Recently my husband and I traveled to Albania, his country of origin, for two and a half weeks. While there, I started a diary noting my impressions and thoughts as I experienced the country. This blog is the result of that effort.
I'm a city girl through and through, most people know this about me. I dont mind hearing cars whizzing by out the window, or my neighbor's shower turn on, planes overhead, or...almost anything really. In fact, it kinda lets me know that others are alive and kicking and I'm not really alone in this world.
Last year on our honeymoon in Costa Rica, Dritan and I were driving down a village road when we saw a blockage up ahead. I instinctively slowed down to a craw, but I eventually had to stop the car and let an entire herd of cows pass by us completely, but not before I pulled out our video camera to get a shot of the craziness (read: city girl getting up close and personal with the cows). I was so enthralled with the idea of sharing the road with the livestock, I couldnt help but laugh the entire time.
Costa Rica
As the title to this post suggests, we encountered many random cows in our travels through out Albania. Dritan was a little mortified at my fascination witht this phenomenon, especially as he felt it a bit insulting somehow. I assured him that it was merely a city girl's fascination, and not a commentary on his homeland.
Without further adieu, here are the random cows.
So these dont seem so random, but if you could see an aerial view of where we are - we're actually in the center of Tirana! The man-made-lake I mentioned in another post has a paved road all the way around it, and the area serves as sort of a "Central Park" for the city. Dont ask me how the farmer got his cows into that area in the first place, it's surrounded by densely populated neighborhoods, actually much like NYC. Imagine seeing livestock in Central Park?
Villager herding his cows
Cow Crossing!
This guy was also in the city - just chillin' on the side of the road. I didnt learn until later on that the shop in the background is actually a butcher shop. :(
These cows were moseying down the street. I suppose they dont really count as "random" cows, since they clearly belong to someone. But it was totally random to encounter them on the street. Well, for a city girl it is, anyway. The villagers didnt seem quite so fascinated...
By far, the pictures below are my favorite cow pictures. This guy was *truly* random. He had no tags or branding on his backside, indicating he was not domestic. And as you can clearly see, we were driving in a city. Not a village, not a town, but an actual, honest-to-goodness city. We round the corner and here's this cow hanging out of the sidewalk, grabbing a snack. I dont know how I actually got these pictures, I was laughing so hard. Of course, by this time, Dritan was so not amused by my cow-pictures that he actually sped up a litte in hopes that I would miss the opportunity.
Mmmm, Yum!
Stop staring at me!
These last two pictures I took, even though you cant see the cows very clearly, to demonstrate the difficulty of driving in the south. At any given moment in time, there could be livestock in the road, and if you're coming around a blind corner with a cliff to one side, in slippery conditions, it's kind of a scary prospect.
I have a few more, but in deference to my husband, I'll stop now.
Ok, everyone has been asking for pictures, and I have to admit, I've been avoiding it. Aside from actually being quite busy this week, I had over 600 pictures to go through....I narrowed it down to the top 50 or so pictures that will give a good overview of our trip.
I have to give a disclaimer - we were not tourists on this trip. This was entirely a "homecoming." As such, many of the pictures are not typical "sights," they are pictures that give an idea of Albanian culture and country. Some are quite beautiful, others quite plain. I hope you enjoy them!
The slideshow immediately below goes quite fast, so you can click on the link/picture at the bottom to be taken to an album to peruse at your own pace.
Scroll over the bottom of the slideshow to show controls.
Link to the album on the web to browse at your own speed (as well as the other pictures in this blog):
This is where I get to pause to talk about driving in Albania.Or, what I like to refer to a mixture of Frogger and Chicken.Driving in Albania is…adventurous, to say the least.Traffic in the cities is terrible, highways are more open, but scary.The cars are mostly small, and in various states of disrepair (though carefully-maintained and clean) as most of them are quite old. Only the very-rich have nicer transportation, I could probably count the number of new vehicles we saw.As I stated before, not everyone has a car, but in a city with almost 700,000 people and very small streets, it can get crazy if even half of those people have a car.
