Kosovo has been on the news for enough years that I thought I knew what I was in for: a cold, gray winter, with the only color provided by a people struggling with the cultural inheritance of the Cold War… poor infrastructure, smog from coal-fired electricity plants, NATO troops patrolling the streets, and high unemployment.  I wasn’t entirely wrong; in particular, the acrid smell of coal in the air brought me back to my years in Prague in the early 1990s, after the fall of the Iron Curtain.  Electricity was spotty – less reliable, even, than what I’ve experienced in Zimbabwe or Sudan.  But one thing took me completely off guard: the United States’ popularity in this young country.

After being picked up at the Pristina airport and being driven straight to the “Hotel Palace” on the outskirts of South Mitrovica, my colleague Erica Shein and I decided to stave off the jet lag for a few hours longer by going into town.  We headed off in search of (what else?) caffeine, armed with several warnings that made us wonder if we had made a wise decision: don’t cross the bridge to north Mitrovica, only use a particular taxi company, stay together, remain cautious at all times.  After wandering around town a bit, we settled on a small café serving Illy espresso and excellent cakes.  A bit giddy about the 50-cent cappuccinos (which, much to our delight, were served with a swirl of chocolate syrup on top!) and probably overcompensating for the jet lag, we sat for at least an hour, talking and drawing curious glances from patrons at other tables, unused to seeing foreigners (or, at least, foreigners not in uniform, as most foreigners in Mitrovica are NATO troops or EU policemen) in their small town.  When the server came to give us our bill, he asked where we were from – a common question, we were to find.  His response, as it turned out, was to be just as common:  delight that we were Americans.

We noticed a similar reaction over and over again:  with the taxi driver who took us back to the hotel; the servers at our hotel restaurant; with people we encountered in Pristina; and, finally, in Kosovo’s national museum, which was essentially a shrine to Kosovo’s struggle for independence and the support it received during the war from the United States.  The museum has, among other things, huge portraits of President Clinton, former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright, General Wesley Clark, and the late Richard Holbrooke.  It features a painted mural of all the U.S. presidents standing together on the south lawn of the White House, and U.S. flags placed throughout the exhibit.

As a rule, however, Kosovars seemed excited to share their culture and introduce us to their foods, less because we were Americans and more because we were new to their country.  They gave us recommendations on the best wines to try; insisted we sample more than one type of cake; or suggested we order something different than intended.  This happened to me, for example, in a tiny dive of a Turkish lunch place near Pristina’s university.  Packed to the gills with students seeking a quick, cheap, and filling lunch, the restaurant gave off a very youthful and welcoming vibe, despite the lack of free tables and haphazard décor.  A clock, likely a gift from Turkish policemen stationed in Kosovo, hung on the wall, telling the wrong time.  Two spits rotated in the window and gave off their delicious smell.  Fluorescent lights glared overhead.  The restaurant’s owner insisted we come in off the snowy street, found us space at a table with a young man reading a book and listening to an mp3 player.  When I tried to order one type of döner, the owner gently but emphatically recommended I try a different, “more delicious” one.  It ended up being one of the best meals during my entire time in Kosovo, and some of the best Turkish food I’ve ever had – quite unexpected and a truly lovely surprise.

While I know the international community’s presence is not always welcome, as evidenced by anti-EULEX (the EU Rule of Law Mission in Kosovo) graffiti in every place I visited, I found the Kosovar people to be nothing but hospitable.  From the extensive breakfast buffet laid out at our Pristina hotel to the shop clerks in the Pristina supermarket, people, first and foremost, wanted to help and seemed to want to ensure we had a top-notch time during our stay.  And what a successful PR campaign it was; after I came back to DC, people asked how I liked Kosovo and whether I’d go back. 

My answer?  In a heartbeat.