KOSOVO 1999

M I N U T E S T O WA R : Picnic in Hell
Just as I was gazing down at the crumpled
brown ticket which I had squeezed into the
palm of my hand I simultaneously saw there
was no number on it and at the same time
heard the muffled and alien words of the
conductor explaining to us.
So we were to travel across the border to
Capfhtica which is next door to Prespa. It
was a small insignificant border crossing but
for what it lacked in size it made up in raw
unbridled chaos.
it was apparent that it was a very different bus,
complete with closed-circuit television, bubbling
air conditioning and a video of a Greek 50s movie
Zorba the Greek. As I leant into the upright seat I
felt my neck muscles involuntarily seize as I leant
against the napkin on the headrest. It seems the last
week we have had as many days of sleep in chairs
or cramped up with bent legs as flat on our back.
Firouz is asleep at the moment.
So we were to travel across the border to
Capfhtica which is next door to Prespa. It was a
small insignificant border crossing but for what it
lacked in size it made up in raw unbridled chaos.
On the Greek side we disembarked from the bus
at a 2.16 in the morning and I strode in to receive
my smart customs departure stamp. It was not as
if I needed to receive it, or maybe I had to, I don’t
know, but in any case I got off the bus. I could
not pass across the border without receiving a
stamp while Firouz retrieved our valuable camera
equipment. As all the passengers walked across
to the customs house in the darkness the bus
remained waiting for us empty, the engine idling
then coughing then purring again. But by the time
of our return the bus had not waited for us. The bus
had already left. Firouz was explaining breathless:
‘We had better run’ which I did. Thirty seconds
later I found myself in the middle of a black night,
a cold wet wind on my brow and high above me
remote and unfriendly stars winking as I began
running after this disappearing bus down a muddy
dirt track. The stars were glinting in the sky, and
the lights of some unknown village over half a
kilometre away shedding a dull bronze glow.
As we ran laughing and exhausted in equal
measure between Albania and Greece inside the
No-Man’s-Land through swamp and muddy earth
and half-dry mud we at last arrived at a decrepit
and decaying building. Without lights and in the
half-light of darkness I could discern one shadow
as being the edifice of the building while the other
shadow was the night sky. Half the rooms had