Europe has its fair share of those little tiddler states – you know the ones, territories like San Marino, Monaco and Liechtenstein which, if you cut a decent pace, you can walk across in a day.

Vatican City is the tiniest of the bunch. You can stride from one end of this theocratic state to the other in the time it takes to mumble two Hail Marys. In addition to those well known microstates, there are places like the Faroes, the Åland Islands and the Bailiwick of Guernsey which function to all intents and purposes as independent states while retaining a nominal political link to another entity. Then there are the places that aspire towards independence, but whose secessionist aspirations have not yet been internationally recognised: Abkhazia, Transdniestr and – certainly one to watch in the weeks ahead – Kosovo.

Oddest of the bunch is surely Sealand, an upstart self-styled principality on an abandoned sea fort in the North Sea. No-one really takes Sealand seriously, except for the retired British army officer who ‘occupied’ this unprepossessing lump of concrete in 1967. He and his family (all now royals of course) really assert Sealand’s right to independence, and in this fortieth anniversary year of Sealand life, devoted (or gullible) fans of Europe’s quirkiest polity can purchase souvenir mugs and T-shirts.

Last year life on the offshore statelet took a turn for the worse when a fire in a generator room destroyed what few home comforts Sealand ever possessed. Unsurprisingly, the Sealand Royal Family are minded to quit and return to the English mainland. So Sealand is up for sale. If you have 750 million euros to spare, now is the chance to splash out and buy your own (presumably slightly singed) statelet.

This is the six in a series of fortnightly blog posts by the editors of hidden europe.

Photo by Bekim B

For many, Kosovo conjures up memories of violent ethnic cleansing. And yes, Kosovo has its share of burned-out houses, international troops toting semi-automatic weapons, and countless cemeteries lining the roads. Despite this, Prizren, a town in southwestern Kosovo, is perfectly safe for visitors.

Strolling along the Bistrica in Prizren’s charming town center, you’ll feel the buzz of the energy coming from the young crowds on the street. 65% of the Kosovar population is under the age of 30. From the main square, look towards the top of the hill above the town for the ruins of the old fortress wall and below that closer to town, you’ll see the neighborhood of houses burned in the 2004 riots. Those riots drove out what remained of the Serbian community in this part of Kosovo, and none of the ‘hood has been repaired. The neighborhood stands today as an ominous reminder of the town’s recent instability.

For more vivid accounts, try socializing with Prizren inhabitants. Ask a young Kosovar about the inspiration behind graffiti all throughout town (and Kosovo) that read “Jo Negociata” (No negotiation) and “12:44. Time’s up. UNMIK go home.” Or strike up a conversation with a friendly German KFOR soldier to gain perspective about the international military and human rights presence in Prizren and Prishtina today.

We highly recommend a field trip to Prizren for a most valuable lesson in recent history.

Wandering Cheapo Sunnia Ko is a wanderer at heart and primarily supports this habit as a teacher at Plovdiv University in Bulgaria. She is currently on a cross-Balkan trek from Plovdiv to Sibenik, Croatia, where she hopes to find the Adriatic as splendid and turquoise as she remembers it to be.