It only took about an hour to reach Kosovo's capital, Prishtina, from the Macedonian border. By the time I reached the city limits I was fully settling into the idea of being in Kosovo. I was cruising down the two-lane highway, listening to my CDs and passing numerous military convoys. I was enjoying trying to sound out the signs in Albanian and passing by the military bases belonging to various NATO countries—it was so far so good. The Kosovo countryside was lush green, with various restaurants and truck stops dotting the highway. I stopped in one for a brief snack and to try and get some money. In Kosovo the default currency is the Euro, and that is what the ATMs dispense. All I had was a wad of Macedonian Denari, a lovely currency, but completely worthless. Pulling into the stop, I again got that sick sense in my stomach, that worried feeling that I was somewhere I shouldn't be, but when I walked in, nobody even blinked. I almost felt a bit rejected, here I was, about as off the beaten tourist track as you can get, and nobody seemed to care. I figured it had to be that there are just so many aid workers and military types floating around, and there have been for a good 10 years now, that nobody sees a foreigner as anything special.After withdrawing some Euros, and getting over the feeling of holding a familiar currency for the first time in almost a year, I headed over to the counter to buy a drink. The man behind the counter looked at me and spewed out something in Albanian, (this was to be a recurring theme). When I gave him a confused look, he repeated himself and looked even more confused when he realized I didn't understand. After an awkward silence I pointed at the fridge and spewed out one of the few pan-Slavic words I knew, mineralna voda (mineral water). I had assumed he didn't know English, and so decided that relying on some odd Serbian-Macedonian combination would work best. The shopkeeper gave me an odd look that seemed to say, "And who the hell are you?" He went to the fridge grabbed the water, and practically threw it onto the counter, muttering something, which I assumed to be the price. I shoved some money his way, he gave me change and then turned away, barely acknowledging that I was leaving.I was a bit taken aback at what had just occurred, but soon it occurred to me. Why did I think it would be such a good idea to make myself sound like a Slav? The Serbs were the ones who oppressed and massacred Albanians for a solid decade, that is what the whole Kosovo conflict was about. The shopkeeper probably assumed I was Serbian, thus the harsh attitude. From then on I decided to leave the Slavic phrases behind and just rely on English. Once I did that it was amazing just how much the people opened up.I had the rest of the drive towards Prishtina to think about my little faux pas, but once I crested the hill and saw the skyline of Prishtina, my thoughts immediately switched to, "why aren't I spending more time here?"