4-5 months of news, but not really

Much has happened since my last update (August was it?). I’ve reached a point where much of what I want to write in this blog is like trying to explain an inside joke. That being said, here’s a blog-

New years is approaching and kids are throwing M-80’s all over the place and the concussive force triggers car alarms. Couple that with multiple nightly death rattles due to a staggering increase in canid on canid violence and you have the auditory offspring of the green zone and a dog fighting ring. I don’t notice it much anymore, but maybe that’s because I’m too cold to notice much else. It’s cold enough in my apartment that when I go outside I’m surprised that it’s that much colder.

The hot water line in my kitchen has sprung multiple leaks so I’ve been doing my dishes with water from the shower over my toilet. I’ve moved into my living room to conserve heat/ energy costs and to avoid smoke from a woodstove operating below my bedroom. My carbon monoxide detector hasn’t gone off so maybe I’m not being poisoned.

Nothing has really changed other than the temperature. The counterpart Peace Corps fixed me with was fired in August or September because she didn’t hold the correct qualifications. This was both a positive and a negative. At times she was supportive of my ideas and at other times it seemed like she was actively working against me. The director and assistant director of the health center are both supportive of my ideas, but because of their other responsibilities I don’t get as much face time with them as I would like.

I have a few side projects brewing with my sitemate. We are working on creating a radio station that will be staffed with college and high school students. We are also trying to start/continue an environmental education club for high school students.

I’ve learned enough of the language that I feel comfortable arguing with people. The only downside is I end up arguing with people while sharing the same opinion. This happens a lot at work. I’ll understand 70% of what someone has said and then throw in a “but…” only to find out I’ve just repeated what they’ve explained. I do a lot of repeating what I think people have said and making up examples to make sure I actually have a clue. In my defense, people at work don’t slow their speech at all. I know I’ve gotten better at reading non verbal clues. There are times when I have no clue what someone has said, but I end up guessing what they’ve said. I probably rely on this skill too much. When this gambit fails I end up looking stupid, but I’ve become so accustomed to guessing wrong and or just not understanding what someone has said that looking stupid is as natural as being cold or showering with pots and pans.

I had thanksgiving with the Marine unit that guards the embassy in Tirana. They were great hosts. I had some American beer (coors light!) and they hooked up a great spread; turkey, glazed ham, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, salad, cranberry sauce and cornbread. Earlier we played a football game against the embassy staff and marines. Needless to say Peace Corps won 6-4. My quarterback rating was around 110 (by calculating it I’m exposing myself as having placed far too great an importance on a game of touch football). In reality I just chucked it up and let the receivers make me look good. It was a muddy sloping field and our defense came up big down the stretch. The nail in the coffin came when you know who connected with on a deep post pattern with dat dude who kept his nerve and made a handsome sliding catch in the end zone. Needless to say off-season training has commenced. A winter mini-camp is planned for February (closed to the public).

Today I went on a walk and ended up in a village speaking to a man taking his three cows and one donkey to a natural spring. He invited me for coffee and so I went to his house where I was given raki, an orange, a chocolate, an apple, two pockets full of walnuts, and an offer to stay for dinner/the night (it was getting dark). This is something I really should do more often. Walk to a village, meet a person, and burden them with feeding/housing me.

His son had stayed in America for three months last summer on a work/travel program and the certificate of completion was on the wall of the living room. The son now works as an English teacher in another village. We might play some pool sometime. Who knows.

Dadada dadada DAS-MA!

The following is a chronology of a weekend I spent going to an Albanian wedding with my host family in their village (Thane). The times are fictional, but the events are real. I will try not to exaggerate the descriptions.

1:30 I get into a Fergon to Tirana (the capital) with my friend and fellow volunteer Erwin. We sit in the back and our conversation quickly dies with the onset of body odor (ours), heat, a lack of moving air, and no water. The drowsiness that followed was intense and I am convinced that sweating this much is unrealistic.

3:45 We fall out of the fergon and buy cold water. Life is worth living again.

4:00 We go to the Kolonat (a fast food chain) because it has air conditioning. We order fries and a soda. You have to pay for ketchup, but it was worth it (Erwin paid).

4:30 After getting directions from Erwin and taking a sink shower in the bathroom I start the 10 minute walk to the fergons going to Elbasan. Erwin gave me directions with the caveat that he isn’t good at giving directions so I asked a security guard and he told me they were on the next street. Huzzah!

4:41 There is only one fergon going to Elbasan and it has no one in it. Fergons only leave when they are full so there is no actual schedule like there is for buses. A courtesy rule exists that if you sit in a fergon then you have to ride with it. If another one pulls up and needs one passenger you can’t switch because i) your first driver would be pissed and ii) the new driver wouldn’t take you because the rule was created by drivers. Initially I walk past the fergon to see if there are other options, but eventually decide to ask when he is leaving. He thinks I asked where he’s going and replies “Elbasan, Come.” I really don’t want to wait because it’s so damn hot and I say, “But you have no people.” He finishes my sentence with me and throws his hands up in the air. I tell him I’m late, didn’t mention the wedding, just that I was late for an unknown event. He runs down the street after telling me “Come Come” and introduces me to a cab driver who will take me to Elbasan for the fergon price. This is a hell of a deal because I get to sit in the front seat of a late model Benz wagon with my own window instead of the back seat of a late model ford van with three windows for twelve heat producing people.

5:10 I’m guessing that I got this deal because the family in the back of the taxi paid the taxi rate and the cab driver is taking me on the cheap for some petty cash. Tirana and Elbasan are separated by some beautiful mountains and I’m barely sweating because my window is rolled down. I see a castle on top of a small peak and am determined to hike to it some day. It’s near a town called Mullet. Things are getting better.

