Perhaps Montenegro could've been just as colorful as Croatia, but we had some bad luck, making it feel imbued with the overcast-day dreariness of "Rain, Steam, and Speed" by J.M.W. Turner. The same muted smears covered the walls of our hotel room in Bar, an overpriced accommodation we suffered through when our plans to go into Albania didn't pan out. But in the painting, as in my image, there is a subtle hint of light shining through. Through the window behind the bleak beds in my vision, I see the glint of the Ulcinj shoreline sun prisming through a beer glass resting on the table in front of Tim, a glowing reminder that although we didn't get a true sense of the country, we at least glimpsed the positive while passing through.
The light is more pivotal in my view of Kosovo, as in "Philosopher in Mediation" by Rembrandt. Indeed, Prishtina is in the spotlight right now after the country declared its independence more than a year ago. Individuals, like the philosopher, are spotlighted in my three-dimensional perspective of Bill Clinton Boulevard. In the closest and brightest streetlight is the professor whose hostel we stayed at; he is encouraging travel by opening up more and more rooms throughout the city (albeit some of them are used for less-than-noble pursuits). In a slightly more distant streetlight is your typical Kosovar, a macchiato in one hand and a hamburger in the other, showing the infiltrating Western sensibilities. Smaller and less distinct is a KFOR (Kosovo Force) officer maintaining a clear but subdued presence. Farthest in the distance and least in the light is the NATO guard, trying to stay in the shadows but still clearly visible, like the fire tender in the painting.
From our quick visit to Albania, a bus ride from Macedonia, my only impression is a collection of characters. And although our cast, crammed in a small coffee house, would've looked routine from the outside, there was much going on inside, as I've always interpreted "Nighthawks" by Edward Hopper. I see our waitress stealing our Lonely Planet book over and over again to express shock that her beloved Pogradec isn't highlighted. The town-drunk fixture seemed to share in this consternation, although some of his muttering and gesticulating was less comprehendable than his companion's; the off-color remarks still came through, though. In my perception of the cafe, our taxi driver Mario and the lazy-eyed border dog are also there, doing their part, through benevolence only, to help us negotiate this very non-tourist-friendly part of the country.
Between Lake Ohrid and Skopje, Macedonia melds into a distortion similar to "Print Gallery" by M.C. Escher. My optical illusion stems from a combined pedestrian street forking into two disparate directions. To the left is the wide, marbled promenade of Lake Ohrid leading to the Church of St. John the Theologian, a tiny, mosaic-filled altar situated on the perfect hill to look back peacefully on downtown. Our Serbian friend Luka, who jabbered us into the new year, beckons us to join him. To the right is the crammed, puddle-filled path of the Turkish Quarter in Skopje, leading to the all-male tea shop that accepted my female self for a drink. But in our way is a Roma gypsy and her son, who literally felt us up as they tried to pickpocket us. This disconnect reflects my overall feeling toward Macedonia: There, I had the best and worst times of our trip. It also reflects the overall ethos of the Balkans: The positive aspects will bring tremendous joy, but the negative aspects will creep in, reminding you of the hurt that has pervaded the place.(As a footnote, I finally bought a new camera, but upon taking it to Greece, I realized that the memory card held unbearably few pictures. So when I tried to re-format the card so I could take more, I erased all the pictures I had taken in the three days so far. I decided to call the vacation a wash, in terms of photos. After all, you've seen one photo of the Parthenon, you've seen them all. And then I took my completely empty camera to Jericho, but I couldn't get in the photographic mood. But I make this solemn vow to all of you: I will be back in full snapshot shape for our spring break in Jordan and Egypt.)
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