Get out of town...

Day three at work, and it was already Friday. Had I thought about what I was going to do on the weekend? Of course not! I had barely settled into my apartment, and despite my best efforts to adjust my sleeping patterns, my body was still off by something between 4 and 8 hours.

Fortunately, being the new guy at work, one of my colleagues invited me to join him and a couple of others on a day trip to Peja / Peć to visit a monastery and then go to a waterfall. I most graciously accepted.

Now, I'd only been in Pristina for three days, but after spending many months living in the big smoke of Hanoi, travelling to the neon jungle of Seoul, and then hipster central in Melbourne, it was quite refreshing to be sitting in a car for a couple of hours, staring out at rolling green hills, framed with jagged snow-capped mountains. As an Australian, unfamiliar with this landscape, I don't I'll ever bore of it.

Anyway, we passed through the city of Peja / Peć and to the UNESCO World Heritage site of the Monastery of the Patriarchate of Peć. This site was the seat of the Serbian Orthodox Church from the 14th century, though it sustained substantial damage during the Ottoman rule. As an important Serbian cultural heritage site located within Kosovo, and given the ethnic tensions that still remain since the Kosovo War, measures have been made to keep the site secure with guarded checkpoints at the entrance, requiring our ID to enter the site.

But stepping through the gates, into the walled grounds, it was like stepping into another world...

The interior of church itself was beautiful as well, and there's nothing like 600-year-old medieval frescos to transport oneself to another time. With the beautiful sunny spring weather, with a cool fresh breeze coming off the mountains, we didn't want to leave.

And then it was lunchtime.

After lunch, we headed up toward the mountains and visited a waterfall. I took some photos, but next to the above photo, it looks kinda dull. However, Peć is also the gateway to the Rugova mountains, part of the Albanian Alps, and I made a mental note that I definitely needed to return for some bushwalking in the future.

So, less than a week in Kosovo, and I already had a glimpse of what the region does best (other than coffee) - medieval monasteries and majestic mountains!

Driving on the wrong side of the road...

So, during my interview for this job, the subject of driving came up - firstly, and seemingly most importantly, if I could drive a manual car, which I confidently said, "Yes". Because it was true.

The next question: "Hmm... you're from Australia? You'd be used to driving on the left side of the road, right? How are you with the right side, considering that the traffic in Kosovo can also be a little unpredictable." I replied that I'd was used to the right side of the road here in Hanoi, and that I doubted that the traffic would be any crazier than it was here. Also true.

That said, I may have neglected to mention that I was used to driving a bike on the right side of the road, and that I might have some trouble driving under such conditions in, say, a large Toyota 4WD.

Flash-forward to Day Two on the job, and I've been booked in for my driving exam - and I'm presented with a large Toyota 4WD. Possibly the largest vehicle that I have driven, like, ever. And my first task is to reverse park in between two tiny traffic cones (which promptly disappeared once I was within a metre of the space). I had three goes to get it right. Somehow I succeeded on my second go, which meant that I was clear to proceed to stage two: the streets.

So, I had been mentally preparing myself for this moment for 24 hours, and there were a number of rules going through my head.

1. Stay on the left right side of the road.
2. Pedals are the same as usual.
3. Change gears with my right hand (not my left).
4. Indicate with my left hand (not my right).
5. Overtake on the left (not the right).

With all this in excellent espresso-fueled mind, I was ready to hit the fury road!

I will ride eternal, shiny and chrome.

However, my course wasn't so much the Fury Road as it was a series of confusing slow-paced obstacles, so my driving probably came across more like this:

On the plus side, I managed to avoid stalling the car, or opening the car door when I meant to change gears.

Unfortunately, there were a few unfortunate moments:

1. Pedestrian crossings. Firstly, we're actually meant to stop for these - as we are in Australia, but not in Vietnam. At least not that I'm aware of. However, the presence of a pedestrian crossing every 50-100 metres presents the dilemma of either taking twice as long to get to one's destination, or maintaining just the right amount of aggressive velocity to discourage a pedestrian from wanting to step out in front of you, whilst also travelling slow enough to stop if they DO step out onto the crossing.

2. Left-hand turns. Whilst right-hand turns are easy, left-hand turns turned out to be terrifying. Again, my risk-aversion meant that I missed a few windows-of-opportunity to turn. Also, remember to stay on the right.

3. Allowing enough space. As it turns out, drivers in Pristina are accustomed to only allowing an inch more than absolutely necessary when passing one another in a tight spot. I, on the other hand, am not.

4. Three-lane roundabouts. Seriously, what the hell? Apparently there are rules for which lane you're meant to be in, depending on where you plan to exit the roundabout, which results in traffic zooming between lanes whilst within the roundabout. Plus I'm meant to indicate when changing lanes. I think I'd rather a life of hook turns, and navigating the Elizabeth Street Roundabout of Death over this.

So, at the end of my test, my examiner paused for about 20 seconds, which felt like they lasted forever. He didn't explicitly tell me that I'd failed, but suggested that I get a few hours' practice driving on Pristina's streets, and then come back to him, and he seemed confident that this would be no problem once I'd built up some familiarity.