6:00 I am in Elbasan (a city I know relatively well because we had training there). I go to the ATM and get into a fergon heading past my village. I remember this driver. We get stopped by the police (a policeman waved a little red “stop” sign at the driver). The driver goes through the normal rigamarole of getting stopped by Albanian police (whatever that is) and in fifteen minutes we are moving again. At this point I’ve easily sweated through my shirt 4 times today. Each city I’ve arrived in today has been hotter than the previous and that trend continues as I tell the fergon driver to stop right outside my host family’s house. The driver takes off before I get my bag out of his trunk even though he was courteous enough to tell me “don’t forget your bag.” So I run behind him and hit his back window until he stops and I can retrieve my bag. I yell “good road.” At him as he drives away.

6:30 I greet my host family and for the first time I get the handshake, hug and cheek kiss from my host parents. I visit with Rezarta (host mom) over coffee and describe my trip to get there and a little about Peshkopi. She talks generally about life in the village and then tells me that Sali’s sister, who had breast cancer, died a month ago. My host father, Sali, comes home and insists that after I take a shower we go drink a beer at his favorite local. At the local he tells me he drank two glasses of Raki that day. He is a promoter of drinking when it’s hot outside. We talk about Peshkopi, politics, how much we plan on drinking at the wedding (this becomes a running joke for the weekend) and about his sister who passed away. He told me he cried when he found out and that you never know when it will be your turn to die. Today you may be strong and healthy, but tomorrow…dead he said in conjunction with the Albanian hand signal for death (turning a palm up hand palm down). We talked about the day I left for Peshkopi and he said he was sad all day and I told him I was too. Then after the third time my host sister came to the bar to get us we went home to eat dinner.

8:30 Pork chops, grilled peppers, cheese and the best tomatoes I’ve ever eaten. When Sali drinks Raki all day Rezarta gets nervous. To literally translate what Sali kept repeating over dinner, “She has fear because I drink Raki, only a little.” Rezarta would reply, “no john, he drank a lot.” Then Sali would say, “She has fear.” It was pretty funny and the situation wasn’t serious, but this brought up how many beers we planned to drink at the wedding the next day. I started out modestly with 5 and Sali increased my number to 7. Then I made it an even 10. I’m not sure why this was so funny to us, but it was decided that I would drink 42 beers tomorrow.

10:30 After finishing the Dolf Lundgren movie we were watching I go to bed and fall asleep immediately.

2:00 I wake up because it’s so hot. I’ve sweated through my pillow. I have fear that I will never stop sweating. I eventually fall asleep again, around 5am because I can hear the roosters crowing.

8:00 I wake up, again drenched in sweat, with two or three flies on me and drink coffee and raki with my host mom (she has only coffee) and watch the action movie channel with my host brother. My host mom leaves and tells me that my host brother and I will meet them at the wedding at noon.

9:00 I go into Elbasan (largest city in the area) with my host brother because he wants to buy clothes for the wedding. He is looking for white slacks and a pink button down shirt. No one has either so he settles for black pants and a black and purple shirt. We head back to Thane after eating some byrek.

11:00 I start to get ready for the wedding by taking a shower, but when I get out I am told that the wedding will start at 5pm. So I watch some more action movies with my host brother and we both fall asleep on the couch because it’s too hot not to.

3:00 Host parents and sister return and ask why we aren’t ready. We have no excuse and I quickly shower again and get ready. I realize I have no belt and ask my host father if I can borrow one. This act of forgetfulness and the realization that his belt has no chance of fitting me without a new hole being punched 3 inches behind that last one reminds me of every wedding or formal family event I’ve ever been to. I always forget something, a belt, a jacket, socks, shoes. It’s not a big deal because my pants don’t really need one to stay up. As soon as I put pants and a shirt on I’m sweating. New goal in life: to not sweat.

3:30 The five of us pile into the back of a compact car and drive to Cerrik (the town closest to the village). We end up at a bar and begin to drink beers. We stay here chit chatting with other folks who are also going to the wedding for two hours. Everyone asks if I speak Shqip and are impressed when I reply with very basic sentences. My host dad jokes that he taught me Shqip single handedly.

5:30 We arrive, by similar transport, at the wedding. Here I find out that the wedding is actually the next day and that this is a party for the friends and family of the bride. Its like a wedding though in that everyone is dressed nice and doing wedding things: eating, dancing in a circle, carrying on…I am too hot to circle dance and am relieved when no one mentions that I should be doing it (this was surprising to the extent of confusion, but honestly it was pushing mid 90’s in temperature). I was introduced to a beautiful Albanian girl who lives in Italy. Our attempts at conversation were pitiful. She spoke a little English and couldn’t understand my Shqip and I can’t speak Italian. The first thing she said to me was ‘I like America.” When I replied with “I like Albania.” Her face soured and she said she doesn’t like being in Albania. Despite all my best efforts to say the wrong thing and the fact that I was just pouring sweat she decided to exchange facebook names and take a few pictures with me. Luckily the sweat didn’t show up in the photos.

6:00 I meet the groom and bride. The groom speaks English very well (he lives in England and has for ten years). He asks me if I like Albania and when I tell him the usually answer (its beautiful, nice people) he says that’s what all foreigners say, but it’s not always true. Then we have a more honest conversation about what we see as problems in Albania. I ask if he will stay in England to start a family and he says that he thinks so because it’s more stable and there are more opportunities. I tell him that’s what immigrants always say. We laugh a little about this, but I regret saying because most Albanians I’ve talked with don’t see much potential or the opportunity for improvement in their country. I know my host brother plans to work elsewhere and that my host father would go back to Italy if he could. He’s been deported twice and, according to him, if you get deported three times then you can never get an EU visa (although it’s probably hard to get any visa if you’ve been deported twice).

