This is the seventh and final installment of my daughter’s and my trip to Kosovo, Albania, and Montenegro in August 2026.
We left Peja and headed east toward Kosovo’s capital, Pristina — trading the mountains that had framed so much of our trip for rolling hills. Pristina sits in a flat valley, and at one point along the highway encircling the city, we caught a sweeping view of the entire capital spread out below us. It felt almost strange to see such a wide, open landscape after so many days of winding mountain roads.
We checked into our hotel in central Pristina. I had originally booked our final two nights near the airport but changed plans so we could spend a day exploring the city more easily. Once we settled into our room, we headed out for lunch nearby and then began a self-guided walking tour. Our first stop was the Newborn Monument, a large block-letter sculpture that celebrates Kosovo’s declaration of independence from Serbia on February 17, 2008. The monument changes its colors and design each year on that date, symbolizing the country’s evolving identity. Across the street, we visited the Heroines Monument, which depicts an Albanian woman formed from 20,145 metal pins — each representing the contributions and sacrifices of Albanian women during the 1989-1999 Kosovo War. The Newborn Monument felt celebratory and hopeful, while the Heroines Monument carried a quieter, somber weight. Facing one another, the two together formed a powerful message about the devastation of war and the hope that follows in its wake.
From there, we continued our walk along Mother Teresa Boulevard, a broad, pedestrian-only avenue lined with shops, cafés, and people out enjoying the day. We passed a statue of Mother Teresa herself — an important figure in Kosovo, as she was ethnic Albanian and is said to have found her spiritual calling in the small village of Letnica, in southern Kosovo. We followed the boulevard until we reached the Kosovo Parliament building, then crossed the street to the Çarshi Mosque. Built in 1389 to commemorate the Ottoman victory in the Battle of Kosovo, it is the oldest surviving building in Pristina. Behind it stands the National Museum of Kosovo, housed in an Austro-Hungarian building from 1889, though unfortunately it was closed for renovation during our visit.
We continued on to the campus of the University of Pristina to see the National Library, famous for its striking architecture — a brutalist design with a distinctive futuristic appearance. C, who has an interest in architecture and a surprising fondness for Brutalism (perhaps thanks to Washington, D.C.’s share of concrete buildings), had especially wanted to see it. Our final stop was the Cathedral of Saint Mother Teresa. Built between 2007 and 2017 and officially consecrated in 2017, it is the largest structure in Kosovo and the first cathedral built in the country since the 16th century.
In just a few hours of walking, I felt as though we had passed through centuries of Kosovo’s history — from Ottoman rule to war to hard-won independence. It was a beautiful day and a satisfying walk, but it carried a certain weight. While there isn’t an overwhelming amount to see in terms of traditional sightseeing, Pristina clearly has momentum. Construction cranes dotted the skyline, signs of an economic boom fueled in part by the Kosovar diaspora. The city felt youthful and hopeful. We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening resting up for our final day in the country.
On our last day, we packed up the car for one final sightseeing drive, heading to the town of Gračanica, just five miles from Pristina. Our goal was the 14th-century Serbian Orthodox Gračanica Monastery — the fourth and final of the UNESCO-designated Medieval Monuments in Kosovo that we would visit. Like the others, the monastery centers on a stand-alone church within a walled complex, its interior lined with offices and living quarters. Inside, the church walls are covered with magnificent frescoes depicting scenes from the Bible — vivid, detailed, and deeply expressive. It was beautiful, though also the busiest of the four UNESCO sites we’d seen, and the strictest about what visitors could and could not do.
Outside the monastery, we took a short walk around town. One of the first things we noticed — or rather, C did, with her knack for recognizing flags — was the presence of Serbian flags and the use of the Serbian language. It was a noticeable change from what we had seen elsewhere: in Prizren and Peja, Albanian flags and symbols were everywhere, while in Pristina, we had seen a modest number of Kosovar flags. Here, the Serbian presence was unmistakable. A statue of the legendary Serbian knight Miloš Obilić stands prominently in the town center, and nearby is the Missing Monument, a somber memorial honoring the Serbs who were kidnapped or went missing during and after the Kosovo War.
Even amid Kosovo’s visible economic growth and youthful optimism, reminders of the region’s divided past remain close at hand. I had thought I’d managed to keep politics at bay during our trip, but it was impossible to ignore the quiet signs everywhere — reminders of how deeply history, identity, and faith are still woven into daily life here, and how the past continues to shape the present.
For a change of pace — and to end our trip on a lighter note — we drove to the Bear Sanctuary Prishtina, a rescue center that provides care for brown bears once kept in captivity in Kosovo and Albania. The sanctuary is set on forested land by a lake, and the bears have large enclosures that give them room to roam and explore. It felt spacious and well-run, and as we followed the winding paths up and down the hillside, C and I got quite a workout. Watching the bears lounging and playing was a lovely way to close out our travels.
