Month: July 2016

I left for Kosovo on June 16^th with the assumption that I would stay to myself, and only really converse with the three people I previously knew from back home. That was quite the opposite of what happened and that’s what made it so incredibly hard to leave Saturday morning. I never pictured myself becoming such good friends with a bunch of complete strangers during the past five weeks but I’m so grateful that I did because they are what made this entire trip such a great experience. Though many of them actually go to my school back home, it will still be very strange not seeing them everyday.

The past five weeks were filled with great adventures and experiences whether it was cliff jumping in Albania, attempting to learn Albanian pick up lines, or simply staying up as a group until 3am goofing around and trying to finish homework that’s due the following day. Though there were some moments where stress got to me, I am forever thankful for being a part of this program and wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. I will for sure miss Kosovo and all the people I met there.

Leaving customs after what seemed like a year spent in Logan airport, I was greeted by a treasure: a bag of Swedish fish and M&M’s. Best first meal back ever.

I’m so sad to end this trip, but I know that I have had a great experience during my time in Kosovo. I’d like to throw in the cliche saying that study abroad is the best experience you will have during college. Cliche, but still true.

I’ll miss the people and the friendly culture that was always welcoming to us. Wherever I went, the people worked hard to make us feel right at home.

It’s strange because I spent so much time preparing for the trip and researching the country that I can’t believe it is already over. 5 weeks was not enough and it still hasn’t sunk in that I’m home and it’s over.

I really hope that I will be able to do this work again in a foreign country. And I hop to continue to learn about different cultures through the best method possible: experiencing it firsthand.

We need a bit of humor, especially now after we have been here for five weeks. Have nice day you all .

 

This is my final post. It is an ode to the coffee machine that lives in a corner on the first floor of A.U.K.

A coffee machine that produces beautiful cappuccinos for just 50 cents.

A coffee machine to whom I have promised my heart, and given my soul.

I am sad to part with Prishtina.

I am especially sad to part with my beautiful little friend.

This is my final post. It is an ode to the coffee machine that lives in a corner on the first floor of A.U.K.

 

As a poem by Nayyirah Waheed reads: Trust your work.

This experience has been one to remember, both culturally and professionally. While in Prishtina, I have had the opportunity to work as an intern with Prishtina Insight, as a journalist. As a reporter, I saw first-hand the impact of my work (an article highlighting UNMIK human rights violations, which is currently one of the top articles on the site, and an article about animal rights, that saw a petition go from 3,000 to over 90,000 in the two days following our article being published).

Furthermore, I have had the opportunity to work with Kosovo 2.0, publishing a freelance piece, and establishing the potential for a future partnership. Beyond my work with these publications, I have had the opportunity to work closely with some very talented photojournalists, expand my journalistic capabilities to include video and sound, and form connections with a variety of really fantastic people, which I hope to maintain and follow-up on if I have the opportunity to come back to Kosovo on a Fulbright in the future.

Below are the links to the written work that I have done while here:

Prishtina Insight

Brexit doesn’t affect EU enlargement, says Dutch ambassador to Kosovo

Prishtina Architecture Week kicks off

UN panel admits ‘total failure’ at holding Kosovo mission accountable for human rights violations

Protesters demand an end to killings of stray dogs in Kosovo

Staff Picks – Balkan Beach Reads

 

Kosovo 2.0

http://www.kosovotwopointzero.com/en/article/2178/responding-to-terror-the-reason-that-im-willing-to-take-my-chances

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My favorite game to play goes as follows:

I ask you a question. You answer. Repeat.

 

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“If you were an animal, what would you be?”

 

I collect random facts and stories about total strangers and I catalog them in my head, where admittedly, more useful information could be stored. It’s an inconspicuous interview process that leads to fast friendship more often than not.

But sometimes the questions are thrown back at me.

 

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“What’s your favorite city?”

 “What are you most afraid of?”

 

 If you had asked me this just four weeks ago, I wouldn’t have known how to answer. [1]

I’d like to thank the Balkans’ bus service for making this question a tad bit easier.

So it is today, with this post, that I am, publicly acknowledging my undeniable fear of traveling by bus in the Balkans.

Wait. Allow me to rephrase that.