7:30 Surprise, It’s hotter now than it was at noon and now our table is getting direct sunlight. We decide to change tables and after moving to one in the shade the whole table comments about how “fresh” this table is compared to the old table (which I had chosen at random). The party is dying down a little bit and now the young women are taking pictures of each other posing next to a fake deer. “Woodland Glamour Shots” are big here. It’s perfectly normal for girls to get pictures taken of them posing like they are picking fruit and, apparently, leaning on stationary animals.

8:30 We say our goodbyes and finally someone comments on the fact that I didn’t circle dance. This becomes a topic for debate and I stick to my story that it was so hot all I could do was drink beer. This cuts the tension and I promise that I will dance the next day.

9:00 We eat dinner in front of the TV (actually, it was this night we watched the Dolf Lungren movie). Sali and I talk about how many beers we drank and how many we will drink the next day, grossly exaggerating on both counts. My host mom keeps chiming in that we shouldn’t drink that much and we tell her that she drank a lot. Telling Rezarta that she’s drinking too much becomes another joke. She keeps stating that she only had two beers and we reply with astonishment “shume” (a lot). Then we switch back to how much we will inevitably drink at the wedding…8, 13, 19, 35, 50 beers. Again, no idea why this was funny to the three of us, but it could be because we were drinking in the sun for three hours.

3:00 I wake up and my bed is a lake of sweat. I lay on the tile and sleep until five then move back to the bed.

8:00 I wake up hoping for the standard breakfast I used to eat while I lived with the Salufi’s, but as we will be fed enough for two days at the wedding no one is eating breakfast. I drink a coffee and a shot of pre-made martini (really sweet and awful).

10:00 We are ready for the wedding so we go to the prefunk bar that we patronized the day before and drink beers. The wedding is starting at 12:00 so we drink beers for two hours and I know I need to eat something…only thing I can find is some sugar free gum. Not exactly the calories I was looking for, but at least it makes my third beer taste bad. We head to the wedding which is at the same venue as the day before, but inside the building rather than outside. Bam! Air Conditioning!

12:30 Sali is making jokes about why we haven’t gotten food yet. This is after an hour of figuring out where we should sit. There are more people here today, but the groom is missing. I ask Sali and he says that it’s customary for the groom to arrive halfway through with his whole family. My host brother was conscripted into service as the money collector. While people are circle dancing they are dropping money for the bride and groom and after the dance he runs out like he’s retrieving tennis balls at Wimbledon and snatches up the bills and stuffs them into a non-descript cardboard box.

1:00 I eat a much needed plate of food to even out my six beers and I’m feeling coordinated enough to start circle dancing. I know the sweat will begin, but it’s strange that I’m not dancing. I wait until my host sister goes out and latch onto her. The steps of the circle dance change with the songs so once you learn one then its time to learn another. I am encouraged that the girl I spoke with the day before doesn’t know the steps either. Some circle dances involve running and a crack the whip style pulling on the person’s arm that is following you and others are slow. It depends on the song and the person leading the circle.

2:00 I keep getting Gezuars (cheers) from Spiro (a random guy I met) because the day before Sali told him I was a (political) leftist. Spiro has determined that I am a supporter of the Albanian Socialist Party. When we gezuar we both say cheesy stuff like “red heart” and “good heart” and “political left.” It’s pretty funny. Sali is a supporter of the Albanian Democratic Party and has argued politics a little too swiftly for me to follow surrounded by socialist supporters at both of the pre-party trips to the bar. I have as much loyalty and faith in a political party here as I do in the states.

3:00 The groom and his family arrive and I stand in the greeting line. Not sure if this is kosher, but no one is telling me NOT to. The Albanians on the bride’s side keep asking if I like Albanian weddings and I keep replying “of course.” I shake 50 people’s hands and greet them all with at least three greetings. I greet the groom in English and congratulate him again.

3:30 A young man lip synchs an 80’s love ballad, but his mic is live so as he moves around the speakers squeal. It’s pretty funny and Sali keeps telling me he’s not really singing (which is also funny). He argues with his friend about the authenticity of the performance.

4:00 The importance placed on weddings in Albania is obvious, but after learning that tomorrow all the people at this wedding will go to Vlore for the groom’s weeding and then after that there is a party for his friends puts a new perspective on it. This wedding also made clear the importance of funeral traditions. As I mentioned earlier Sali’s sister passed away from breast cancer and out of respect none of the adults in his family danced at the wedding and all the women in the family are wearing black for six months or a year depending on how close they were to her. I’m reminded of my first experience seeing an Albanian funeral. I was in a fergon bound for Tirana. As we approached the first stretch of “rruga keq” (bad road) we came upon a line of cars. There is no traffic from Peshkopi to Tirana so I was confused until I saw the line of 200 men in black walking in a line past the line of cars and the 10 old men carrying the coffin up a dirt path to the cemetery.

5:30 The gezuar line (cheers line) is back. This is a line of people going table to table cheersing everyone. It’s rude to refuse a gezuar and I wouldn’t think of it. I’m trying to count how many beers my host father and his friend have tipped back. Has to be over ten, but he’s not faded. Now they bring out the cake and play a special cake slicing song and we all clap to it. They cut the cake and put cake on each others faces or maybe they just feed each other cake in a messy playful way. Hard to tell.

6:00 The groom and his people leave and then the bride leaves, but the party keeps on. The music has changed and low and behold they are playing Ricky Valenz. The girls have also finally taken off their stilettos and are dancing in socks.

6:30 We are leaving and say goodbye to everyone. Outside we run into a friend of Sali’s and invite him to coffee, but then he realizes he locked his key in the car after an argument about who’s fault it is all the men stand around the car and offer advice while a mechanic from across the street works to open the rear window. Eventually he gets the keys and we go home and watch Bourne Ultimatum on the action channel while continuing the running gag about how much my host mom drank and how little Sali and I did.