I had one last surprise for C: for our final final activity of the vacation, we went to Prishtina Mall. At 1,233,140 square feet, it’s the largest shopping and entertainment center in southeastern Europe. We had lunch, did some window shopping, got gelato, and drove go-karts on a cool indoor track — yes, right inside the mall! It was the first time either of us had gone go-karting, and it was an absolute blast. Afterward, we drove to our hotel near the airport, returned the rental car, and spent our last night in Europe before the early morning flight that would begin our journey home.
Our two weeks in Kosovo, Albania, and Montenegro were everything I could have hoped for — full of adventure, discovery, and connection. We packed so much into those days, from mountain drives and monasteries to coastal towns and caves. More than anything, it was a memorable mother-daughter journey, one that I know neither of us will forget.
Americans’ love affair with the car is no secret. In reality, Western Europeans have more cars per person than Americans, but Americans drive their cars for just about anything – short trips, long trips, and everything in between. And when Americans go on long trips, they might be just as likely to pack up the car as to get on a plane. Americans (in general) love a good road trip.
The paved roads, even the main ones, are predominantly two lanes, one in each direction. Maybe there will be a painted center line, maybe not. Maybe there will be a shoulder, though usually not. Most often the sides of the road are jagged, as though a large monster that eats asphalt has bitten huge chunks off the edges. There are many potholes. Near villages, there will be cyclists, and it seems almost a given that as your car approaches they will begin to weave haphazardly, adding an extra challenge to an already difficult drive. There are also often goats or cattle alongside the road — the cattle are usually accompanied by children or young men, the goats are often unattended and maybe a wee bit suicidal, or at least not phased by traffic at all. However, if you hit someone’s livestock, be prepared to pay up.
We dropped them in the center of Otjiwarongo and then headed southwest. This road too was paved and in good shape, but I had miscalculated the distance and it took us an hour longer than expected. As we approached the coast the green scrubs gave way to desert, and a fog descended, the clouds swallowing up the blue sky.
There was so much more to do in Swakopmund I was reluctant to leave, but we were heading south-east, back inland, to the Namib-Naukluft Desert, the oldest desert in the world.
Miles and miles of sandy gravel — stunning vistas but with few, if any, signs of civilization. No houses, no gas stations, and almost no other cars. It was exhilarating and also a wee bit scary. This is where I was especially worried that I would blow a tire, run out of gas (although I had filled up before leaving Walvis Bay), or have some other car trouble, like run into an oryx that suddenly jumped out in front of me. I had a long, long time to think, to daydream, and also come up with crazy stranded by the side of the road scenarios. There were enough cars that should something happen someone would likely be along in about an hour, and we had plenty of water, but not something I wanted to experience with C on vacation (or ever).
At long last we arrived at the town of Solitaire. Well, town might be a bit of a stretch. Solitaire is a gas station, bakery, lodge, cafe, general store, and mechanics at a t-junction, the only stop between the coast at Walvis Bay and the dunes at Sossusvlei. The population is probably less than 100 souls. The sandy yard around the settlement is littered with colorful and photogenic old rusting cars. We stayed at the Solitaire Desert Farm seven kilometers away, down a sandy track towards some rocky red hills, that at sunset burned crimson. The evening was still, with the exception of what I guess were jackals yipping playfully somewhere near our lodge.
We then crossed the street to the Parliament building, built orginally as the headquarters for the German colonial administrative offices, and its gardens. We then headed a short way up the road, at the corner of Robert Mugabe Avenue and Fidel Castro Street, to the Independence Memorial Museum. The building is jarring. Modern, yes, but also leaning on eyesore. No surprise then that it was built by a North Korean firm in the socialist-realist style. The bronze statue of Namibia’s first President was also made by North Korea. Behind the museum we ended the tour in the currently closed Alte Feste, once the headquarters of the imperial German military, in front of which stands the Genocide statue (also gifted by North Korea) representing the brutal extermination and punishment of Herero and Namaqua people during the 1904-1907 Namibia-German war, and how the indigenous people of Namibia overcame repression. We left the tour there and headed to the museum, which while informative, most certainly had that same socialist-realist vibe. We swung by the kudu statue and then headed back to the hotel.
The following day it was time to begin our Namibia road trip. Now, back in Malawi, having finished the Namibian vacation, knowing we survived the drives is so different from before it began. Back when I was planning the trip I thought most about doing the driving. I wanted the freedom driving ourselves would bring. C and I have gone on a few day group bus trips. They have been convenient and sometimes fun. But there have been those, like the one to the Cape of Good Hope, where we were too much at the mercy of other tourists who had their own agenda at the expense of everyone else. I did not want to do that for a whole trip. Yet I am a single parent, who has limited (my diplomatic way of saying non-existent) car repair skills, traveling with a 7-year old long distances in a country I have never been to. I have traveled to many places, I am intrepid, but honestly, the driving had me a tad worried.
Heading north from Windhoek toward Etosha National Park though, I had nothing to worry about. It was a long four hour drive but on the most beautifully tarred road. There was not much to see along the way, a few times we saw warthogs and baboons, but mostly miles and miles of green shrubs, every once in awhile a town that we could drive through in minutes.
The Wanderlust Diaries 