It’s not the traveling bit that I’m afraid of…

What I am, however, is lip-quiver, frantic laughter, masked tears level PETRIFIED of dying in a fiery crash whilst a passenger on one of these buses, which I have been far more than my liking, over the course of the past several days.

A week ago today, my project partner and I boarded a bus in a noble attempt to reach Bosnia, where we were planning to shoot a story.

Nearly 8 hours after boarding, and a few minor adjustments in schedule (unbeknown to us), we were dumped at a bus station in Montenegro at 3 a.m.

And because the next bus out wasn’t until 8 that morning, we spent the next 5 hours lingering around the bus station, spirits broken, bags of equipment in hand.

When 8 rolled around, we boarded a bus back to Prishtina with nothing to show.

This was not the first of our frustrating bus experiences in the Balkans, and it certainly wouldn’t be our last (in the following week we would take 6 more rides, totaling 48 hours in travel time).

But rather than reflect on the frustrations we experienced, I’m going to use this post to try and convey the severity of my fear, as well as it’s validity.

When you choose to board bus in the Balkans, you are choosing to put your life in jeopardy. Not only because of the condidtion of the roads – hairpin turns, on single lane roads, thousands of feet in the air – but because of the insanity of the driver’s whose hands you’ve placed your only life in.

To put it kindly, the bus drivers are assholes. Am I allowed to say that in a school post?

It’s true.

As Meredith spoke in direction of our driver during the tour we took four weeks ago, “You may not care about your life, but I care about mine”.

And as our driver was accelerating down the curviest of roads, only a meter separation from the edge of a cliff, I couldn’t help but think the same.

“Close your eyes and go to sleep. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

My mantra of survival on repeat.

And I would close my eyes. And I would nearly fall asleep, only to be woken as we swerved so abruptly that I was sure it was the end. But it never was. And for that I am eternally grateful.

I survived the Balkan bus service. I survived it once, and then seven more times, and I’m going to conclude this blogpost with 3 pieces of advice so that if you ever find yourself about to embark on a wild ride, you might survive too.

1) If you’re going to take a bus in the Balkans, Don’t.

2) If you’re going to do it anyway, travel during the day. The views (although scary) are incredible

3) Show no fear. Once you’re on board, you’re committed to your fate. Be brave, die nobly.

Oh…. and always travel with toilet paper.

 

[1] Okay that’s not exactly true. I would have answered quite adamantly that I am most afraid of white glue, but considering that it’s not a well understood fear, we’ll skip over it just this once.

In my next few blog posts, I’m going to pull entries from my personal journal. It’s interesting to look back and see the evolution of our stay. While I came here for this documentary course, a big motive in my venture to Prishtina came in the form of an internship with a local news publication. Looking back, I can’t believe that I wrote these entries 4-weeks ago, following my first 2 days of work.

June 27^th

 It’s nice to be back in Prishtina, and this time for good.

With the exception of weekend trips to Bosnia to pursue a project that I can’t seem to let go, Prishtina will be my base for the next 4 weeks.

So in my return to Prishtina I feel the same comfort as one does when they return home after a long time away.

At 7:30 a.m. I head down to breakfast. “Class” starts at 8, so I am cutting it close.

I put “class” in parenthesis because while I am taking a class, I’m not actually enrolled for credit. But the university is there, and the professors are some of the most knowledgeable when it comes to the history of the Balkans and the fall of Yugoslavia, having been there in active roles with the UN during the war. I’m in the process of applying for a Fulbright to Kosovo, and they have an insider’s knowledge on conflict and resolution that I’d be foolish to pass up.

To give you a better idea of the people I am working with, my professor’s bio reads the following:

 “A retired Foreign Service Officer, Louis Sell, worked for 28 years with the U.S. Department of State, including eight years each in Yugoslavia and the former Soviet Union and Russia.

 He served as US representative to the Joint Consultative Group in Vienna, as Director of the Office of Russian and Eurasian Analysis, and as Executive Secretary of the US delegation to the Strategic Arms Reduction Talks.

From 1995 – 1996 he served as political deputy to Carl Bildt, the first High Representative for Bosnian Peace Implementation.  In that capacity he attended the Dayton Peace Conference and participated in the first year of implementation of the Dayton accords.”

So yeah, I’m dealing with big shots…

An hour into class, I excuse myself and walk down the stairs to find a cab that will bring me to my internship – the driving motivator behind my stay in Prishtina.