I wholeheartedly agreed with him. Fortunately, I wouldn't need to do the reverse parking test again.

Two weeks (and half a dozen hours of driving) later, I met up with my examiner again, and passed with flying colours with one accidental curb-bump which he chose to overlook.

Welcome to Europe's youngest capital city.

So, upon touching-down at Pristina International Airport, I somewhat-anxiously awaited the arrival of my luggage which, after three consecutive flights with two different carriers through two major airports, I wasn’t 100% optimistic about. So, when both bags appeared on luggage conveyor, I knew that I was already winning.

I was met in the arrivals hall by my work colleague, who drove me into town to find me a hotel room for the night.

The view of Pristina from my balcony.

First impressions:

• Okay, we’re on the right-hand side of the road again.
• The roads are in good condition, and it’s all cars, no motorbikes.
• For 10pm on a Tuesday night, there are a lot of people out and about.
• Many of them are young people – mostly in their 20s.

On this final note, my colleague explained to me that many of those who lived in the central Pristina area were university students. However, Pristina is also the “youngest” capital city in Europe. This is not only because it is the capital of Europe’s newest independent nation, the Republic of Kosovo (though, whilst this is recognised by Australia, there are still many nations who do not recognize its sovereignty). In terms of demographics, 50% of the population are aged under 30 years.

Indeed, in the weeks that followed, walking down the main pedestrian strip of Nene Tereza Boulevard felt a lot more like wandering through a university campus, with many young people gathered at cafes, or wandering along, dressed in designer clothes and enjoying each other’s company. Certainly not the culturally-devoid Balkan backwater that some would have had me believe before arriving. In some ways, Pristina reminded me of Melbourne – mostly because everybody is well-dressed, and the coffee is excellent.

Let me say that again – the coffee is excellent. I have yet to have a bad coffee here, compared to Vietnam, where it generally ranges from passable to awful, and unfortunately coffee is almost undrinkable in Macedonia and Bulgaria. But here, every café has an espresso machine, and everybody drinks macchiatos - though my preference is for an espresso, no sugar necessary.

Finally, Pristina’s population is 90% Muslim. There are numerous mosques, and there’s no escaping the intermittent call to prayer, broadcast from their minarets. But at the same time, religious expression os not something that I’m overly aware of when interacting with the local people. It’s certainly not present from the way people dress, and from conversations I’ve had with people, attitudes range from completely agnostic and indifferent, to “it’s purely a personal thing”. It feels a bit like Australia's relationship with Christianity, to be honest - it's present, but nobody's going to judge you either way for your own beliefs, nor force it upon you. Furthermore, the government has had a no-tolerance policy of citizens who go to fight with ISIS in Syria, with offenders facing up to15 years in prison. If anything, this is a city that feels like it challenges Western notions of Islam being oppressive and culturally restrictive. It also sits in a happy co-existence with the Catholic church here – who proudly claim Mother Teresa as one of theirs.

So, overall impressions? It’s a small city – with a population of 200,000 people, it sits somewhere between the size of Hobart and Geelong. As a young city, it’s still trying to find its own cultural identity, still living in the shadow of its past, and not yet sure how to assert itself into the future. But that said, it definitely has its own liveable charm, with its share of visiting international cultural festivals, al fresco dining and drinking, and a vibrant social life.

And did I mention it has good coffee? It’s the small things that are the most important.

Preparing for Kosovo...

When I first told people that I was moving to Kosovo, the following reactions ensued:

- A look of surprise. Kosovo isn't exactly on anybody's radar when you're living and working in the Asia-Pacific region. I'm pretty sure most Australians wouldn't be able to name all the independent states that emerged from former Yugoslavia.
- Slight confusion. Why would you go there? Why indeed?
- Sudden concern. Is it safe? Most people associate Kosovo with the conflict in the late 90s.

In fact, when the opportunity presented itself, these were also my main reactions. Fortunately, my thoughts were along the lines of:
- I don't know anybody who's been there, so all the more reason to go. (This was also my reasoning for going to PNG. Twice.)
- As an Australian national in my 30s, it's pretty much my only chance to live and work in Europe.
- Finally, according to the Smartraveller website, travel in Kosovo requires a "High degree of caution". This puts it on the same level as Papua New Guinea, Myanmar, or Russia.

To be honest, I was a little apprehensive, and even stalled on making a final decision. I consulted a few friends who had been there, and the impression given by them was that it was "a bit of a shithole" (their words). However, in my travels in Laos, I encountered a development worker who had lived in Pristina, and she said that it was one of her favourite places in the Balkans, and the coffee was excellent. Furthermore, around that time, I read an article about the Most Beautiful Cinemas in the World, which included Dokufest - the International documentary festival - held in Prizren every year.

Good coffee and a documentary festival seemed like enough of an incentive to be flown across the world for a job. It would be my first foray into the thus-far undiscovered continent of Europe. I also knew that working for a high-profile international organisation would be excellent professional experience.

