Weaving through a makeshift chicane, easing off the accelerator momentarily, we pass the raised bar of the first checkpoint. It appears unmanned, but there is a sense that someone is watching.
Yet this is not a war zone, at least not today, but the approach to Visoki Dečani Monastery in Kosovo, a Unesco World Heritage Site, listed in 2021 as one of Europe’s most endangered heritage sites. It has also been on Unesco’s List of World Heritage in Danger for almost 20 years.
Since the war in 1999, this 14th-century Serbian Orthodox monastery has been guarded by Nato peacekeepers. Signs warn us not to take photos. Camouflaged soldiers and vehicles patrol the banks of the River Bistrica, the surrounding foothills of the so-called “Accursed Mountains”. The perimeter is crowned with barbed wire.
At the gate, Nato soldiers inspect our documentation. We enter through a narrow arch to be greeted by a young monk. There is a 20-strong brotherhood here, and for the weekend, their home is our home.
Before us stands the monastery, a mix of Gothic and Byzantine styles. Most of its original frescoes are intact.
“Without people, this is just a monument,” says Father Sava, the abbot at Visoki Dečani.
They produce candles here and cheese, while tending the surrounding land and orchards. Self-sufficiency is the aim – the wine comes from their own vineyards. The church economy provides much-needed employment for locals.
Substantially reduced by empire and communism, the monastery has been threatened by the refusal to implement a court ruling granting it 24 hectares of land. It needed that land to keep going. Eventually the Kosovo government backed down.
After 700 years of often turbulent history, the monks of Visoki Dečani have taken on a strong symbolic resonance. The feast day of the monastery’s patron saint, Holy King Stefan of Dečani, on November 24, is attended by thousands. Coachloads of pilgrims observe the liturgy, light candles and buy souvenirs.
Where Kosovo’s status is concerned, Father Sava insists that any solutions must be focused on people, not territories. “Too many people identify as belonging to a community as opposed to humanity,” he says remorsefully.
A proposed land swap between Serbia and Kosovo became a big issue during Donald Trump’s first term, leading Father Sava to ponder, in jest or not, what kind of land deal might appeal to this most transactional of presidents.
At the same time, he recognises the need to explore new ways to reach out to young people. The monks are no longer required to make a journey on foot to Constantinople in order to discuss matters of the church, as had been the case during the Ottoman empire. His long-standing nickname, Cyber-monk, arises from his embrace of social media. Communicating the inner life of the monastery builds connections beyond the faithful.
On the rear window of a passing 4×4 is a flag of the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA), the force that fought against the Serbians. Several of the KLA’s former leaders are on trial for war crimes and crimes against humanity at the Kosovo Specialist Chambers in The Hague. Albanian nationalist songs blare out from the stereo. It is a daily provocation – the monks try to ignore it.
In A Time to Keep Silence, in which he described his stays in monasteries across Europe, Patrick Leigh Fermor described the “nineteen hours a day of absolute and god-like freedom” that made up the monastic daily routine. For the monks of Visoki Dečani, there is no such luxury. Contemporary reality dictates that they can’t afford to keep silent.
Ian Bancroft is a writer and diplomat based in the former Yugoslavia