Background: While I supposedly have an internship set-up with Prishtina Insight, I’m going in entirely blind. I don’t know what my responsibilities will entail – If I will have responsibilities at all. I don’t know what my hours will be, or what days of the week I’ll be invited to stay. I don’t know if I’ll be of use to them, or if they will offer the coveted experience that I’ve been seeking. I don’t even have an address. I’m going in blind. That’s part of the fun!… or at least that’s what I’m choosing to tell myself!

So there I am, in the back of a cab, speaking English at a driver who doesn’t understand (Damn American). I have 30 minutes – 25 now – to get to an office to which I have never been, and all I have is blurry screenshot of a pin on a map that I took from the Prishtina Insight Facebook page.

This is going to be interesting.

I show the driver the picture, he looks at it for a few minutes, shrugs his shoulders, flashes me a “Ha, sorry in advanced” smile, and begins to drive.

Now do keep in mind, that I have been in Prishtina for only a day prior to this little adventure, and have absolutely zero grasp of my surroundings. It’s the blind leading the blind.

After driving for approximately 12 minutes, the cab driver parks in what looks to be a taxi depot of sorts, looks at me, looks at the map, looks back at me, and gives me my bill.

I get out, as it seems like the best option at this point, and begin to walk.

For all I know, I could be walking in the direction of the Serbian border, but I’m walking and that appears to be the most productive course of action I can take in the moment.

Eventually I end up on a main street, with a steady flow of traffic and people.

Right.

First things first, find a friendly face.

Good.

Now find a friendly face that speaks English.

For a reason I cannot explain, I select a copy shop out of the endless rows of restaurants and boutiques. I go in, give the man at the desk a big ole friendly “I’m trying not to be a tourist but I’m lost and inept and would really appreciate your guidance” smile, and get out my blurry map photo.

“English?”

“No, no.”

“Cheers” J

So I’m back on the street, scanning the sidewalk for my next target, when I see a woman in a tight white pantsuit. She points vaguely in the direction that I’ve been headed this whole time, and I continue forward.

Now I feel an obligation to clarify something – many Kosovars speak English, and they speak it very well. But it’s always in the moment of need that one struggles to find what they’re looking for.

I approach a man wearing a backpack, a student I presume, and ALAS – HE KNOWS!

At least he thinks that he knows… and that’s better than nothing.

“Follow me!” he exclaims, and that I do.

I climb a series of steps and by the good grace of god, there it is, the BIRN sign – Balkans Investigative Reporting Network.

I’m not sure how, but I had arrived, and not a minute late.

 

The office was nice, a narrowed walkway lead back to an open room decked out in chairs and tables and the color red. On the tables were computers, and at the computers writers and editors, presumably, were at work.

I was quickly greeted by Lura, an editor for Insight, and my point of contact. She gave me a run-through of the office and my responsibilities, and then asked about my interests.

I similarly was introduced to Faith, a new editor on the team, who I later learned was originally from West Virginia.

Who would have thought that after my two-year search for another West Virginian while at school to New York would return an utter absence of result, but in my first week in Prishtina, I’d run into one. And working from the same newsroom as I, nonetheless!

So far, so good!

When lunchtime came, Lura, Faith, and I went to a lovely little café down the street, where we all chose to have open-faced sandwiches.

At lunch, I mentioned that I was in the process of applying to Kosovo for a Fulbright, and in another very strange coincidence, learned that Faith had done one just a year earlier.

When we got back to the office, I was given my first assignment – covering a public discussion that was being held “to examine [the] challenges Kosovo faces in its European Integration path, how should EU member states be approached to address these challenges and what civil society [could] do to increase the dialogue with EU member states more effectively.”

Pretty intimidating stuff, for somebody who was not yet acclimated, but I was thrilled to have something to do.

So I got to work doing my background research, said my ‘thank yous’, and headed home.

 

 June 28^th

 A baptism by fire.

That’s what my mom called it.

At 7:15 a.m. I wandered down to the hotel lobby, and asked for a cab to be called for 9:30. The roundtable discussion began at 10, and according to my maps, the hotel that it was being held at was just 7 minutes away.

I had gone to class again in the morning and excused myself early to head down to the parking lot where my cab would be waiting… or at least was supposed to be waiting.

