Pristina

Our cabbie did not know Pristina very well and so after jumping into a local cab we finally found the only guest house in town. We managed to get a room with 3 beds in and our own bathroom which worked quite well for us so we dumped the bags and headed for the centre in search of something to eat. We completely missed the centre and after trying to get directions off various people, ended up in the middle of nowhere which as luck would have it, housed a very nice restaurant where we were introduced to Kosovo's local beer, Peja. The staff were extremely friendly and after we had finished our drinks, ordered us a taxi to take us to a Thai restaurant in the centre of town. The food was average but as it wasn't pizza, lasagne OR burek, it tasted fantastic! A few more Peja's later and we were ready to call it a night.

The next day we found a guy who would drive us south of the city to a recently discovered set of caves that hold a small collection of helectites. These stalactite-like sticks defy gravity and twist and turn rather than forming straight columns, baffling scientists and laymen alike. Outside the caves we saw some female Czech army officers in a KFOR land rover but chickened out of asking for a photo, a decision we later came to regret. Back in Pristina we asked our chauffeur to drop us off on Bill Clinton boulevard so that we could survey the damage caused by the bomb that killed 2 people the day before our arrival. The cafe in question looked like, well, it had been blown up! 2 people were killed and 11 injured but despite speculation by various sources (including my favourite newspaper) it was not politically motivated and was most likely detonated by the local mafia. After taking some pictures of the huge poster of William J Clinton we wandered up the boulevard and past the rather ugly University of Kosovo towards a string of travel agents in the hope of getting Matt a ticket to Istanbul. At the second travel agents we encountered a very arrogant woman whom we asked for advice on where to go out that evening (and bought a plane ticket as well). Her response was that she used to live in London and she would never ask anyone where to go. Hans asked what part of London to which she replied Chelsea, as Hans had been based in Fulham he asked here if she had ever been to which she replied "No, there are too many Niggers there". With this unexpected comment we left this bigoted dickhead alone in her little ticket office and headed off to a bar for a swift half.

As it was Matt's 30th birthday on or around that evening (Aussie/Europe time zones are confusing to align) we thought we'd hit the nightclubs of Pristina in style. So far, apart from the Ann Coulter wannabe in the travel agents, everyone on town had been extremely polite and helpful and this was set to continue in the next bar we stopped in. The owner of the bar explained where the 2 best nightclubs in town were as well as thanking us for visiting his bar and so we wandered down the street past the children selling cigarettes (very enterprising young men) and payed our €3 entrance fee to what was sadly a very crap and empty club. There was something clearly missing and before I had chance to pass comment, Matt stated, "It's a fuckin' sausage-fest in here 'ey?". After a sharp exit we jumped in a cab to head to the edge of town to nightclub number 2, Spray. Spray looks like it could have been an alright sort of place but it was absolutely dead and when we asked where everyone was we were told that it would probably not fill up for another 2 hours. Matt's charm with the only 2 girls in the building gave us a lead and so we jumped in another cab to try and find "The Jazz Club".

Outside the Jazz Club was a long queue and a guy explaining that we should come back in half an hour if we wanted to get in. Given our failure to have any fun at all for the last 2 hours I asked if there was any way to pay our way in as after all, we're far more important than anyone else there! The guy looked around and asked us to stand to one side whilst he found the boss, 3 nanoseconds later and we were presented with a middle aged guy who seemed to glow with importance, "Hi, I'm Jerry" he said, "How long are you staying in Pristina? Give me your email addresses, head on in and see what you think". "What a dude" we thought and everything seemed great until we got in to what was basically an English pub with enough room for about 100 yet contained about 300. It was absolutely roasting in there and after about 5 minutes we had to leave. Unfortunately due to the quick temperature change, Hans, who had been feeling ill all night, suddenly went from bad to worse and was forced to do a 'Captain Oates' and head back to the guest house. Matt and I decided to stay out and try out the first club again but it was even worse than before so we swigged down our last Peja of the evening and followed Hans back to the ranch.

The next day Matt and Hans were both feeling pretty rough and so after finding some lunch I went wifi hunting whilst they stayed in bed recovering. A rather average connection was available at the grand hotel so I ordered some wine and began uploading, 4 hours later with a bit of a stagger I was done and wandered back to the room, awakening the others as I did. I'm pleased to say that they were both feeling much better and were keen to organise the following day in which, sadly, Hans and I would say goodbye to Matt.