It was early March 2024 at the Prishtina airport. One person in the line for passport control seemed convinced we were in the right place — he was the only one. Most of those traveling to Vienna that day appeared to be traveling for the first time — their first time sitting on a plane, their first time getting their passports stamped and perhaps, their first time feeling unsure about everything.

This uncertainty was obvious from the way we checked with one another, occasionally seeking help from airport staff to confirm gate numbers. Our sense of security relied on the certainty of that one person who seemed sure. In such situations — where a mistake could mean missing the flight — the burden of making decisions alone feels precarious.

We completed the trip. It didn’t matter that a 26-year-old like me and a 70-year-old like my father were both flying for the first time. Traveling outside the region to the rest of Europe when visas were required had always been quite problematic — expensive, time-consuming, anxiety-inducing and full of bureaucracy.

Vienna was our first destination because we had relatives there. From there, the trip turned into a series of journeys: Italy, Slovenia, Germany and the Netherlands. Since visiting family allowed us to travel by car to neighboring countries, we took full advantage of the opportunity to see as many places as possible.

Faced with everything new

Everything was, or at least seemed, new. The way of life, the architecture, the food, even how people interacted with public spaces and their lifestyle overall.

In these countries, it was evident that culture — buildings, museums, galleries and other landmarks — was treated with great care, as should be the case. Despite the large number of tourists, it appeared that the locals had established regulations and systems to preserve these treasures. Ticketing was well-organized, and dedicated personnel were always present to ensure these cultural assets were meticulously maintained.

In some Slovenian cities and in Trieste in northeastern Italy, what caught my eye most were the narrow alleys lined with buildings preserved for decades. In Vienna, Austria, it’s impossible to miss St. Stephen’s Cathedral, whose foundation was laid in 1137. This iconic structure speaks volumes about the importance of preserving identity through architecture. Moreover, in some cities in Germany and Austria, beyond the historical landmarks open to visitors, the rest of the buildings displayed a harmonious architectural balance. The old structures there appeared newer and better maintained than many of the recently built ones in Kosovo.

You can learn about many of these landmarks and objects online, but this experience is incomparable to the feeling of being there and seeing the objects in person. Your prior knowledge is reinforced and becomes more deeply rooted in your memory.

Additionally, when traveling, we bring back with us something from the life of the places we visit — something from what we see and experience. The importance of such visits goes beyond cliches we often hear. It’s not just about seeing another way of life; it’s about comparing it with what we, as a society or as individuals, practice — or are compelled to practice.

I believe that, like me, many Kosovar visitors who traveled abroad for the first time after visa liberalization, returned to Kosovo realizing that, no matter how harsh it may sound, even the basic things in life are often lacking here.

Here, I particularly think of the carelessness we show towards public spaces, both as institutions and as a society in general. The objects that mark our history lack protection, while the ubiquitous garbage speaks not only of institutions that don’t care, but also of a careless society that does not regard the space outside the private doors of the home as its own.

But when we draw parallels, these trips can also serve as opportunities for reflection. They can make us, as a society, more demanding of our country’s institutions and inspire us to treat public spaces with the same care and respect we give to private ones.

Additionally, such visits help us on a broader level: we make social connections, become familiar with someone else’s life and culture, and get closer to the world in a more meaningful way.

I remember that as elementary school students, we learned about the specifics of each country in geography. For each country, there was a unique description. When we learned about the Netherlands, we thought of the land of tulips; France as a country of culture; Italy as a historical place; and Germany and Austria as the birthplaces of the world’s greatest composers.

When I look back now, I can never understand why none of us ever asked, simply and briefly, what does the Netherlands actually look like?

This question was probably very far-fetched for us; none of our classmates had visited countries beyond the region and our teachers were too indifferent to explain in detail something they had probably never experienced themselves. Even more distant than the question was the idea that any of us, the war generation as they call us, would ever stroll through the squares of these places, even just for fun.

In the end, my two-week journey ended successfully, and, most importantly, in the return airport line from Austria to Kosovo about 80% of the people were confident they were waiting in the right place.

Feature Image: Atdhe Mulla / K2.0.

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This blog was published with the financial support of the European Union as part of the project “Diversifying voices in journalism.” Its contents are the sole responsibility of Kosovo 2.0 and do not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union.