I let my husband do all the driving as he’s more experienced in international driving habits.There are no lane markers, and where may be some faint lines on the road, Albanians use them as merely a suggestion.If a road is wide enough for three lanes, there’s always one in either direction (though not straight lanes as cars often drive staggered in order to pass or turn at any given moment), and the third one is utilized as a passing lane for *both* sides.So, at any given moment, you could be playing Chicken with oncoming traffic.Even in a “driving” lane, a car might stop traffic by remaining perpendicular to it until they can make the turn they want to – which could be a while, since traffic going in the opposite direction generally doesn’t let people through unless they have to.There’s no right of way, no yielding (I think Albanians think it a show of weakness), even the red lights aren’t really red, unless there’s a police officer around, which was of course rarely, many times there is no signaling when changing lanes or turning. I came so close to so many cars during our time there, I could have kissed the other passengers as we passed by each other.
Ah, but that’s not all!Remember all those people without cars? They are walking the streets of Tirana, with nary a thought to their own or their children’s safety.Driving in a large traffic circle (rotary/roundabout), I was amazed at the number of people that would walk in between cars, without a clear path to the other side, while traffic was merely backed up for a moment-no lights or walk signals-they just started across, and quite often had to either wait in the middle of the road for an opening or jog the rest of the way across. (Frogger, anyone?) Let me explain the jogging pedestrians here for a moment.Remember how aggressive I mentioned drivers are?They drive quite fast for residential roads too.So, if a pedestrian is crossing the road, and a vehicle is bearing down on them (clearly with not enough time for the pedestrian to get out of the way), the car merely beeps at them to warn them of their impending doom should they choose not to finish pick up their pace.The lesson here is that if you’re crossing a Tirana street, and you hear a beep, don’t look, just start running. I had this happen once or twice myself. I have to say, Albanians are quite brave!
So we decided to go to the south of Albania for a few days-almost a week.I wasn’t really sure what to expect from this trip, but all the conversations leading up to it included “Shum e Bukur” (very beautiful), so I was looking forward to it.
Driving in the south was adventurous, but that was mostly because of the roads themselves, though the drivers were quite aggressive still.We traveled on curvy mountain roads, with vertical cliffs off one side, and the potential for rockslides on the other.Did I mention that at any point, you could come around a curve and find livestock crossing the road?I’ve even given our trip a name in honor of this phenomenon: Albania. Land of Random Cows.[link to pictures]Additionally, the lack of infrastructure in the country means the roads are not very well maintained, or more frequently, just being built.This means that in some places we were driving on new pavement (no lines), and in others, dirt roads with potholes.Before we left, I kept hearing “The road (notice the singular noun there, there’s no “roads,” it’s just one road to the south) to the south is good now.”I should qualify here that “good” is a relative term.
I have to give my husband credit; he did an amazing job driving.Though I know it probably killed him inside (Curves! Hills! Fun!) I felt quite safe with him at the wheel despite the vertical drop of thousands of feet to my right at any given moment.The views from the mountains were amazing as well.We stopped several times just to stand in awe for a few minutes.The drive along the coast was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen.I understand now the “Shum e bukur” the Albanians were talking about.
We stopped in several cities – Fier, Vlore (ever been to the restaurant on Boylston Street?) Sarande, Gjirokastra (the city itself is a museum city, this site had some amazing photos of the town), and even sailed to the Greek island Corfu (I’m writing this on the ship trip back to Sarande).In Fier, we stopped at the ruins of Appollonia, a 700 hectare archeological site that was built in antiquity and was only recently uncovered in the early 20th century.Our guide, an archeologist himself, showed us ruins that were thousands of years old; his English was quite good considering he was quite drunk (they don’t get many visitors in the off-season, certainly not foreign visitors, and there’s a restaurant built on-site).
I have to say, the South was one of my most favorite parts of the trip - the scenery is amazing, the small villages are unique, and the sea is...serene. I cant wait to go back, frankly. I could bore you with a long post about how wonderful and beautiful the south is, but I figure since a picture is worth a thousand words and is much easier to post, I'll just leave you with some pictures:
So we met up with Dritan’s cousin, Migena, for lunch on Friday (1/10/10).She wanted to practice her English (Anglisht) with me, but like most other Albanians, was quite embarrassed about her speaking abilities.Her Anglisht was quite fine (like most other Albanians), and she could speak in simple sentences and ideas.She asked me what words I learned in Albanian.I told her that I learned the most important phrase for me: “Me Fal.Nuk Flas Shqip. Flas Anglisht.” (“I’m sorry.I don’t speak Albanian. I speak English.” Complete with bewildered look).Migena got a call just then, and when she was through she asked us if we wanted to go a new club that was opening that night.Her friend knew the manager and could get us in.“Sure.” We said.I had researched nightlife in Tirana, but the reviews were a bit older, and I wasn’t sure I could even find the places if I tried.This invitation was one I was happy to accept.