But mostly, I figured that this really was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and that I would regret passing it up.

So, I took it.

Prepare for #blogjune 2015.

So, it's been a while since I've blogged. Not that this is a great surprise, as my level of discipline applied to such things has been pretty much non-existent.

But it's June. More specifically, it's #blogjune - where I will blog every day for a month.

Last year, #blogjune was a fantastic excuse opportunity for me to reflect on my work and career, and put into writing many of my thoughts and ideas (some more eloquently than others). This in turn became the basis of much of the presentation that I delivered at the ALIA conference in September.

You can see the presentation below, but it won't make a lot of sense without having the words to go with it.

This year, my month of blogging will be quite different. It'll be a chance to recap the past six weeks, during which I've been living and working in the Balkans, and attempt to summarise my initial impressions, and attempt to make sense of it all. It will be interesting to look back on in a year or two from now and see how much my perspective changes through the years.

So... stay tuned!

Let's do the time warp again...

My body is officially tired of me moving timezones. In the past few weeks, I have travelled from Hanoi (UTC +7:00) to Seoul (UTC +9:00) where I spent a little over a week. Two hour's difference weren't really noticeable, other than being able to stay up a bit later in the evening, which was useful for the purposes of social dancing and partaking in karaoke.

It was hardly noticeable stopping back in Hanoi for 24 hours, but that experience was semi-surreal in itself, going through all of the feels of making sense of the last 8 months of my life, and wondering if any of this meant anything anymore (see my previous post). Perhaps the two hours lost were subtly weighing on my emotional state, but I doubt it.

Then there was my whirlwind trip back to Melbourne (UTC +10:00), where I regained my two hours from Seoul, and added one more. But to be honest, the overnight flight via KLIA left me sleep-deprived enough to balance out the extra hours, which was then counterbalanced by the excellent Melbourne coffee that I had missed. Basically, it was five days of bouncing around town on a caffeine high, catching up with friends, swing dancing, and seeing comedy and arthouse films.

No, the fun times really began at 11:30pm on Monday night, where I departed on a 9.5 hour flight to Bangkok. This was me before I left. Excited and ready for adventure!

Of course, I am terrible at sleeping on planes, especially when they insist on serving dinner and drinks at 12:30am. But what could be worse than being an insomniac on a 9.5 hour flight? That's right, my in-flight entertainment screen was also malfunctioning, so I couldn't distract myself with awful films.

So, after 9.5 hours of failing to sleep more than 20 minutes at a time, I arrived in Bangkok (UTC +7:00), sleep-deprived and feeling slightly icky.

I also had five hours to kill at the international terminal. I was exhausted enough to manage an hour and a half of quality napping, even though it meant waking with an indent in my spine from the uncomfortable metal furniture. By the time I boarded my next flight, it was almost 11am local time.

Ten hours later, I arrived at Istanbul (UTC +3:00) it was 5pm, though in my brain, something didn't feel right. Maybe it was the fact that I'd experience 21 hours of daylight, and the sun still hadn't set. Or maybe it was the decision to indulge in a Hobbit marathon on my (working) in-flight entertaining, which certainly didn't make the time pass any quicker. However, there was one thing to do. That's right, eat Turkish ice-cream.

Two hours later, it was time to board my final flight. Fortunately, this flight would only last 1 hour and 40 minutes, and so it was time for my fifth in-flight meal for the "day", followed of drifting in and out of consciousness. I was fast asleep when the plane landed.

After 30 hours in-transit, I collected my luggage, and stepped into the arrivals hall of Pristina Airport, with no idea what time it was anymore.

Homelessness and homesickness.

It's been quite a week.

Last Monday night, I packed my bags and headed off to Korea. I made new friends, explored new places, and learnt new things. I won't go into details, but I had a wonderful time, returning to the life of being a traveller.

And then I returned to Hanoi, and the reality of leaving tomorrow has finally sunk in. I am leaving the place that I have called home for the past eight and a half months. But I also realised that, in spite of all the awesome and challenging experiences that I've had here, it's never really been my home. I've met plenty of ex-pats who love it here, and don't have any immediate plans to leave. For them, it's become the place that they call home, and I envy this. I don't feel bad about leaving - I feel indifferent, and that makes me feel bad.

To be honest, I worry that I won't ever be able to call a place my home anymore. I've lost that feeling of belonging, and I'm about to embark on another extraordinary journey that will take me to new and interesting places, and the wonders and challenges that they will present to me. The knowledge that I'm unlikely to feel "settled" for at least a few more years scares me.

At the same time, I feel like I've been away from Melbourne for too long to ever feel like it's really my home anymore either. To be somewhere where I can just be comfortable being myself, and surrounded by people who "get" me. I do miss that, and crave it often - such is the nature of homesickness.

But maybe homesickness is like nostalgia - a yearning for something that isn't there anymore - and the best thing I can do is just to keep moving forward and build a new future for myself. Be the perpetual traveller, and don't settle, until the time is right for me.