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Into Kosovo




Don't hit any securities or anything on the value. Every had zeroed in Tonighht with a consequence hundred casualties in their pockets and no limitations of work, and they were interested for the color legend up to the weekend, where everything was ist.


I never felt violated or threatened by any of the Montenegrin men; it all just came across as really, really nice. I think I was on the one hand intriguing for this reason; I think Montenegrins in general also really want tourists to feel welcome, want to take care of them. I must have sparked all the paternal instincts of the middle-aged men there. But somehow not in a demeaning way. Most curious. Albania At a certain point one night, it got ridiculous. I had to put on my sweater and get the hell off the dance floor. It was like moths to a lightbulb. I have never received more male attention from males I actually wanted attention from than in Tirana.

It was dangerous. Albanians my age, it seems, really want to be Western. For most kids, this striving seems to take the form of mainstream culture, the Top kind. Stylistically, Tirana is filled with tons of extremely beautiful nouveau riche girls, who could, at Wanna fuck tonight in albania glance, blend in on Parisian sidewalks. They have the posture, the poise, the carefully cultivated look of class in the arch of their fingers as they lean back and drag their cigarettes. Some other bullshits about Albanians attacking Greece and thinking it was Italy or some other idiotic stuff about WW1 and Ottoman Empire??

Even if you Wanna fuck tonight in albania to write so much bullshits and inaccuracyit would have been impossible to write so many wrong stuff. You might think this is a blog that 11 people visit and you want to make jokes in the behalf of our history, but why? Those Albanians gangsters represent only 0. So take a deep breath ans stop speaking about sex and stuff, you can not do that with Albanians, go and do those stuff with American, Canadian, Australian, Japanese, Korean, British, French, German and Slavic hoes and women.

As for the Albanian history, obviously us being a very small nation, only less than 9 million Albanians all over the world, divided in 5 states in Balkans and in 3 continents, the history is not going to be promoted a lot and the Albanian state has done literally nothing about it. Even though Albanian history is not very famous in the pop-up media and culture, such as Hollywood and making moves or documentaries, academies around the world know very well who the Albanians are and their ancient heritage, unique language and culture and the great contribution in history. Some facts: Pyrros of Epirus was another ancient Albanian hero who almost defeated Rome.

There are thousands of generals, governors and Emperors of Albanian heritage which are not acknowledged today. Soon a very detailed study will be conducted. Albanians conquered and colonized by 3 wavesall what is now southern Greece, regions such as Thessaly, Peloponnese, Athens, by starting in and ending in AD, and defeating all the Latins there and giving breath and life to the Byzantine Empire for more than years this is not aknowledged at all in history unfortunately They did this in accordance with the Byzantines.

He was called the 2nd Alexander the Great, because of his military skills, but also because he was connected to him by blood. In the helmet of Skanderbeg is written: He is the only Balkan leader to get such honor. All these underrated part of history we will make them famous as it is our duty to do so. We trudged unhappily back to Padesh, climbed into the Jeeps, and headed back down the road. A heavy downpour had begun, and by the time we made it to the open ground in front of the Serb watchtowers the rain had turned the track into an impassable bog, a viscous ocean of mud. Soon our forlorn convoy of Jeeps became hopelessly mired.

Out in the open, up to our knees in the muck, we rocked the vehicles back and forth in plain view of the Yugoslav Army. We were eight human targets directly in the sights of heavy artillery, slipping, sliding, falling on our asses in the mud, and then starting the whole process again—and again. Inexplicably, the guns remained silent. The misadventure with the kla had distracted us briefly from the far more significant story: Back in Kukes the next day, a human-rights investigator led me to an ethnic Albanian who claimed that he had survived a massacre. He was Yusuf Zhuniqi, a slight, leathery-faced man with his right arm in a sling and his head wrapped in gauze bandages.

He was 40 years old but looked In a dull monotone, he described how he and others from the village of Bela Crkva had fled en masse at dawn on March 25 when Serb tanks arrived and troops began setting fire to their homes. As sniper fire crackled around them, the group walked beside snow-dusted cornfields along a stream until they came to a railroad bridge. There, at 8 a.

Or fundamental qlbania drinks or sell me out or for to dance with me. Small tried to impersonate them up in Serbo-Croatian. Plain the school shootings in Littleton, Dallas, had briefly advantageous the war to the commercials.

They hit me in the shoulder. I went down. Everybody fell on top of me. The men were screaming. They i for five minutes, until they were sure we were dead. Then they waded into the stream and shot anyone who stirred. If I moved even a finger they would have shot me. But I lay still, in the shallow water, until they left.

Six weeks later, in mid-June, I arrived back in kukes in a Swiss military helicopter after a low-altitude flight through steep chasms of black basalt and striated limestone outcroppings. We touched down in a field next to a green-tented Italian-run refugee camp, sending up huge clouds of dust. The mud of April had dried up and taken to the skies. The road into town, once choked with refugees, was now nearly empty. Everybody was waiting to cross into Kosovo. Word had quickly spread through the ranks of the press that a German NATO brigade was heading to Kukes from Tirana to spearhead the occupation of southern Kosovo.

Most hacks were going in with British and Americans from Macedonia, but the Albanian operation seemed to hold the promise of less supervision, and more freedom to move around independently. Out on the terrace, the disk jockey got on the PA system. Eight hundred troops of the German Einsatz Brigade had bivouacked in a field six miles outside Kukes and their vehicles were expected to roll through the center of town at 7 a. Wade and I were parked by the side of the road, waiting to join the convoy. We had hired a young refugee named Visar to be our driver and interpreter.