But it wasn’t.

I waited 5 minutes, and then 5 more, and at 9:40 I decided to walk back to the hotel to ask if they could call again.

It was 9:43 and I was in a bit of a panic, when the man at reception informed me that the cab had come and had gone.

Because in a misunderstanding, he had asked for it to come 2 hours earlier.

This is for this very reason that it is important to leave yourself a buffer. An inflatable lifejacket of extra time.

The cab arrived at 9:47, and precisely 7 minutes later (well done, google maps), we arrived at the Swiss Diamond Hotel.

And it was FANCY.

The inside looked like a palace of sorts. Gold plated EVERYTHING. Marble floors. Chandeliers, and men and women dressed in crisp black suits to point me in the direction of Marec Hall and sneak me the Wi-Fi code.

I entered to a room of men and women, from their late-20s to their mid-60s. The too were dressed remarkably well, in dresses and heels, and other classy attire.

I thanked my lucky stars that I chose my fancy blouse to pair with my American Eagle jeans and sandles – at least I only out of place from the waist down.

Now before I continue on, I need to remind you that this was my first assignment, not only with Prishtina Insight, but EVER.

My first time on assignment for a publication. My first time covering a public discussion. My first time writing on any form of political affairs let alone Kosovo specific political affairs.

And there I was, in a fancy hotel, amongst fancy people who all looked as though they were more comfortable in this setting than they could be in their own homes.

Eyes-wide, heart fluttering, I scooped my jaw up from the floor and did the only thing that I could – faked the hell out of it.

I marched straight into the conference room where a U-shaped chair and table set-up was, and sat myself down. At each spot on the table, there was a microphone, a headset, a wine glass and bottle of water, and a note pad.

At the bottom of the U, sat 3 key figures:

• The Dutch ambassador to Kosovo, and the current Presidency to the Council of the EU – Gerrie Willems
• The Liason office of the Slovak Republic in Pristina, and the soon to be Presidency to the Council of the EU – Ľubomír Batáry
• The Deputy Minister of European Integration – Ramadan Ilazi

Right.

As the seats filled in and the wheels began to turn, I turned to the woman seated beside me, and asked the question of the hour: “Is this in English?”

She pointed to the headset sitting in front of me. Ah…

I stared at it intently, put the headphones to my ears, and turned a series of nobs until I picked up a feed of translation.

And from there the ball was rolling.

I listened intently as the discussion shaped into a dialogue with a focus on Brexit and the implications for Kosovo’s integration, concerns about the upcoming Slovak presidency, and reasons that these concerns were illegitimate.

I took notes frantically at first, but soon settled into a rhythm.

By the closing of the discussion I had the adrenaline of skydiver running through my veins.

No seriously. It took all the control I could muster to not explode into a series of mini sprints.

It was invigorating.

I got back to the newsroom, wrote my first story, and left at the end of the day cool as a cucumber.

I smiled the goofiest of smiles my entire walk home.

In my next few blog posts, I’m going to pull entries from my personal journal. It’s interesting to look back and see the evolution of our stay. Here are the entries from our first 2 days back in Prishtina following our tour of the Balkans. Throughout the course of our 5 weeks here, there was never a shortage of dirty laundry… and “clean clothes” became those that we considered to be the least dirty. I’m unsure of whether I should boast about this or not… but I managed to make it through 6-weeks of travel, having only done laundry once. Looking forward to being reunited with my washing machine.

 

June 25^th

 We’ve been living out of a van for what feels like a week, and it feels like a week because it has, in fact, been a week.

I haven’t done laundry in just over 9 days, which has been accentuated by the fact that the heat has been unbearable. Everything smells, which has made the bus ride that much more unpleasant.

It’s been a fantastic trip, but I won’t be disappointed to arrive back in Prishtina and settle into my work.

We pull into the parking lot just before 9 p.m., and I’m more relieved than I should have to be, that we made it back in one piece, having avoided multiple “close ones” while overtaking other drivers along the side of a cliff.

When I travel to places that surpass the comfortable barriers of the west, people often ask me if I’m nervous.

Egypt, Lebanon, Turkey – you name it.

“Are you nervous? Is it safe?”

If only people realized that the true danger lies not in the geography or political construct of a region, but in the precarious attitude of one’s driver.