10:00 I wake up on the couch and everyone is already in bed. I move to my bed and sleep through the night for the first time in five days. When I rise at 7:00 I feel better rested than I have for a long time. I have coffee and raki with my host mother (again, she doesn’t drink the raki). She tells me to get ready for the wedding. I tell her that I have to go back to Peshkopi because I have work the next day (technically true). She tells Sali and he says that there will be a limousine. I say that I thought the wedding was one day not three and that next time I will take more time off. This is acceptable. I wait until they are ready to leave and we wait on the road together.

8:00 A fergon approaches with room for one (driver held up one finger). Sali stops it and I say goodbye to everyone and get the hug cheek kiss combo again. I’m sad to leave because their house is the most relaxing place on earth, but I am also glad that I won’t have to drink 10 beers and get sweaty dancing (although I will surely get sweaty dancing). This fergon has a radiator problem and we stop every 5 minutes for the driver to run into a store, house, or mechanic to fill up a water bottle to fill the radiator. This adds about 20 minutes to the drive to Elbasan. I don’t mind, 20 minutes is nothing when you consider it’s an eight hour journey back to Peshkopi.

9:15 I walk to my favorite Pasticeri (bakery) and buy two slices of pizza and two pastafleures. This was a daily tradition in training with a buddy of mine. The pastafluere is different, but I don’t care. I walk to the fergons to Tirana and get into a nice one (a new minivan). I think it’s a taxi at first, but I am told the price is the same so I get in (now im locked into this fergon). We have trouble finding the last person needed to leave for Tirana and so we drive between two traffic circles for 20 minutes. I don’t mind, 20 minutes is nothing when you consider it’s a nine hour journey back to Peshkopi.

10:00 I see the castle outside of Mullet again (yes, a town named mullet) and re-swear a personal oath to go there someday.

10:45 We arrive in Tirana and I walk to the Kolonat to get some food. Its pouring rain, but I have my trusty umbrella so I don’t mind. I make a terrible mistake and order the chicken burger. After inspecting the inside of the breaded chicken patty I notice that the color of the chicken is not the color of any meat on god’s green earth. Is greenish pink a color? I resign myself to eating only the fries. I take a quick sink shower and then catch a bus to zogu I zi (black bird) where the transports to Peshkopi are. I feel pretty awesome catching a bus to Black Bird for no real reason. There aren’t any fergons, but there is a bus leaving in an hour and a half. I talk to the driver and say hello three ways then ask when he’s leaving (just to start the conversation). He tells me where he is going. I tell him that I want to go there too and he tells me “wahn ohclok.” I give him a thumbs up and say okay. I don’t mind, an hour and a half is nothing when you consider it’s a ten and a half hour journey back to peshkopi. I go to a café to drink a macchiato and slowly sip the cold water they serve.

12:50 I get on the bus and get a good seat (under a roof vent). The bus is overly full and by that I mean people are sitting on beer crates in the aisle. The driver is fast and reckless in a completely unremarkable way for Albania. I can’t help but think about the bus that flipped in Shkoder recently.

2:30 About halfway through a very normal ride to Peshkopi (windy road, beautiful scenery) we come upon a car that’s broken down. Our driver stops to see if he can help and we end up towing the car all the way to Maqellar (30 minutes outside of Peshkopi on the boarder with Macedonia).

4:30 Before we get to Maqellar we almost get hit by one of the most out of control cars I’ve ever seen. It was raining and I was randomly looking out the front windshield when I see a car speeding towards us. It is on a straight trajectory, but the driver and passenger sides are quickly alternating as the side on our collision course. Dumb luck keeps our bus from t-boning it and killing everyone inside. No idea how the car we were towing dodged it.

5:15 Almost back to Peshkopi when our bus loses control for a second and fishtales.

5:45 Back in Peshkopi and a young woman’s back has fallen out of the luggage hold under the bus somewhere on our drive. A crowd gathers (as it does for everything). Fifteen minutes later a fergon stops and gives the girl her bag (it had picked it up on the road). The driver looks relieved. The bus drives up to the boulevard and I get out. I’m glad to be home.

7:00 I buy a roasted chicken and eat half of it with a Greek salad. I’m done. Its over.

Covered in Flies

This was written in two parts, about a week apart from one another. Hope it flows alright.

I have been toying with the idea of having a podcast once a month, but then after hearing my voice on mp3 I realized that, as some people have faces for radio, I have a voice for print media. That being said, I might still do one.

In many ways things are progressing quickly for me in Peshkopi and in other ways they are not. Avash avash. I have begun moonlighting with an NGO in town. They have a drinking water, environmental and hygiene project going on in three kommunes in my region. The challenge is that they are behind schedule. In terms of funding Marlow Stanfield would say that they “have one of those good problems.” In that they have money, but haven’t decided how to spend it or planned much of anything. This organization seems more open to my “expertise” than the one I was assigned to, but it’s also more hierarchical. Whereas I can do whatever I want at the health center as long as its by myself at the NGO I have the freedom to brainstorm, but no effectual power to put money or effort wherever I want. My two workplaces are almost polar opposites in terms of how they view my possible impact. More on that later on.

I am enjoying my city. I have been trying to meet Albanians outside the Peace Corps (PC) spectrum. It’s easy to stay within the circle that previous volunteers built. However, now there are three volunteers in town and we have the opportunity to meet more folks. It’s incredibly easy to meet people or should I say men. I can sit with any man drinking any drink and probably be accepted into the conversation as much as possible. I have found a new local where the frappe’s are 50 leke and dude’s got a nice patio with a wooden roof and wall. For some reason anything with wood grain is attractive to me here. This is partly due to a running inside joke from my language class. The joke was pretty dumb, but I would throw in the literal translation of “wood grain” in Shqip anywhere I could. It doesn’t translate correctly so no one ever knew what I meant, but I kept with it. So when Adam (another volunteer in Peshkopi) and I found this café we dubbed it Wood Grain.