Migena’s friend picked us up around and we met the rest of the group at a nice little coffee house.Most of them spoke some level of English, except one guy.(During the night, every so often, he would look at Dritan and say “Translate, translate!” for me. I thought it was very sweet.) The usual questions ensued “How do you find Tirana? What do you like about it? Does anyone in the U.S. even know where Albania is?” (OK, they didn’t phrase it quite like that, but they did have a good laugh after I told them that sometimes my family still asks me “Where’s Albania?”)Migena’s friends were quite welcoming and friendly, this I could tell even if they hadn’t tried to speak English with me every so often.
We ordered coffee, a Macchiato with extra sugar for me, another one for Dritan.Truly, it’s the only thing I know how to order, so it’s the only thing I get.I’ve learned to appreciate the mixing of the foam, the waiting to drink until it cools, the slow way you sip it while chatting with friends, the teeeeny tiny handles…anyway, it was fun conversation and I could tell it was going to be a good night.
Finally with my drink!
“Matis” had larger than life black and white pictures of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe on the wall as we walked in.There was modern décor, and it was not quite full yet, but the crowd was energetic. We walked towards the DJ stand and found a table.I saw someone drinking what I thought might be Prosecco, so I ordered one.No dice.“Any white wine is fine.” Oh, but no, they aren’t serving wine.Just beer and cocktails.Ok, how about a Stoli Raz and Sprite then?Dritan didn’t know how to translate that (Albania doesn’t have raspberries).I looked at Migena and said “I’ll have what she’s having!” Finally, I got a drink.
It was too loud to talk, so we stood around for a few minutes while a couple people smoked.That’s another thing about Tirana (Well, Europe in general), they allow smoking indoors in basically all places.By the end of the night our clothes would be quite stinky.I drank some since I don’t smoke, but I noticed I was outpacing my Albanian counterparts by quite a bit, so I slowed down.Dritan said to me “I noticed they don’t drink as much here.” And as I looked around, it was quite true.Everyone had a drink, but there was no rush to down it.Over the course of the night, maybe 5 hours total, we each had four drinks – the last two both went unfinished. They told us this was typical for the people in their city.It’s not that people don’t drink, it’s just that the cost of drinks compared with salaries is quite expensive.
We danced in our little corner, each of us having different favorite songs.It was clear this DJ was a crowd pleaser, as every few songs a cheer went through the crowd when a popular song came on.I was quite surprised at how many American songs were played – Madonna "Holiday," Technotronic "Pump up the Jam," Fatman Scoop "Put your hands up," Jay Z, Eminem & Rhianna, I even heard a techno mix of Bon Jovi (I was simultaneously impressed and appalled at that one)!Overall, it was not much different from a modern American bar with a little dancing thrown in.The people-watching was fun, especially watching my husband get down.I think he was a dancer in a past life. J
Do the funky chicken!! ... No? Um...ok.
I even came home with a new favorite song:
We went from that bar to an Albanian karaoke bar – Magic 4.My, how the Albanians love their karaoke!They had six our huge screens with the lyrics, so being a good sport, I tried to sing along with the music.I’m glad nobody could hear me!The Albanians on stage, however, were belting it out like Whitney Houston in her best days.The crowd was singing along with gusto as well.At one point, Migena and a couple friends of hers grabbed my hand and started dancing around the table in a traditional Albanian style.Migena is a good dancer, and it’s clear she enjoys having a good time..
Eventually, however, the strobe lights directly overhead became a bit much for me (not to mention the sound system wasn’t calibrated correctly, so if someone moved in front of a speaker, there was high-pitched feedback) and I’m afraid I came across rude when I checked Migena’s phone twice within twenty minutes.Gracefully, Migena told me “I’m tired, we should go soon.” We finished what we would of our drinks and headed for the door, the karaoke still going strong.I asked “What time to the bars close around here?”She shrugged. “Whenever the people leave.”Hmmm, what a concept.Boston should be more like that.Overall, it was great fun and Migena was a great host for us – I’m so thankful she took us out that night.
My favorite subject – food!Food in Albania is…wonderful.
