward as a group. Sophia and Tamara were let in. I paid 5 euros in cash and entered as well. I could feel the crocodile teeth sinking down the back of my spine. The entrance greeted us with a series of black and white flashing lights illuminating a grey space. A wall of young men standing on the dance floor slightly shuffling to the music, and inhaling cigarettes, greeted us. A VIP section wrapped around the room, filled with locals buying handles of vodka for EUR40. The rest of the room was comparatively riff-raff, a wave of men swaying back and forth. Girls in skimpy clothes and fishnets carried shots through the sea, whom we followed trying to wade through.
The gaze of the room seemed to fall upon us; the attention not flattering. It felt unwanted and slightly lingering. Sophia and Tamara could barely walk. Trying to escape the noose of fingers and wrists selectively placed below the level of the waist, they reluctantly accepted an invitation to the VIP area where several burly men attempted to grind on them. Needing an inhaler, I got myself three vodka Red Bulls and attempted to down them. Upon completion of the second and still not finished with my anaesthetic, I hazily turned around to find the two girls latched onto me. Fed up and harassed, they wanted to leave. I could not measure the relief I felt inside. With my lips firmly on the moving beverage in one hand and another hand desperately holding onto Sophia, I clanged on as we made a beeline through the crowd to make our escape. Finally, we burst outside and I was dragged to safety.
Blurred lines in the club
We walked out alongside the interstate. The sad allusion of my appearance offering “protection” kept us together. Not wanting to end the night on a bad note, we then walked alongside the highway for thirty minutes until we stumbled upon a warehouse on the outskirts of town. Inside, A large owl hung from the ceiling, and deep bass sounds mixed with pop remixes of popular songs I couldn’t name. Girls danced freely and guys bundled around their mates. We all danced to the end of time, or at least until my gas station wine touched down to the intestine, and brought me round to my senses.
Youth and Sports Centre
Walking wearily out of the club and away from the big owls teeming with orange eyes, I tried to focus my mind on the life-saving health benefits of the cigarettes in my pocket, the sweet lure of its nicotine staving off the anxiety of wondering how it got into my pocket. My mind was somewhat shattered. Outside in the night sky, I blushed at the warm city sights. Small, tinted light bulbs dangled breezily in the air, illuminating an otherwise dark space. The air lingered in a foggy haze in the slightly confined alleyway, filled with the smoke from the many, many smokers next to the club. I tried to make sense of my being.
Newborn monument, somewhat lit up
Was I the same person as I was before? Was I just a shell of my consciousness, did I accomplish what I came to do? Was my trip here about getting away or getting away from myself? And if the latter, was it even possible? I thought back to a girl with big, dark autumn eyes and blonde flowing hair. How I no longer loved the person that I wanted. I thought about Tamara and her boyfriend, the experience of the gas station and the coldness one can feel when there alone. I thought about Enver and the smell of borek. About the warm disposition of a place like Kosovo: perhaps a bit rough around the edges but still eager to shed its inhibitions and make its name amidst a region still cloaked in illiberal governance.
Fadil Vokrri Stadium
Perhaps we’re all hanging onto feelings we can’t quite materialise, blurring our eyes and our brains with the cloak of our day-to-day lives. Where we can beat our hesitations, walk out from the dark rooms of our lives and embrace the hazy night. The nicotine had hit hard and I was ready to rumble home. Convening with Tamara and Sophia, we ordered an Uber together in the socialism of a cheaper ride. We whirled ourselves through the night streets of the capital, the stereo beating to the vibe of a 3 am August night. We swayed, sang, and danced. The lyrics of Bryan Adams ‘Summer of 69’ rang out as we passed underneath the mistletoe of sweet ole `Bill, through the stillness of Prishtina’s brutalist past, and into the future of morning.
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