It is crazy to me how welcomed Americans are in Albania. We are still cool in some corners of the world. Part of this has to do with Clinton’s decision to intervene in Kosovo. Part of it feels arbitrary in the way that the exportation of our culture and economy has generated American popularity in a general sense. Last night we ate sandwiches at a local and a group of 5 young men physically moved their table 4 feet closer to ours so they could listen to what we said. They tried to get our attention by saying “OOOOH!” (the general way of getting someone’s attention here) followed by random words the best of which was “Jarper.” “OOOOH Snake!” We starting laughing at that one.

It’s hot here. There is no escape save the Drini (the local river and swimming hole). I’ve got a frozen water bottle on my lap right now. If other things didn’t remind me everyday that I am in a developing country then the heat (and I’m sure the cold in the winter) will. I’m also covered in flies. I’ve killed many, but their numbers are great as is their resolve.

I have realized that while I have continued to progress with the language I need to put it higher on my list of priorities. Part of the problem is that I have not gotten into a routine so to speak. I don’t have a stove yet in my apartment and so I have to cook dinner with my fellow volunteers each night and that makes it hard to have time by myself at night. Allegedly, I will have a stove on the 21^st of July.

I got an MRI on my left knee on Monday at a private hospital in the Capital (Tirana). I hurt it a couple months ago in a basketball game and it hasn’t been right since. I am waiting on the results. I fell asleep during the MRI which is quite a feat considering how loud those machines are. There’s about 12 pinging and twanging noises and a large noise of magnets whirling in an arc in the least viscous of ways.

All things considered I am doing well. I am ridiculously optimistic in terms of eventually having an impact here and tremendously realistic in terms of the work necessary for that to become a reality.

The NGO I am working with had a large meeting to share the findings of a couple of reports they financed. It was all in Shqip so I didn’t catch all of it, but I met some of the National Office people and they were supportive of my involvement.

I’ve come to the point where I don’t have much to say in terms of what I should write in this blog. So if you have any questions don’t hesitate. I think that some of the aspects of Albania that were very foreign initially are becoming less distinct and therefore I have less shock material to comment on. Either way. Questions and criticisms are always welcome.

An All Turp Affair or Fun With Condoms

I hope this post will illustrate the finer points of turp in regard to condoms. Turp is shame. We've all turp'd ourselves sometime, somehow, someway and today I turped a bunch of local youth. Yesterday, my counterpart and I had our first lesson in a local high school. It was a decent lesson and I'm glad we were able to make it happen. At the end of the day yesterday my CP said we are going to give out condoms at the same school tomorrow. I asked if we were going to give a lesson on STI's or family planning or how to use a condom and she said no, that they already had the lesson. I asked when. She said October. I suggested to hand out instructions for condom use. She disagreed, but I won because I was more koke e forte (stubborn) than she was. TADOW!

So I wrote up some stuff and we wrapped the condoms in the info and went to the school the next day for the big distribution. I was hoping that we would sit at a table for a few hours talking with students and informing them, but I doubted seriously thats how things would go down. Essentially we set up a table, put the condoms on it and waited for the bell to ring (its a hand operated cow bell and its badass). The bell rings and herds of students start walking to class. When they see the condoms they speed up so the janitor shoves the table in their way and we start handing condoms to all the boys. He asks me to stop so I do. Didn't catch why (maybe I was turping myself...) I'd say 75-85% of the students had the Turp. Occasionally, both male and female students would take them of their own volition, but most accepted them begrudgingly. The worst part is that all the administrators, teachers and my counterparts from the health center were laughing. It was as short as it was brutal...the entire event lasted for less than 10 turp filled minutes. I'm down with that janitor though and when I saw him on the way to the internet cafe I gave him daps.

The good news is that my work situation isn't unexpected. My counterpart operates within the cultural/work ethic stereotypes I learned about in training. She has a lot of upside too. She is a good classroom manager, is comfortable speaking in public, is friendly, helpful and, most importantly, does do some work. I was a little worried (put the odds at 1 in 4 against it) that we wouldn't end up doing the lesson on Wednesday and she followed through. BAM!

On to different news. My city is still the shit. For all of you who don't know that being "the shit" is a very good thing, now you know. There is an amazing lunch spot where you can get bean soup, pilaf, and a mountain of white bread for 150 leke. Add a fried egg on top of the rice for 20leke. I have eaten lunch at Locali Linda almost everyday. There is a gym where my fellow vol and I bej ustrime (do exercise)...shirts optional! I live above a bar and I am friends with the owner. He blasts Frank Sinatra while he cleans up after closing. There are a grip of wild dogs that roam the streets and at night they are always killing each other. During the day they sleep at the bank. There is fresh air and the water is clean (comes from the tallest mt in Albania, Kolrabi). There is a river close by you can swim in. There are more hiking trails than wild dogs. Peshkopi has a great pizza spot. Its close to the border (Macedonia). There are at least two ping pong tables and one functional basketball hoop. The people are friendly and generous. Fresh and natural fruits and vegetables are sold everywhere. Not a bad place to get placed.

Gezuar

I’ve had a bit of the sauce while celebrating my friend Endrit’s Birthday (ditelindje). I don’t see this as a problem as much as an opportunity to touch on Albanian drinking customs that I have experienced.

I believe the best of these customs is the single shot of Raki with coffee in the morning. I, on occasion, enjoy this custom with my host father or with another male host family member such as an uncle or great uncle. I typically refuse the Raki from my host mother (Rezarta), but when I go outside on the balcony to join my host father (Sali) there is, if by mystic Albanian magic, a shot of Raki next to my Turkish Kafe. S’ka problem (no problem). The combination of caffeine and alcohol is a pleasant mix to me right after waking up and to many of my (male) volunteer colleagues. One thing I enjoy about this custom is (at least in my house) the complete moderation with which it is enjoyed. In my host family’s circle it is understood that a little Raki is good for you (how could a custom as old as this not be beneficial?) and a lot is unacceptable and frowned upon.