As I mentioned in the “Visit” post, for the first five days, we were met with some of the most wonderful-tasting food I’ve ever sampled.At every meal, there’s salad (lettuce with oil, salt and vinegar of balsamic), cucumbers and tomatoes with oil and feta, some sort of cheese, maybe a feta or a parmesan or a ricotta (with spices or olives), possibly a sour cream with oil and spices, bread, plus soup, and that’s just to start.For the main meal there are usually vegetables, and a meat (cooked to within an inch of its life.Seriously, I don’t know why, but Albanians like dry meat! Well-seasoned, but not one bit of juice left in), sometimes a fish (eyes staring back at you and all), byrek (phyllo dough with cheese or spinach or onion or ham inside) and maybe something else that the host likes to cook.
After, there’s always an Italian dessert (sometimes two kinds!) and of course, fruit.My mother-in-law always said to me “The fruits in Albania are all organic, and they are much fresher than here [in the US].”I believed her, but thought there was quite a bit of nostalgia mixed into that statement.Turns out, it was completely true!
Does this sound like a lot of food to you? Yeah, me too. I was stuffed to the gills at each visit.(Weight Watchers? What’s that?)Albanians take it as a personal insult if you don’t eat their food, even if you say “No, Thank You” several times.Five minutes later, they’re offering it to you again.The matriarchs of the family would pile food onto your plate, encouraging you to try this dish or that one.Woe to you if they saw it empty at any point – they would simply reach over and pile on more.The men were no better, they would admonish you to eat like it was your duty to their country.I looked helplessly towards my husband several times, only to discover he was engrossed in conversation and of no help (thank you, honey!).I would meekly say “Faleminderit” and eye the food on my plate, wondering what the point value of byrek was.9? ...12? That’s more than half my calories for one day in one slice... For survival, I quickly learned another word, “mjaft,” which is “enough”. Of course, these meals lasted four or five hours, so it wasn’t quite as bad as it seems…but still, 12 hours a day of eating? I always thought that would be heaven for me.Turns out, it’s only good for a few days…
One thing I noticed in particular was the lack of diversity in food when eating out – are were no Mexican or Indian or Ethiopian or French restaurants (ok, I saw like two Chinese food restaurants).Moreover, the menus everywhere are the same; some restaurants might have specialties or a slightly different version of a dish, but I was the only one looking at a menu to decide what I wanted-the Albanians all knew before they walked in the door what they were going to order.By the third restaurant, I had this figured out, but I still liked to look.Most things were quite familiar, just seasoned or served differently.Probably the most “different” food I encountered was the different parts of the cow-tongue, intestines, brain, etc.But that wasn’t even that frequent, just not unusual.There was always lots of seafood, risotto, pasta (penne, spaghetti, or linguine) or “pica” (pizza).I noted quickly that Albanians love fish - bones, skin, eyes and all, and I…well, I like my fish skinned, square and de-boned, thankyouverymuch.
Traditional Albanian dishes - the look funky, but taste delicious!
It sounds like a lot things were “off” or not tasty/familiar when I write it all out like this, or show the picture like the one above. But that’s not the case at all – Albanian food is quite tasty and familiar.At least, the stuff I was served was quite good (the dish pictured above was delish - eggplant, a ground beef, spices, oils, tomatoes and cheese..There was *always* something at the table that I loved, and quite often I would take just a bit of every dish (that’s the foodie inside me!).Most of the ingredients were Mediterranean, just mixed and seasoned in different ways.I keep telling Zamira that I have to sit down with her and cook one day, and I think this trip to Albania has inspired me to do just that.
Mmmm....dessert.... I asked exactly what these were, and Dritan answered "Some sort of dough baked in a sweet sugar glaze." My eyes lit up. I asked him "Seriously, is there anything better than that in this world?" His aunt corrected him at that moment, and he passed her words on to me: "Apparently, it's actually fried dough, dipped and baked in the sweet sugar glaze." My eyes went vacant for a moment absorbing that info..."Mmmm," I said, "I guess there is something better in this world."
We awoke Saturday morning to the sound of voices in the living room.We dressed quickly and went to see – it was already !There was a couple [a relative – please don’t ask me which one.Albanians keep in contact with second and third cousins of their grandparents on a regular basis. I tried to keep track of people at first, but it quickly became an exercise in futility for me.I was happy to have our first “visit” Albanian style.I learned that they had been there for two hours already; it seemed special that these people couldn’t wait to see us that they came over first thing in the morning.At first, there was a bit of translation going, but as the visit wore on, there was not as much.I smiled and looked at the people talking as if I could understand them, trying to be polite. I tried to understand, I really, really did!But the Albanian language is so different from English, that as an outsider, you essentially have to have a teacher to learn it.The visit lasted about ½ hour, so it didn’t seem so bad.Little did I know that this would not be typical visiting for the remainder of our trip.
