Kosovar Soup Nazi

It was dark, it was getting cold, and I could feel the food stress building.

"The first place I see, I am stopping," I said to myself. Prizren had been great, but it was back to the dump known as Prishtina. And my stomach was rumbling. "I don't care what it is, I need to eat."

The first place was called -- are you ready for this? -- NAZI. Nazi!

"NAZI?!" Wasn't this word considered internationally taboo?

I remembered the conversation I had had the night before with my Albanian friend Flamur...

"We had a chance to take all Serbs out of the Balkans, in the Second World War. Look. Germany came into Balkans, they took over all Balkans. We could have fought with them, to take out Serbs, but we didn't. We joined Serbs, and fought Germany..."

Maybe NAZI was an Albanian word, but then again, maybe it wasn't...

It didn't matter. I clearly had to go in there. And I clearly had to order soup.

Kinda looks Albanian, now that I think about it...

"Yes, uhhh, do you have soup?" Whenever I'm speaking English to someone who I assume doesn't know my language, I always think if I just speak slow enough, he will miraculously understand.

Just a stare.

I pointed to the liquid. "Soup."

"Ahh, po, po." Yes, yes. "Goulash."

"Soup, yes." I wanted to call it soup, damnit. Not goulash. Didn't he realize what joke I wanted to make?

Especially because of the shirt he was wearing. Look closely.


"Okay, I have to take a picture now," I said. He tried to move out of the way.

"No, no. You stay."

He didn't know what to do. Smile? Not smile?

I'm glad he went with the latter.

NO GOULASH FOR YOU!