Raki, for those that don’t know, is a clear liquor made from grapes that can, depending on the distiller, be light and easy or strong and quickly evaporating. Most people in the villages make their own. My village is well known for having a strong and flavorful Raki. I like it a lot. It’s a little oily which allows it to stay smooth even when it’s strong.

I was given a twelve ounce bottle of the jet fuel variety when I left town last week as a parting gift and as something to share with my friends elsewhere. Again, as with all things, my host family took my short trip as an opportunity to demonstrate their unyielding obligation to be more than generous to their host son.

Of course, on the bus from Elbasan (major city closest to my village) to Durres (biggest port in the country) I didn’t need to open my bottle because other host sons were given similar parting gifts that very morning. This might be a good time to mention that I didn’t notice or observe any women in possession of such goodbye presents. Nor did any female volunteers want to partake in our mid morning taste. I say that only to note the differences in gender expectations in Albania and also illustrate that liberal American females and Albanian conservative ideas in terms of gender were, in this situation, on the same page.

I went to a wedding a week ago today and as far as drinking went you were expected to drink every time someone issued a cheers (Gezuar). If you didn’t want to drink alcohol it was acceptable to drink soda or juice and if you were drinking, but didn’t want to get sauced then you could fill your glass with the smallest amount possible and drink that only when obligated. This is what happened at our table as the Americans present issued many gezuars to our middle aged Albanian friends who didn’t want drink as much, as quickly. There was also a roving band of gezuar-ers who went from table to table issuing wishes to the new couple and to the health of all in attendance. Beers seemed to magically appear on queue and it was seen as quite odd that we only stayed for four and a half hours. The next wedding I go to I will be the first there and last to leave because there was a certain amount of shame involved in leaving early.

It hasn’t ever happened to me, but occasionally a person might get into a fergon (a “minibus which is actually a mid 90’s ford or chevy van outfitted to hold 10-12 people) and the driver might take a shot of Raki before leaving town or might have to stop to puke a couple of times during the journey. I have been on fergons where passengers were obviously tanked, but I have never to my knowledge been on a fergon where the driver was housed drunk. It’s difficult to tell if a fergon driver is drunk because if you’re a good fergon driver you’re driving fast and at least a little reckless. My driver tonight was a beast and he literally got me home in half the time that most driver’s take. He passed this fool in a Mercedes (going 20) on a blind corner and I really felt like he deserved a tip for it. If someone makes a fergon driving video game I think American audiences would eat it up. I think about being a fergon driver after my two years is up.

Another interesting note about Albanian alcohol is Ponc (pronounced “panch”) which is a terrible mix of Raki and cough syrup. Terrible, just awful. I’m sure lil’ wayne would love it, but that don’t make it right.

In other news, I was elected to the Volunteer Advisory Committee (VAC) by the group 13 health education volunteers. It was a come from behind victory, but through a mix of nominating myself, hiring a campaign manager, viral text messaging and bribes I won. I found out later that I was the only person who campaigned in any way shape or form, but I won and that’s all the matters. Winning is winning. I’ll touch on this more later.

I also took my language test a couple days ago and I think I passed so I won’t be getting shipped back to the states with my tail between my legs. I also ended my training self assessment report by saying that my commitment to serve is such that the only way I won’t complete my two years of service is if I die. I am looking forward getting feedback on that during my final training interview next week. Speaking of which…

In less than a week I will be sworn in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer and despite our peaceful stance I will be obligated to protect the United States from all enemies, both foreign and domestic…so Osama, IF you’re still alive and out there, stay in that cave and cower behind your dialysis machine son! I’ve got vacation days coming and I might find you and have to get down to some brass tacks. All jokes aside, I’m looking forward to completing training and starting work up in Peshkopi.

Thanks for reading. Feedback and questions are, as always, encouraged.

First of all, I would like to apologize for the fact that my journal is ten times as good as this blog will ever be. I typically write in it first and because it isn’t public it is far more interesting and better written. That being said, here’s the update:

I played my first game of futboll Saturday night with kids almost half my age. In Albania, people pay to play by the hour at caged in, Astroturf fields. I am not in game shape for anything, but I did score the three ugliest goals in the history of all sports in which goals are scored.

The first was the least ugly of the three and they went down from there. Essentially, I kicked in a rebound that wasn’t cleared, but I kicked it so softly that two players on the opposition almost caught it before it went in.

The second was more of a mistake by their goalie who decided to roll the ball to me like I wasn’t even there (most of the game was played like I wasn’t even there). I trapped it with my left, shuffled it to my right and my right foot repeated its earlier performance by barely striking leather. This time the goalie, who had fallen down in disgrace, got up and almost caught it before it bounced off the post and in.

The third goal, if it could be considered a bicycle kick, would be the ugliest bicycle kick goal to ever be kicked by man or beast. It was bad. I was at about mid field and I kicked the ball absurdly far, over the teammate whom I wanted to receive it, and off the fingertips of the goalie who was not paying attention and into the goal. I felt bad because everyone laughed at him, myself included. I did turn the other direction. Worst part is I think he’s been having a tough week. He’s normally one of the more obnoxious, upbeat and loud kids in town, but for the last five days he’s been quiet as a mouse. I almost didn’t recognize him when he came into our class on Thursday to invite us to the game. His decibel level couldn’t be considered a mumble at that point.

The extent of my futboll skills are best described by the following press release, “Despite my lack of grace and skill and taking into account how disgusting my three goals were, I am unabashedly and profoundly proud of my performance.” The best part was that because of my goals our team won and therefore did not have to pay for the field.

