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Kosovo is one of our Best Places to Go in Europe for 2024, part of our global guide to the Best Places to Go in 2024—find more travel inspiration here.
Unlike the sky-scraping peaks of the Accursed Mountains, the sprawling walls of Prizren Fortress, and the generous hearts of everyone I met in Kosovo, the country’s national museum is comically small. It devotes one floor to Illyrian- and Roman-era archaeological finds; then upstairs, past the world’s largest staple mosaic (depicting Mother Teresa), it skips ahead to 1999. Mementos of the young nation sparsely populate the second floor—the declaration of independence; sheet music from the contest to create the national anthem—with the country's devotion to US politicians who helped end the war manifesting in some odd items, like the unremarkable Columbia rain jacket of former US Ambassador William Walker, who headed the Kosovo Verification Mission. In the aftermath of Yugoslavia's breakup, Kosovo's ethnic Albanian population was subjected to brutal, widespread, and unceasing violence by Serbian forces—until a NATO bombing campaign led by the United States in 1999 paved the way for independence.
25 years after the War, as Kosovo’s nationhood remains fragile and Serbia has not recognized it as an independent state, travelers get the unique privilege of helping to preserve the millenia-old culture that Kosovars almost lost. The tiny country, wedged into the center of the Balkan Peninsula, deserves to be known for its cascading mountain waterfalls, warm heritage, snaking bazaars, and stunning sunsets over mosque-studded cities—just a few of the many highlights of visiting for a trip of cultural and outdoor adventures.
More than 90 percent of Kosovars are ethnically Albanian, and most are Muslim—as becomes clear looking out from the fortress above the city of Prizren, over a skyline dotted with some 40 minarets. On a recent visit, the 15-minute walk here, straight uphill from the city center, brought me to a tangle of 1,000-year-old stone walls overlooking the city, where I watched on as the sinking sun lit the snow-capped Sharr Mountains in orange ombré. Home to 170,000 people, Prizren is considered the country’s cultural hub: picturesque bridges cross the eponymous river, and a warren of cobblestone paths squiggle out of the central plaza.
Down an alley, the Kukli Mehmet Bey Mosque and the Halveti Tekke, a 350-year-old center for Sufi dervish ceremonies, sits across from an 18th-century nobleman’s house with a stilt-raised Ottoman living room. I was admiring the elegant, centuries-old buildings, with their wood-framed windows and adobe-tiled roofs from the fountain courtyard, at an hour too early to enter when a man popped out of the house and invited me in for tea. He showed me pictures of his family, who had lived there for many generations—we communicated in sparsely shared words and smiles until he unlocked the mosque and tekke, inviting me to stand alone in the quiet beauty of the holy rooms. Traveling in Kosovo is a masterclass in the art of hospitality; any tiny interaction unravels into hearty welcomes and long conversations, no mutual language required.
It’s a lesson I learned over and over, including later that same day in Gjakova. The town’s Old Bazaar is a kilometer-long pedestrian street paved with stone and lined with Ottoman-style wooden storefronts under adobe tile roofs. The Grand Bazaar and its more than 500 buildings, once the largest in southeastern Europe, dates back to at least the 16th century. But like so many of Kosovo’s cultural treasures, it was destroyed in the war.
The buildings represent a physical symbol of the spirit and culture that couldn’t be crushed. In the one-time center of tailors, silk workers, and tanners, I wandered into one of the remaining workshops. Woodworker Ruzhdi Qarri’s handcrafted, brightly painted djepa (cradles) almost made me wish for a third child, just to have a reason to purchase one. Though he spoke no English and my Albanian barely gets me through a lunch menu, Qarri showed off his work and credentials from representing his country and his craft at international events. I left with a few spoons, a carved flute for each of my children, and a completely clarified understanding of the importance of rebuilding such places.
A smaller Ottoman bazaar flows through Peja, the jagged peaks of the Accursed Mountains as its dramatic backdrop. The peaks, along with nearby Rugova Canyon, one of Europe’s longest and deepest, put the town on the leading edge of Kosovo’s fledgling adventure travel industry. From Peja, outfitters guide visitors rock-climbing up cliffs, spelunking down into caves, and traversing the gorge by via ferrata or zipline. Lush, green mountains and sprawling bucolic panoramas make this a destination for hiking, mountain biking, and paragliding. Multi-day trips embark or pass through by bike and foot, with many eventually leading across the border into neighboring countries along the Peaks of the Balkans, Via Dinarica, and new Trans-Dinarica routes. Along the way, guesthouses quarter hungry hikers, feeding them hearty homemade feasts laden with the region’s renowned, traditionally made cheeses.