Each day we would wake up, eat a bit of breakfast (just enough to hold us until the first visit, it made me sad, because Silva, Dritan’s aunt, had made us several jams and marmalades that were delicious.Oh, that I could start the day with bread and jam like that every day!), and start the visits.
They all started in the same way for me:
“Si jene?” *kiss* *kiss* *kiss* *kiss*
“Mire. Shum mire. Si je?” (gripping my hands and arms tightly)
“Mire, shum mire. Faleminderit.”
“Shquiptare?” *looking at Zamira or Dritan*
“Yo. … ” (they or I would answer)
Basically, “Hello, how are you? Good, good, how are you? Good, very good; thank you. Is she Albanian? No, she just knows how to greet people in Albanian. Oh, ok.”I would smile and say “Faleminderit.” (Thank You) as they pronounced their blessings on us.We would remove our shoes and they would give us slippers, we would sit in their living room and chat for a few, and then someone would get up to get us drinks and a sweet.
Let me pause to say - Albanians know how to entertain!Always we had a gold-rimmed wine glass, served on a beautiful silver or gold tray. The drinks varied – sometimes it was a cordial, sometimes it was a special soda or juice (we never chose, they always served us the best of what they had).There was always a sweet – either from a bakery or sometimes homemade.Then there were cookies, on a decorative glass platter.Then fruit, nicely cut up and served in glass bowls, with small dessert plates.If it was a short visit (2-3 hours) this might be it. For a longer visit, there was always a meal.By meal, I mean several hours and courses of food. Dining is a social experience by all standards in Albania.
Once again, I tried to follow the conversation, but my Albanian is quite limited.During these visits, I would try to act engaged in the conversation, and the rare word I do know would clue me in that the subject had changed.My mother in law tried to draw me in a few times by telling stories about her husband, Besnik, or Nexi, their dog, that I would get to tell the punch line (it was always the same), but of course I would have to be translated.Dritan would try to translate in the beginning, but this was also difficult, as sometimes the conversation moved too fast, or sometimes you needed more background to get the joke/funny story, and sometimes he was just too wrapped up in actually visiting.I’m told that they asked questions about me, but usually to my mother-in-law.Dritan told me that she told them I was a “simple” woman - a compliment in their culture (I have to pause here and remember the time, right before our wedding, Zamira said to me “I think a strapless [wedding] dress will look good on you.On the models, the [collar] bones are always sticking out. They don’t stick out on you, you have more flesh there.” I smiled, knowing she meant it as a compliment, thinking about how that sentiment didn’t really translate in American culture.)
The families were quite welcoming and very hospitable (Albania is a *very* hospitable culture) and kind to me.Despite this, the kind of visiting we did was much more difficult than I imagined it to be.I had pictured us going out to coffee or having a simple dinner or lunch with family on most days.Which is what happened, but I was thinking more like 1-2 hours per visit, maybe 3-4 for family, a whole day here or there, with plenty of free time between visits to explore the city or see the sights.I imagined people trying to make conversation with me, despite the language barrier, with the help of Dritan or Zamira to translate.Dritan also mentioned that we wouldn’t have to make all the visits his mother made, and that we could pop in and out at times.We would be here 2.5 weeks, after all –that’s plenty of time to see everyone, right? …RIGHT?
We were more like a strike team, with carefully coordinated daily moves.* Every morning I would ask my husband “What’s on the agenda for today?” And every day he would answer with three or four families that we had to go visit, all coordinated by his mother. These visits would last from 3-8 hours each (usually about 12 hours each day overall). At least, that was the first five days. On the sixth day, we had a day off. By “day off,” I mean, we only visited for 5 hours that day, and had the rest of the day free. In the days after, it slowed down to maybe 6-10 hours or so each day, with either shorter visits with several families or full days with the same people going to different places. Some days, we would be on our way home when suddenly we would take a wrong turn and I would realize we were on our way to another visit.
I have to say, as happy as I was to be doing this for my husband, it was quite isolating at times.Which doesn’t seem so bad, since I’m kind of a loner anyway, but the problem with being a loner is that you really, really need your down time; you need time to decompress, to reenergize, and time to be alone.I’m also a bit Type A, so the fact that I wasn’t in control of my own schedule, and couldn’t take that time alone that I needed, or that the whole schedule for the day could change without notice, was…jarring for me.I would be mentally preparing for one thing, and all of a sudden we would arrive somewhere else and I would be like “Wait, who is this? And what are we doing here? What is expected of me?”I tried my best to learn about each family we visited, to ask a question or two and to show genuine interest, and they didn’t make it difficult to do that in any way (again, very hospitable), but I’ll just say it was an adjustment and a challenge for me.I think I met the challenge well overall.