It was good to see teenage boys spending time productively and given the opportunity a small percentage might want to do more of it. The fields are kind of expensive (two dollars an hour). It was also good to see young kids betting on sports. If you lose, you pay double because you have to pay for the victors. To the victors go the spoils.

I then went home and ate 3 to 4lbs of spaghetti. Albania, great nation or greatest nation?

Today was a great day. I went on a hike with two friends living in another town and a couple of their host brothers and neighbors. It was a good group and good times were had by all. Our goal (as all my hiking goals have been in Albania thus far) was a cell phone tower. We hiked up to a grassy knoll and took a break to shoot JFK. I kid. We did hike up to a grassy knoll though. There we had a quasi sound of music experience (without the music) playing soccer and volleyball and watching in awe as a certain someone performed acts of incredible agility before proceeding up to the tower.

Albania is a beautiful country. I can’t say enough about it and when you get off the roads the garbage is gone. Wild dogs and sheep don’t litter.

At one point we had to throw rocks at a dog and after hiking past it and up a hill the two brothers pointed back down at the bushes that the dog ran into and I saw something white which I assumed was the dog so I said, “qeni” which means “the dog.” A second later it was apparent that the white thing was the shall of a “gyshe” or “a grandma.” This was a pretty good joke though and they laughed at me.

The older host brother was wearing a straw hat (it was similar to the one Eric stole from Krupp during the 2nd (or was it 3rd?) Santa Cruz trip only it was the narrow shape of an old British admiral’s hat). When I told him I liked it we traded hats for the rest of the hike.

During one of our breaks I witnessed a childhood game in which on person (the first party) stands with a 90 degree bend in their hips and grabs the legs of someone (the second party) who is facing them for support. Then a third party thinks of a number and tells it to a fourth party and after the number is set the third party jumps on the back of the first party and the first party tries to guess the number. It’s unique to say the least. We also had a jumping contest and played soccer on top of a rampart shaped retaining wall.

Good hike, beautiful scenery, good conversations in English and Shqip AND I didn’t even have to use my AK…I have to say, today was a good day.

Last Friday I visited a couple of hospitals in Elbasan. Albania is a poor country and these hospitals were a good example of that. Dim, dirty and weathered. Stains on the sheets. Six beds to a recovery room. The surgical equipment was donated from France. Airplanes give a better illusion of cleanliness. Hard to keep old buildings like that spic and span. As my host father would say, Albania nuk ka leke (Albania doesn’t have money). There are times when this fact isn’t in the forefront of my mind. However, that doesn't make it any less true at a given moment. Everything I saw was physical so I know almost nothing about the quality of doctors and nurses. According to my host father doctors in Albania are worse than the wild dogs that roam around. They get paid a lot for a little, he says. He’s big on Italy’s health system (he lived and worked there for seven years). He had knee surgery after a work accident which was covered by the state.

Apparently, there is another hospital being built in Elbasan and it should be done in a year or so. I would like to visit it when it is completed. I would also like to check out one of the private health clinics that are, according to some people, more popular (and expensive) than the state run clinics in order to compare and contrast.

In funny things that happened to me in a funny order, I had a beer with some guys yesterday and they invited me to the following activities in the following order:

Do drugs

Eat Frog Meat

Cruise Elbasan for ladies

Go Fishing in the local waterways(and I assumed we'd eat the catch)

Going fishing takes precedent as the most important thing to say no to, then eating the frogs, cruising for chicks, snorting cocaine and finally smoking weed. You do not want to eat anything out of the water in Thane so fishing and frogs are out. I’m too worried about a shotgun wedding to go to kafe with a local girl so that’s not an option. So the most legitimate offer is the drugs which I, of course, turned down.

Getting offered drugs is pretty common for me (for whatever reason). Maybe people want to be accommodating or maybe I just keep meeting drug dealers. Who knows?

They did say I spoke Shqip well and in a truly Albanian act of bluntness said my friend Steve didn’t. Steve was almost asleep in his chair at this point and generally sleeping people do not speak second languages well. In truth, both Steve and I are garbage at Shqip and we don’t need anyone telling us otherwise.

It was nice to hang out with some Albanians closer to my age. The subjects didn’t change much from my talks with the youth; women, sports, what America is like, but the subjects were discussed in greater depth and with at a slightly more mature level.

I completed my practicum for training. I worked with two other volunteers to teach two health classes at the local school and one class at the local health clinic. I thought I did well in two of three lessons. The third one was just a poor performance by yours truly, but the group carried me so I am forever indebted to Stivi and Kimbo. We did get some good pictures of me looking professional in front of a powerpoint (my sole contribution that day).

More talk story later.

pics as demanded by sir benjamin krupp

durres the major port

sunset from my roof

barry, my neighbor

sunset from roof (again)

Lori, eshte i vogel, por i forte (small but strong)

Albanian flag




me rubbing the head of our doll that protects against the evil eye

host sister (Franceska), cousin, cousin, brother (Renato)



host dad working




host bro

host parents (Rezarta and Sali)

staircase to the roof

Fishiopolis

I got my assignment for the next two years yesterday. I will be in Peshkopi (peshk is fish hence the fishiopolis). Its in northern Albania but I hear good things about it. Clean air. In the mountains. Good People. Funny Dialect. My host family was only a little bit bummed because I will be so far away from them. I told them I would visit though.

Also, some revisionism... In regard to young men having nothing to do there is not a lot of work here. A lot of people immigrate to find work and until someone is old enough 18,19, or 20 they don't have much going on. If guys don't want to immigrate and don't want to study then they are pretty stuck. My host brother is kept close to home so that he doesn't hang out with kids who just smoke and drink kafe all day and my host dad says he'll be going to Italy to work as soon as he is old enough. Thats it.

