VANESSA HERRICK

MEETING SPIDERMAN IN MITROVICA

PRISTINA, KOSOVO | [EDITOR'S NOTE: Vanessa Herrick is a new contributor to the Log Cabin Chronicles. A Canadian, she's now based in Pristina, Kosovo, which just became independent of Serbia, much to the Serbs' anger. Look for some good stuff from Vanessa coming out of this potential international powder keg. These informal report will give a glimpse of what life there looks like to hard-working North American reporter who is a Stranger in a Strange Land...]

MITROVICA, KOSOVO | I went north on Wednesday, towards Serbia.

Got out of Pristina, out of the capital city, with her lovely cafes, great shoes, and exhausting heat.

We drove in a military vehicle one hour north, close to the border of Serbia. To Mitrovica where all the riots and violence happened in February, and since, where everyone is waiting for it to erupt again

And no one will be surprised if and when it does.

Mitrovica is half Serb, half Albanian.

Today, after three weeks amongst Albanians where North Americans are revered as heroes, I visited the other side .

I was clearly much less welcome.

I've said it before, but it bears repeating, especially in Mitrovica -- these are tired, weary people and they trust no one.

Not terrible surprising really, considering that not too many years ago they were all neighbors and then they burnt one another's houses, killed each other's sons, and raped the women left standing.)

Mitrovica is much less wealthy than Pristina. It reminds me of Bolivia, an odd mix of half-finished buildings and lively bustling sidewalks.

Bolivia however, for all it's madness, was free of tanks full of French troops, and there were no convoys of American jeeps...

and the guns...the guns in Kosovo outside of the city...guns everywhere. I have never seen so many guns.

We got to the bridge that separates the Serbs from the Albanians and I hopped out with my camera.

Started shooting photographs and (of course) yells of protest began when the lens strayed over to where the troops manning the bridge were. I smiled, tilted my head, shrugged, and took some harmless shots of the river. When we got to the other side, I (with my translator) asked around, how did people feel? What did they think was going to happen? How did they feel about the UN leaving and the EU coming in.

I was thoroughly disheartened by the end of the afternoon.

"There is no life with Albanians."

That was the sentiment. Said many different ways, in many different words. But no dice. No hope.

The Serbs are furious. They feel judged and abandoned by the world, they are supported by no one but Serbia and they are not wavering.

They have very little to lose.

Very little.

I have never felt so utterly despised in my life. The glares, the hatred in their eyes. When I spoke English to our Serb translator they tensed. If I asked about NATO, they laughed in my face -- what should we care of NATO? What does NATO care of us?

It was horrible, and the only reason I did not just leave, was that I understood.

Of course they hate me.

I cruise in for three hours, ask a bunch of inane questions, take some photos with a camera they will never be able to afford, jump back into the huge truck that brought me, and go back to Pristina, to my fancy computer, my iPod, and my soft sheets.

But I thought I got it, I really did. As we all do, until something happens and you realize you have no idea what is really at play.

I met a little boy, maybe six years old, on the street. He was wearing his Spider Man pyjamas and came roaring up to me. I was charmed, laughed and motioned that i would like to take his photo.

His father panicked, grabbed his son, spoke to him and shoved him away.

I was stunned, I just though the kid was cute.

I walked away, and was a bit confused until the little super hero came running out of his house...in a mask.

Then I was permitted to take his photo.

His father was worried for his safety -- my camera, my photos were dangerous to his son.

It was a watershed moment.