Learning Albanian
After several visits where the questions and answers were all the same, I began to recognize certain words that were used again and again.I would tap Dritan and repeat a word and ask him what it meant.He was good about translating these words for me, and I picked up several new words this way (and after two weeks, I can now follow a simple conversation in Albanian. I can’t tell you exactly what they’re saying, but I can tell you what subject they’re talking about).After the [copious amounts of] food, when everyone would retire to the living room again, I would pull out my phone and play Sudoku as unobtrusively as I could (which was not very subtle).Every so often, I would look up and follow the people talking for a minute, and when I made eye contact with people, I always smiled.Several people made sympathetic comments about not understanding anything when they traveled as well, or feeling badly that I didn’t understand.I’m just glad they didn’t think I was rude!After 3-4 hours of pretending to understand and acting engaged, and 1-4 more hours of visiting left, what else could I do?
* I have to give my mother-in-law credit here, as apparently there was a careful calculation to these visits - older relatives first [respecting elders is a cultural norm that I rather enjoy about his culture], those with recent deaths in the family take priority, closest family next, anyone you have a reciprocal obligation to (maybe you hosted them or their kids in the U.S. or got them a job or did them a favor of some sort), then friends.Many people got 2 or 3 visits over the course of the time we were there.
Tirana itself is a city in transition.It’s very difficult to describe as an American. Before we left, I had heard so much about how much it had changed in the last few years, how developed it had become, and how Dritan and his family wouldn’t recognize it when they went there.I saw pictures of beautiful landscapes, modern streets and lovely people.Pictures, of course, have a subject matter of the photographers choosing, I quickly learned.Now, I’m no stranger to developing nations or poverty – I’ve traveled a bit, and have seen some extremes.But I truly have no reference point for living in a Communist nation.As my husband explained it to me “They told you where you could live [assigned housing], what you would do for work, whether your kids would go to school, and if they could, what they would study. They took your land and your wages and told you it was all for your benefit.”They chose which cities to develop and how to develop them.I’m told the difference in standard of living between Tirana and the rest of the country was huge. As an American, this is pretty much unfathomable to me.As he was speaking to me, the words “…land of the free…” took on a whole new meaning.
I was asked many times what I thought of Tirana – Albanians are quite plain about the good and bad of their country.I, as a visitor and a new addition to the family, wanted to make a good impression on these people, came up with the only non-answer I could: “I love Tirana!” It’s the truth: It’s my husband’s home city.But the standard of living between the US and Tirana simply does not translate.Infrastructure and public works is taken for granted in the US, even in the poorest of areas.Water, sewer, roads, garbage removal – these are things that the Albanian people do not have systems for in their cities.It’s understandable – The country opened up a short two decades ago, and was affected by the Kosovo war until 1997-ish. The amount of development in just 13 years is phenomenal by any standard.However, with the government being so weak, and with Tirana more than trippling it's population in that time period, the infrastructure is simply overwhelmed.
A rooftop view of Tirana
It was amazing to me that you could be inside an apartment or store and it could look like you were in a showroom for Ikea - fresh and clean, shiny, new and modern. The people themselves, no matter how poor, dressed very well – very coordinated, like-new clothing in mostly modern styles.There were no pajamas or sweatpants to be seen in public, no thongs or boxer shorts, no bra straps or muffin-tops.It doesn’t sound like much, but, 1) when an entire nation of people do something, no matter how small that thing is, it’s noticeable, and 2) it offered a striking contrast to the public façade of the city.You could then step outside of an apartment or store and be assaulted by broken and non-existent sidewalks, run-down buildings, garbage in the streets, diesel fumes and pitiful stray dogs.Truly, it was a city in transition.
The downtown area was teeming with people and was better taken-care of, publicly and privately.In fact, for several blocks, you could really be in any European city – there were bars and cafes, furniture stores, banks, restaurants, clothing and accessory shops (My favorite was the Pasticeri – the bakery!).All relatively developed, and all very lively and friendly.Many of the shop owners spoke [broken] English (plus Italian, some Greek and maybe even a smattering of German).Albanians have an affection for casinos, I learned, and coffee shops.There wasn’t anything particularly tourist-friendly about this area, I noticed; I’m guessing this is because Albania doesn’t have a lot of tourists. Overall though, I wish I was able to spend more time in the downtown area, sampling cafes and restaurants.
