Hills and rubbish

I had a Sunday afternoon walk in the hills outside Prishtina today, at Germia. It was a fine, sunny day, almost spring-like. Ahhh, for fresh air, away from the smoke of the Obilic power stations that so often chokes Prishtina, away from the dust and cheap petrol fumes of the city, away from the crow shit-spattered streets.

But one thing you cannot escape from, even in the hills, is the rubbish, the refuse with which the people of Prishtina clog up their town and even their supposed weekend beauty spots. It's everywhere in the city. Plastic bottles strewn about, trees hanging with wispy plastic bags, like some strange kind of fruit. Every scrap of green, every tree, the verges of every pavement. Dust, rubbish, crow shit, bad air, these are the things that stick in the memory about Prishtina. Crumbling stairways, general decay. Even new buildings look dilapidated almost at once.

Walking in the hills, breathing in the air, enjoying the nature, I try to avoid seeing the rubbish. The places where people sit to admire the views are invariably spoiled by cascades of plastic and paper spilling down the slopes. There is a point with a particularly fine view over planes and hills beyond. On a bright day one could see for miles and miles. It's obviously a popular spot for walkers, as one can tell by the quantities of litter thrown about.

What do these people think about when fouling their city, and even their beauty spots? It's depressing. The only mild comfort I can find is in the thought that it's not that beautiful anyway, and if they want to destroy their little patch of earth, at least they largely leave the best bits to the rest of us.