With my six- and eight-year-old forcing me to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, my adventure was limited to locating the Saturday market in Peja selling those cheeses, on a small square just west of Muharrem Pasha Street, south of the main bazaar. The butter and cheesemaking traditions still practiced in tiny villages here go back more than a thousand years. I accepted many samples from tall wooden barrels filled with the fragrant fare, and after tasting one creamy and complex love child of feta and stracciatella, decided I needed more than just a sample. The woman scooped a chunk the size I had mimed, waving away my money. Someone nearby translated: it was so little, she wouldn’t bother charging me.
In Kosovo's capital, Prishtina, I spent the saved money on a cup of gelato while wandering down Bulevardi Nënë Tereza. Stalls selling books and cafes spilling tables and chairs onto the street line the broad pedestrian path where families strolled, couples canoodled, and friends gossiped. My children copied the local kids by using the bottom of one of the many statues as a slide. The street ends at Bulevardi Xhorxh Bush, one of many named after American leaders pivotal to the war and independence era—“xh” in Albanian is pronounced like the soft ‘g’ in George. Around the corner sits the Newborn Monument, a 250-ton, 10-foot-tall sculpture that spells out the word “Newborn” as an ode to the country’s young independence; it gets an annual makeover, and this year it features Seven Skies, a series of European skylines celebrating the latest chapter in Kosovo’s slow journey to international recognition of its independence: each from a country Kosovars can now visit freely, thanks to recently lifted E.U. visa restrictions.
Twenty-five years ago, a peace accord between NATO and the Yugoslav government ended the violent war in Kosovo. Today, restaurants and bazaars, mosques and museums throughout the country share pieces of a culture that so many people lost their lives to preserve—in a way, that looks like Ruzhdi Qarri’s cradles, and tastes like the high alpine Sharri butter I spread on my bread in Prishtina.
Where to eat in Kosovo
The old-style stone house and colorful uniform worn by servers stay just a step away from costume-y, mostly because they accompany such excellent versions of traditional food, including the layered pancake dish, flija, the soul-warming lamb casserole tavë Prizreni.
Much of Kosovo’s food is either homey and local or fancy and foreign, but chef Florina Skeja shows the best of both worlds, celebrating Kosovo's culinary traditions with ingredients straight from the farm (sometimes her own farm). The space is small and casual, the service warm, and the seasonal tasting menu is about the best way to feast on Kosovo’s finest ingredients, from the first glass of house-made myrtle brandy to the last bite of Cornelian cherry puree over frozen clotted cream.
Burektore Bleta, Peja
This simple shop has almost no signpost, just letters in the window identifying it as a burek (layered pastry) shop. But a chef friend called it the “best burek in Kosovo,” and my meal there confirmed it—as do the crowds, which require packing patience as the family operation takes a little time to deliver.
Qebaptore Buqja, Peja
The crowded grill tips off passersby that this kebab shop has plenty of business, and deservedly so. A multitude of meat options, in patties, sausages, chops, and slices, fill the fresh case, and each one comes with a stack of fluffy, freshly baked bread, round and chewy. Sharp salads and spicy peppers round out the offerings at this quick, casual place.
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Where to stay in Kosovo
In a quiet suburb of Prishtina, this attractive hotel features a sparkling pool and a rare model of cross-cultural camaraderie: it is staffed by a mix of Albanian, Serbian, and Roma employees. Pops of color from traditional local textiles elegantly interrupt the stylish minimalism of the terrazzo walls and floors, with plenty of bare wood touches. Similar works, by local craftspeople, are available in the gift shop. (Doubles from $85)
Get a taste of the nearby nature at this sleek modern stay just outside Peja, where the balconies open up to the White Drin Waterfall from which it takes its name. Walking paths over and under it leave from just behind the restaurant, where the glass wall and sprawling patio both offer excellent views for diners digging into the local trout. Polished service and higher-end touches make it a favorite of visitors from the diaspora. (Doubles from $80)
All products featured on Condé Nast Traveler are independently selected by our editors. However, when you buy something through our retail links, we may earn an affiliate commission.
Edited by Shannon McMahon