We finally landed in Tirana @ Tirana time ( East Coast US) after another 2.5 hour delay in Munich.As we left the secure area, I saw a large crowd of people all peering into the doorway whenever it opened.I knew we didn’t have that many people on our flight, so I was curious as to what they were all doing here at this time of night.And then I remembered that this was protocol in Albania.There were at least 10 people there for my husband and I alone.In fact, my mother-in-law broke the barrier to come greet us before we even had a chance to get all the way to them.Before I describe the emotional scene that followed, let me explain a little bit about exactly what it takes to meet someone at the airport in Albania.First, not everyone has a car.So you have to find a friend or family member that is willing and able to take you.There’s no reliable internet, so you can’t really check to see if the flight is on time.You can call the airport from your landline at home (cell phones are pay as you go and not everyone has one), but they may or may not have the most updated information.There are not many flights into Tirana, so if a flight is going to get bumped, that’s the one.So basically, you go to the airport and you wait.And you hope that the plane hasn’t been bumped for the next day, or is possibly many hours late.And you really hope that the friend that drove you there doesn’t have any other plans.
Even with all that trouble, there were at least 10 people at the airport to greet us.And when I say “greet” I mean the most amazing outpouring of love and excitement I think I’ve ever witnessed.I say ‘witnessed’ but truly I was a part of it.I was kissed and hugged and cried over, rocked to and fro, held onto tightly, sometimes by people I hadn’t even met yet.I even cried some myself, I was so touched.(I think Lifetime channel should install cameras in that terminal and broadcast the greetings as a sort of reality show. I think it would do really well.) I looked over at my husband and saw that emotion I was talking about earlier.There were tears in his eyes and he was choked up.He too was being kissed and held in death grips (of joy!).I was so happy for him at that moment, I was so overwhelmed myself, I could only imagine what he was feeling.It was truly amazing.
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The car ride home was 25 minutes, but it felt like longer as I had my husband leaning over me trying to look out every window at once.The conversation was punctured with Albanian and went a little like this:
“Kristina, Look! That wasn’t there when I left!
…That building wasn’t built!
…That road is new!
…That used to be all fields!
…My grandfather built that building!
This was, of course, what he said to me in English.What everyone else was saying in Albanian, I have no idea.I just tried to look around and take it all in for what it was. Even though I couldn’t understand all of it, I could practically taste the nostalgia in his voice.It was great to see him be excited and feel connected to something; to see the emotion in him.I rubbed his back as he leaned over me once more.
Immediately outside the Munich airport is a train station – I have to say, the Germans are quite efficient with their public transportation.Boston could learn a thing or two about transporting people from Logan to downtown.Dritan and I headed toward the maps of the subway system to figure out how to get to Oktoberfest.Have you ever seen the map of the Munich subway system? All I have to say is “Good luck with that.” The machine to buy tickets isn’t any less confusing – long lines developed while we were there as all the tourists attempted to decipher the words and pictures on the screen in their native tongue.I was surprised that everything was labeled only in German.Munich is a major hub in Europe and their airport is by far the best one on the continent.It was quite ironic to me that the train station just outside was for Germans only. We heard some young men speaking English who seemed to know what they were doing and approached them to ask for help. They were exchange students from the US and had explicit instructions from their German friend on how to navigate to their destination (Oktoberfest like us!)Finally, we made it onto the right train and were headed into the city.
Before Oktoberfest, we stopped at Stachus, the central downtown station and walked around a bit to get something to eat before heading to the festival.I realized one thing very quickly: I was sorely, sorely underdressed.Having just got off an international overnight flight, I was wearing yoga pants, a t-shirt and sneakers, optimal comfort for sleeping in a 3’x5’ cell they call an airplane seat. My husband was in jeans and a collared shirt.I honestly don’t know how he was comfortable at all.I decided that I would show my American side and simply not care.Finally, we were on our way to the festival.
