Round, bearded mountains and sparsely cultivated fields characterize the landscape of North Central Kosovo. Cities are chaotic mazes of concrete buildings, pollution and traffic jams, with taxi-drivers and street vendors dictating the rules of the roads and sidewalks. What we might perceive in the US as “typical” forms of European architecture, including all those historical stone buildings you see in travel brochures, are extremely rare here. Poverty and the lack of a centralized state have impeded the prolific creation of such buildings in Kosovo. Cycles of violence over the past few centuries resulted in the destruction of many of the monumental structures that existed, while others were replaced systematically with grey, functionalist structures by the Communist government after WWII.
Restoration has never really been an option for the old buildings and monuments that survived such trends, due to lack of money and the potential for the structures to become targets of destruction in future conflicts. As such, the history of architecture in Kosovo intertwines inseparably with the nation’s history of war. As journalist Tim Judah describes, “in Kosovo, history is war by other means” (2002, p. 1).
A large number of the buildings constructed in the past 20 years remain unfinished, more so in suburban and rural areas. Someone recently suggested that the multi-story, half-finished buildings are a way for Kosovars to demonstrate their expectations for future wealth and prosperity. To me, these gaping structures of cement, bricks and cinder blocks, often interspersed with the crumbling remains of buildings hit by bombs and mortar shell attacks, represent the socio-economic and political limbo in which Kosovars find themselves.
Enough deep thoughts for now. Below is a photo from the top of one of the highest “peaks” near Mitrovica… not too sure what the ruins are exactly, but I’ll let you know. (Note that I was able to hike up the peak… no more crutches!!)
