The season may be over and the credit crisis in full swing but this has not deterred Kosovo’s fledgling government from planning the privatisation of its only major ski resort this year. The large but decrepit Brezovica complex in south Kosovo not only holds huge potential, its success could be crucial to the newly declared country’s future stability.


Covering 230ha and located 1,700m above sea level in the Šar Mountains close to the border with Macedonia, 60km from Pristina International Airport and 70km from Macedonia’s Skopje International Airport, Brezovica is considered by many to be one of the best ski resorts in south-east Europe. 


“For people who enjoy skiing it’s exceptionally good; the slopes are the best in the region,” says a confident Armend Susuri, head of marketing and investor relations at the Privatisation Agency of Kosovo, which aims to put the resort into private hands by the end of 2009. 


Indeed, the north-facing mountains shield 16km of slopes from the sun making for consistent, good-quality snow and a long season of at least 128 days, usually from December until the end of April. Brezovica’s slalom and giant slalom have been registered by the International Ski Federation, and, at full capacity, it can accommodate up to 30,000 skiers, and transport 10,000 per hour on ski lifts. But the current state of the facilities leaves a lot to be desired. 


Brezovica used to be a favourite destination of ex-Yugoslav president, Josip Broz Tito, but there has been little investment since he last put on his skis a generation ago. The hotels are run-down, and only three of the 10 ski lifts currently operate. According to a former senior EU official who has advised the Kosovo government on privatisation, the lifts alone would need around €10m—€15m to bring them up to standard. 


Whether this finance can be raised during the current global financial crisis is questionable. What is not in question is the extent to which Kosovo is desperate for a cash injection. Poverty is rampant, with 45% of the population living on less than €1.42 a day, according to the World Bank, and unemployment of 40%—50%, according to UN estimates. Corruption is also a major problem, with Transparency International rating Kosovo as one of the most corrupt places in the world in its latest Global Corruption Barometer. 


However, the most visible sign of Kosovo’s predicament remains its inability to produce enough energy to keep its lights on. Even in the trendy restaurants of Kosovo’s capital Pristina, it’s common to be plunged into darkness. Intermittent electricity is also a big problem for Brezovica, especially if you are unlucky enough to be riding a chair lift when it cuts out. 


But Brezovica is more than just an ageing tourist attraction with potential. It is often held up as a beacon of hope for a more civilised existence in a land that has seen more than its fair share of troubles, and its success will be crucial to the stability of Kosovo, and possibly the wider Balkan region. 


The resort itself is located in the Štrpce municipality, one of the few enclaves in Kosovo populated mainly by Serbs, who make up around 6% of the whole population. Since the war in 1999 relations with the ethnic Albanians, who account for 90% of Kosovo’s population, have been turbulent, at times erupting into violence. Tensions were raised once again in February 2008 when the ethnic Albanian government declared Kosovo a country in its own right, seceding from Serbia. The move was vehemently condemned in Belgrade, which saw riots following the announcement. Consequentially there has been little positive interaction between the two communities since, which poses a major problem for Kosovo’s new government, and its stated aim of creating a multi-ethnic state. 


Brezovica, however, is an exception. Despite most of the businesses being owned and run by Serbs, and most of the customers being ethnic Albanian, it’s the one place in Kosovo where the two communities have been able to interact witheach other and forget the country’s political tensions. 


“Ninety-nine per cent of our customers are Albanians,” says Sladjan Ilic, former politician and Olympic skier-turned entrepreneur. Ilic currently runs a range of businesses in Brezovica, including a ski school, a radio station, and car inspection service. He says each weekend 3,000—4,000 visitors descend on Brezovica, mainly from Pristina and surrounding areas. “They come here to have fun skiing, and sometimes we even make jokes about political issues. There is no trouble at all.”


Arsene, the 24-year-old manager of six-bedroom Motel Restaurant Mountain in Brezovica, concurs. “In the tourist industry here there are no problems. We all work professionally… It’s very safe here,” he says, although admitting that, while he has some regular Albanian customers, he wouldn’t go so far as to call them friends. “But when Serbs drive here from outside Štrpce they are afraid that if their car breaks down on the way they could be stranded in Albanian territory,” he adds, underlining the mistrust and fear that is commonplace in the rest of Kosovo. 


The reason Brezovica is so different is because both groups share a common interest, in this case business on a ski resort, says Kosovo-Albanian community worker Valdete Idrizi, who was last year awarded an International Women of Courage award from then US secretary of state Condoleezza Rice for her work in bringing the two communities together. 


“When people find common interests they really do not care about political tensions. In Brezovica people see opportunity, they don’t care what language you speak,” said Idrizi, who used to ski regularly at Brezovica until she broke her leg several years ago in an unrelated incident.


Such cooperation is precisely why the upcoming privatisation will be so important, says Shpend Ahmeti, ex-World Bank economist and now executive director of Pristina-based economic think tank GAP. Not only is an injection of capital vital for the harmony of Brezovica, a lack of further economic development could jeopardise the whole peace process, he says. 


“I think the future will lie in economic opportunities both for Serbs and Albanians; unless we have that it’s going to be very difficult to avoid interethnic tensions or promote any cooperation,” says Ahmeti, whose wife owns a villa in Brezovica. “Investment in a place like Štrpce could provide a very good example of how it could be done in the rest of the country.”