Ahhh, Oktoberfest…the sweet smell of roasted nuts, those heart-shaped cookies, and all the beer you could imagine!My husband and I knew the madness was coming even before we arrived at the festival.The train was PACKED on the way there, barely any standing room.It took us a full seven minutes to de-board and make it up the escalator.I kept seeing these women in traditional Bavarian-style dress – the scoop-neck, tank style dress, with some sort of feminine shirt underneath, hose and coordinating shoes.At first I thought these women must work at the festival (why else would you dress like that?).Except, as I looked around, I realized that every single woman I was seeing was dressed like that.Many of the men were in traditional attire as well – lederhosen, suspenders and some sort of collard shirt.From the very young to the very old, all were festooned in this traditional attire.It was a sight to see.
As we walked out of the train station, the crowd did not relent at all.We were pushed and bumped and swept deeper into the madness.People swirled around us, a mixture of men, women, and children, native and foreign, old and young, in all stages of drunken stupor.The beer halls on either side were impressive in both their size and the amount of noise coming from them in the form of people singing, dancing, talking, and yelling.We walked towards the huge ferris wheel, passing by several other carnival rides on the way.
“Do you want a beer?” I asked Dritan, already knowing the answer.We both looked around at the various choices.
“Nah.” he answered predictably.
And thus is the story of our life.JWe’re quiet observers.Usually it’s “Eh, I’m just not in the mood. I’ve seen it from a distance. That’s good for me.” I have a personal mission to change this particular feature about us.Life is too short, you know? I want to experience what we can while we can.We’ll never be the life of the party types, of course (“Only the good die young…” J).But, well, when I die, I want to look back and say “I did that.I experienced something. I had a good ride.”When I look back at this experience, I’ll say “I can’t believe I was at Munich Oktoberfest and I didn’t drink any beer.”
We get to the airport over two hours early, only to find out our plane is delayed 2.5 hours.This is bad news, as it means we will miss our connection from Munich to Tirana tomorrow morning.
“Don’t worry,” the Lufthansa agent says to us.“There’s a flight every 2-3 hours to Tirana.”
“Really?” said I; this is not what I was expecting to hear.
“Yes, but I cannot book you now.” says the man in the navy coat.“They must do it in Munich.”
“Oh, ok, thank you.” said I, naively.
He smiled. That should have been my first clue.The second clue came from the kayak.com app my husband downloaded onto his iPhone.It said the next Lufthansa flight wasn’t until the next day.I assimilated this information pretty quickly and thought “Cool. A day in Munich!”I looked over at my husband as he refreshed the page, looking expectantly at the screen as if another Lufthansa flight would appear.I realized this must be pretty disappointing for him, and I suddenly felt very bad.I pointed to the Air France flights also listed, which were more frequent.“Maybe they’ll rebook us on one of those flights.” I suggested hopefully.“I don’t think they partner with them.” He said wisely.“We’ll see.” I said.
We called a friend to come get us (thanks Haris!) to grab some food.My last meal in the USA was Ana’s Taqueria.Mmmmm…a good way to go out.
***
We landed in Munich a bit worse for the wear but still with that “traveling abroad” sheen of excitement (Ahem.I mean “traveling home after 15 years and the biggest accomplishment of my husband’s life completed” sheen of excitement).We headed towards the Lufthansa counter to discuss our options, and it turns out the flight was the only one available.Again, I assimilated this change pretty quickly, but I could see my husband’s hopes dashed the minute we were actually booked on that flight. I paused to think for a moment about his perspective.I hadn’t just become a citizen of the United States after a lifetime of struggle to earn it, I hadn’t been waiting 15 years for this trip, and I didn’t have an entire family waiting in a country thousands of miles away that time, distance and culture made it difficult to keep in touch with.I took his hand and told him it was just a few more hours.He put on a brave face for me.
My husband is a good man, and moderates his emotions well.It’s rare to see him express any kind of high or low.Ask him how he feels about something, and he’ll tell you what he thinks about it.I know he feels emotion (I’ve seen him bleed!), but getting them out of him on a day-to-day basis is like playing that Chinese finger socket game.Once you’ve got your fingers in, you can’t pull them out.You pull harder and the resistance is only stronger.Eventually you realize that you’ve got to gently coax your fingers out by twisting and turning them slowly and…voila!I couldn’t help but think that I might actually see him get emotional this trip (the only times I’ve ever seen him get truly emotional is with regard to family), and that it actually might be a bit overwhelming for him.The idea of anything overwhelming my husband emotionally is really difficult to imagine.I decided that I would need to take extra good care of him this trip.
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This guy was also in the city - just chillin' on the side of the road. I didnt learn until later on that the shop in the background is actually a butcher shop. :(.JPG)
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