Strange how a week goes by so fast but everything still remains fresh in my mind. Even the smell of Kosovo stays in my imagination, not just my clothes. Also strange how it takes quite a bit of adjusting to... back into the rhythm of a city that doesn't really breathe, and all the while a want gnaws at me-- a want to go back to a beat of my own in a foreign land. It's this decompression period that is, at times, a little depressing.
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As I go through some of the interviews on my audio recorder though, I am strangely comforted both by the voices of the people with whom I spoke to, and the languages I can't understand.
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passing through london, portobello road, 19.1.08