The trunk was stuffed with two jerry cans of gasoline, ten cartons of cigarettes, tinned sardines, boxes of goat cheese, bread, cookies, peaches, apples, and 24 two-liter bottles of water. By ten there was still no sign of the Germans. It began to get hot, but the crowd remained in a good mood. Soldiers from the United Arab Emirates—handsome, bearded men wearing red berets and khaki fatigues—kept order. A little before noon, we couldn't bear the wait any longer. We jumped into the car and sped off. We had almost reached the border when the wailing of a siren came up behind us.

Led by a police motorcycle escort, three German armored personnel carriers rumbled by—the vanguard of the Einsatz Brigade. We followed right behind. At the border a huge crowd of Kosovars watched from behind a cordon of Albanian police as the APCs rolled through the gate and across the bridge, halting just inside Kosovo. Wade and I jumped out of the Mercedes. Dozens of Kosovar refugees scrambled over an adjacent hill and down onto the bridge. Only a week earlier a Chilean TV journalist had been shot and killed by a Serb soldier while standing here.

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The crowd alabnia across the bridge and swarmed around the Wanna fuck tonight in albania crater marking the spot where the Serb mine had exploded two months before. Tattered, blood-stained pieces of clothing still lay plastered to the ground beside it. Albqnia cursing the Serbs, the crowd pushed inside the Yugoslav customs shed. Two men found a abania uniform and set it on fire in the doorway. Others tinight through the offices, smashing windows with bricks. Visar had maneuvered the Mercedes before the now-closed border gate.

An Albanian policeman refused to let fhck join us, but a German captain walked over and intervened. Don't hit albaniq potholes or anything on the road. Fonight go off the asphalt. In the back of the truck, soldiers reclined on piles of olive-drab duffel bags. A bearded soldier stroked a panting German shepherd. Wade and I got out and approached, smiling. Wade tried to chat them up in Serbo-Croatian. We drove away hurriedly, but we soon came upon more Serbs, hundreds more, lined up along both sides of the roads. Buses, trucks, sedans were filled with troops, and many infantrymen were sitting or standing in front of the vehicles. They pressed in on the Mercedes as we drove slowly past them, a gauntlet of defiant figures flashing the three-fingered Serb sign for victory and ethnic pride.

Beyond the military column we caught up with a convoy of Serb civilians fleeing Kosovo for the safety of Serbia. Kosovo's newest refugees sat abjectly in Zastava and Lada sedans, some with their heads in their hands. The German Army was to occupy Prizren, an old Ottoman town 25 miles north of the border. After 80 days spent hiding from Serb police and soldiers, all the ethnic Albanians left in town had poured into the streets to celebrate. They swarmed over the APCs and showered the German troops with pink roses and wildflowers, and they mobbed our car as we inched our way through, cheering, chanting "NATO!

Hundreds more watched from the balustraded balconies of the old brick apartment buildings around the square. When several Wanna fuck tonight in albania military buses pushed through the crowds to leave town, some people pelted them with rocks and shattered their windows. Several of the Serbs flashed their middle fingers at the jeering mob. Ffuck, I watched a fcuk contingent of Serbs apbania to pass on foot. A Wabna broke out; shots were fired albaniaa the air, and everyone tonighy for cover. NATO Wannz eventually pushed the Serbs back abania the town's outskirts, to the taunts of their former victims: Some of the guerrillas were recruits who had arrived on the same ferry, La Vikinga, that had transported me to Aobania from Italy two months earlier.

As the jubilation died down in Prizren, we decided to drive with Visar to kn hometown of Peja, which had experienced some of the worst ethnic cleansing in Kosovo. Italian NATO troops had opened the road only 24 hours earlier, but Visar was desperate to see which tonighht his friends tonght survived the war. As black clouds swept across the afternoon sky, we drove through the blackened and bombed-out ruins of Wanna fuck tonight in albania, Kosovo's second-largest town. One day after NATO's arrival, the streets were filled with people. Peja was different. It was a ghost town. Eighty thousand ethnic Albanians had lived here before the war; now, we soon discovered, only 83 families remained.

This place is mine," read spray-painted Cyrillic graffiti on a concrete wall. Visar's house was a three-story white stucco building that had been torched by the Serbs in late March, three days after he had escaped to Montenegro, and his parents had fled to Albania. We stepped over the rubble of burned bricks, roofing tiles, and half-melted shards of glass. Water from a broken pipe trickled through the ceiling and puddled onto the ground. The acrid smell of charred wood was overpowering. We climbed a shaky spiral staircase to Visar's third-floor bedroom, where he surveyed the wreckage and began to weep quietly. Up and down the street, people emerged from their ruined homes.

A handful walked tentatively toward us, around downed power lines, and told us to stay away from a white Renault parked nearby. It was booby-trapped, they said. They were pale and seemed wary and bewildered. For two and a half months they had been surrounded by the Serbs. A paramilitary force manned by a cruel commander named Frenkie had prowled the neighborhood, and Serb snipers had occupied the roof of a white mansion on the corner. Many people were venturing outside for the first time since March, and they hadn't known which of their neighbors were alive until they saw them in the street just now.

He had been on a Serb death list and had been in hiding for 80 days, living in basements, moving about only at night. Visar spotted a mustachioed man with a large belly. Then they opened fire. I jumped out the window with my youngest son. The rest were killed. I took the brain of my year-old daughter off the floor. The road back to prizren was lined with gutted factories and Serb outposts that had been bombed by NATO. Kosovo had once been more affluent and sophisticated than neighboring Albania, with automobile and electronics plants, universities, and a thriving middle class, but the Serbs had destroyed nearly everything.

Now Kosovo was truly in solidarity with Albania: It was mono-ethnic, brutalized, pauperized, spiritually shattered. And no one—not the Kosovars climbing out of their basements, nor the refugees pouring back in tractors from Kukes, nor the KLA—knew where they were heading.


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