 

June 26^th

 It’s Sunday. And the Laundromat is closed.

In my next few blog posts, I’m going to pull entries from my personal journal. It’s interesting to look back and see the evolution of our stay. Here is a documentation of our week-long trip around the Balkans.

June 19^th

And so it begins, my weeklong venture through the Balkans.

First stop: Albania.

6 a.m. – 13 of us cram into an oversized minivan.

On our way to Tirana, the destination of the day, we stop at Kruje, a village in the mountains of Albania. There we visit a fortress and learn about Skanderbeg, an Albanian hero from Ottoman times. I feel quite clever, having read a chapter about him prior to the stop.

The highlight of the day, however, comes in the night.

In Tirana, the streets are coated in red. As dawn turns to dusk, thousands gather to watch Albania play in their final group game of the Euro 2016 tournament. The game is in France, but large screens are set up just blocks from Skanderbeg Square.

My roommate, Brittainy (a photojournalism student who is here for the same reasons as I), and I grab our cameras and follow the crowds. We get separated, but it’s for the better. We spend the next 3.5 hours making images, capturing energy, and baring witness to the emotion at hand.

Albania get their first ever Euro win, and the streets explode with roars of excitement. They did not win tournament. They are not likely to advance out of their group.

It doesn’t make a damn difference.

 

June 20^th 

We’re scheduled to leave for Montenegro at 7:30 a.m., but we don’t get on the road until nearly an hour past. Time doesn’t exist in the Balkans, and bold-printed schedules act as mere suggestions.

We arrive in Budva, a beautiful town on the Adriatic, where we will stay the night.

The water is sparkling and the surrounding mountains tower high, framing the scene. Old city walls stretch along the coastal area, and bright flowers pop against the sand colored structures. It reminds me of somewhere that I have been before. Maybe Bled, Slovenia? Maybe.

And now comes the part where I lose my roommate Brittainy.

It’s early evening in Budva, and we’re walking down the equivalent of a “boardwalk”. Little shops line both sides, and vendors are awaiting the attention of tourists like us. It’s the kind of thing that I tend to dislike, but I have little room to complain given the setting in which this scene takes place.

It’s only one day, after all.

So we’re walking down the boardwalk, back to the hotel to change into our bathing suits and head to the beach. It’s a short walk, less than half a mile, but Brittainy is a photographer. What should take no more than 5 minutes time, has taken us close to 30. The light is good, and the people are interesting, and we haven’t traveled more than 5 yards without stopping for a photo.

Eventually I concede. I take the key, and head back to the room, where she says she’ll meet me soon.

But an hour passes. And then another. And she’s nowhere to be seen.

For the sake of time, and of word count, I’ll cut the story short, and leave at this: we never made it to the beach.

Where the story goes, Brittainy goes… and I couldn’t help but follow.

On the walk back to the hotel, she happened upon a small amusement park, just off of the main path. It was so quirky and colorful that she couldn’t help but fall into its traps.

Later that night we went back together, in hopes of putting together a photo film. We both took photos. We took turns getting sound. We suckered a Kosovar-Serb into working as a translator, and before you knew it, we were on our way to what we thought would make a really great piece….

Unfortunately it was a bit trickier than anticipated.

Translation was skewed. Sound equipment was testy. The people at the park didn’t have much to say.

We had fun regardless.

 

June 21^st

I’ve never been quite as infatuated with a place, as I am with Bosnia and Herzegovina:

With a famous bridge in Mostar.

With a cinema club in Sarajevo.

I’d say so much more, but I can assure you that this is piece best saved for later.

 

June 22^nd

 Day 2 in Sarajevo.

We sleep in an hour later than previous days allowed. This is the first morning in which we will not pile on to a bus and cross borders into a separate state.

I am not disappointed.

The day is comprised of meetings – the first of the four that we will have on this trip – sought out to provide a mixture of commentaries on past conflicts and the current political state.

In the morning we travel to the Sarajevo School of Science and Technology to hear from two professors on economic topics related to conflict and resolution, responsibility, and reconciliation.

I struggle to keep my eyes open, fighting fluttering eyelids to the best of my ability, desperate to make it through unnoticed.

The second meeting I found to be significantly more engaging – not because the first was uninteresting, it was far from boring. The nature of the second meeting was, however, more closely suited to my personal taste.

We met with a handful of people from NGOs based out of Bosnia, one of which was Women for Women, an organization that works to offer financial and emotional support to women displaced during the Bosnian War.

I preferred this lecture to that of the academics because of the rawness of the words. The academics took a logical approach, while the women spoke words charged by emotion.

 

June 23^rd

 Do you remember when we learned about Srebrenica in school?

 You wouldn’t. Because we didn’t.

At least I didn’t.

When I was first posed with the possibility of traveling to the Balkans to pursue documentary work on post-conflict transformation, I was confronted with a reality that I had gone blind to for so long.

Albania. Bosnia. Kosovo. Macedonia.

The familiarity lies in the name alone.

When I made the decision to travel to Kosovo for the summer, I made the decision to immerse myself in a culture that I had spent my first 20-years neglecting.

The history is striking. The timing is ironic.

I was born in Pennsylvania in the fall of 1995. Just 3 months earlier in Srebrenica, 8,000 Bosnians were slain by Serbs in what stands as Europe’s greatest genocide since World War II.

Today, a graveyard for the victims acts as a memorial. Tombstones line the fields in which innocent blood was shed – for nothing.

Hasan Hasanovic is a survivor, and he welcomes us to the memorial.

He is strong and tranquil in semblance, but his eyes have seen sickening things.

Hasan survived by walking 63 km through a wooded area to the neighboring Muslim territory of Tuzla. Both his father and twin brother were lost at Srebrenica. He was just 19 at the time of the massacre.

“Everyday, I wonder where I got that strength. When you’re in that kind of situation, where every step is a matter of life and death, your mind just works differently. The experience has stayed with me since then. It follows me everyday; from the moment I get up, to the moment I go to sleep. I just can’t get rid of it. The worst thing is the anguish that comes with thinking about Husein and my father — wondering how they were killed, whether they were tortured or not, and how long it took them to die. That pain is almost unbearable.”

 https://www.srebrenica.org.uk/survivor-stories/hasan-hasanovic/

Bosnia and Herzegovina continues to face ethnic conflict and division today. Many Bosniaks, Croats, and Serbs hope for unity in the future, but events of the past linger. There is much more healing to be done and accountability to be held before the possibility of a concrete reconciliation.

 June 24^th

 Belgrade is the New York of the Balkans.

It’s the biggest city in the region, and the most modernized that I’ve seen.

Again, we have meetings, beginning in a coffee shop with an inside/outside construction. The warmth of the sun is nice. The shade is nicer.

Coffee is the universal language of the Balkans, and I have found myself in many conversations over the lively drink.

So we sit around the table, and at the center is a politician – a Serbian presidential candidate. He is meant to be the most liberal in Serbia. When prompted to comment on the state of Kosovo, he doesn’t – instead redirecting the conversation back to his agenda.

We leave for our next meeting. Brittainy’s purse stays, but she recovers it within the hour, entirely unscathed.

The second meeting of the day is my personal favorite. It is with CRTA (Center for Research Transparency and Accountability). This meeting aligns most closely with my own journalistic interests, and I’m ecstatic to have the opportunity to ask questions about their access to open data… they’re efforts to clean data and use it as a tool to navigate political corruption… they’re roles as both activists and journalists.

I take a business card. I’ll be in touch.

 

In my next few blog posts, I’m going to pull entries from my personal journal. It’s interesting to look back and see the evolution of our stay, and as this is our last day, I feel that there isn’t a starting point more appropriate than the very beginning.

June 18th

Sleep deprived and hungry, I arrive in Prishtina, my home base of a city for the next 6 weeks. It’s different than I expected. You can read, and prepare, and familiarize yourself with a place to the best of your ability, but nothing equates to touching down in person and taking it in first hand.

It’s quite spacious.

A single road stretches the 20-minute drive from the airport to the town.

Across from my hotel, a farmer stands with his cows. Venture to your left, and you’ll see Germia Park – full of paths, and trails, and the largest swimming pool that I have ever seen… It’s essentially a mid-sized lake.

Turn to the right, and you’ll find yourself back towards the city, eventually connecting with boulevards named for Mother Teresa and Bill Clinton.

I walk through the park. I walk into town. I buy 4 peaches and a bag of cherries for less than 3 euros.

At 11:30 p.m. I finally find my bed.