Peace,

This is a two part blog update. The first part I wrote a couple weeks ago and the second part I wrote on Monday night.

The Less Recent Happenings,

I do no feel qualified to make a report about Albania so soon. After all, I’ve been in country for only nine days during which time I’ve observed many things. However, my language skills are such that I cannot ask Albanians about much of what I have seen. I also have not had much time to think on how my culture is influencing my perspective of everything here, which they say, is the most important aspect of cross cultural learning. That is my disclaimer.

I have made some good friends rather quickly with a few other volunteers since leaving the states. I’m reminded of my union training and subsequent campaign in Boston and how fast camaraderie was established during those weeks. I am still getting to know many of my colleagues as my initial flight to our staging was cancelled by the Denny’s of the skies, the New Jersey of the stratosphere, the Warren G Harding of the airline business…US Airways.

I am living in a village named Thane. It’s beautiful here by any standards although every American is shocked by the amount of trash disposed of in streams and burned on the side of the road each morning. I am living with the family of Sali Salufi. The Salufi’s have a small neighborhood of their own on the east side of the village. The mother’s name is Rezarta, the son is Renato and the daughter is Franceska. They have given me their children’s’ bedroom which is the largest bedroom I have ever had in my life. I have two beds. My feet definitely hang off the end. Sali and I watch soccer and talk politics using minimal Shqip and miming. I feel that our political ideologies are fairly similar. War is undesirable. Politicians are corrupt. Moneyed interests exploit the poor. Democracy is better than totalitarianism. Sali supports Milan for soccer and he flips off the TV when they are scored against. He has even begun to flip off the TV when Liverpool (my team) is scored on. I haven’t shown him my “rolled up newspaper smashing to bits” technique for dealing with sports frustration, but I think he’d like it. He does know “the slide of the couch when something bad happens” technique. Together our styles are deadly.

My host family is incredibly generous. Albanians really stick their finger in the eye of southern hospitality. I am always served the most (and best) food and waited upon. I have to move quickly and without warning if I want to get anything for myself. In this village gender roles are divided. My father is working to build a house for a family member and my mother and sister do all of the cleaning and food preparation. I am working on establishing myself as more of a member of the family so that I can participate in cleaning the bathroom after I take a shower or clearing the table, but so far I have met formidable resistance.

The food is 90% home made and home grown. During my first few days we worked on finishing half a sheep (dele, which is my favorite word). I have eaten all edible parts of the sheep and all parts of the chicken. I hope to move next to duck and turkey to get all the poultry notches on my belt by the end of training.

I am somewhat of a celebrity because I am from America, apparently look like James Blunt and am tall. Every day going to school I feel like I’m walking in slow motion during a rap video because everyone turns to look at me and I nod my head and give lots of daps. The day I trip and fall will bring new meaning to EPIC FAIL, I hope it happens at the height of my stardom. Gotta stay grounded.

The language is a challenge to learn, but I am progressing. I understand a lot more than I did 9 days ago, but I can still say almost nothing. That’s all for now.

More Recent Happenings:

I have started to work out every other morning to stay fit. I eat tomatoes and olives now. On occasion, I drink coffee and Raki (homemade booze) in the morning with my host father. I watch a lot of soccer and Djalle (a telenovella from Argentina set in New York in Spanish with Shqip subtitles).

I traveled to a new region two weekends ago. I went to Kavaje and Duress which are west my place. Kavaje is a conservative town, but I did see women in the main bar. This bar was interesting because no one stood up or moved around. You just sat with your people and hung out. Occasionally people would say hello to people at different tables, but generally speaking groups kept to themselves. Duress is the second largest city in Albania. It’s the major port and I walked the beach. You aren’t supposed to swim in Duress because sewage is pumped into the harbor. The area of the beach that you can see at low tide is dark brown, I guess from a combination of shit, oil, and other chemicals. It was easy to feel anonymous in Duress because of its size which was nice. I went on a hike with another volunteer (Adam) who is from WA too. We hiked up to a ridge where we could see the coast north of the city, orchards, farms and to the south the city itself. Adam found a ram’s horn which I am going to clean and cork so I can use it to carry Raki. The trip was fun, met some current volunteers and heard about their experiences.

Time is going by quickly. I’ve only been here 3 weeks, but I can see that training will be over soon. I find out where I will be placed this Friday. I don’t have a say in that and so I don’t think about it at all. I’m guessing it will be rural, isolated, cold in the winter and hot in the summer. Just the way I like it.

Before I forget: I have used a Turkish toilet a few times. It’s pretty rad. It might be better than a normal toilet. I am working out the pros and cons in my journal. I won’t go into too much detail, but I might have a whole blog entry on the Turk.

This language is difficult, but I have resolved to study more than I have been and I hope that will make a difference. The language is really the key to having a good time once you are at site, especially if you are the only volunteer in your town. Essentially the summer is a slow time here because it’s so damn hot so we have a few months to practice in the real world until things pick up.

On Saturday the US ambassador to Albania came and talked with us. His name is John Withers. He’s an interesting fellow and a good speaker. I sat in the middle of the aisle so I could get a handshake in. He will be swearing us in as volunteers after training is over.

The topic of interest recently among volunteers is the many Cuns (pronounced choons). Cun just means boy, but volunteers use it as a derogatory word for boys who don’t act right. There appear to be a lot young men who act stupid in Albania (young men seem to act stupid in general). However, in Albania there isn’t any infrastructure in place to stop kids from throwing a beer bottle from the roof of a bar into the school yard (also no restrictions of putting a bar next to a school). I remember getting the cops called when I lit a bag of poop on someone's doorstep, but that kind of option doesn't exist for victims of Cun Crime in Albania. Today I saw a student throw a full water bottle at a teacher and the teacher just looked at him in a peeved manner. I was definitely a cun when I was younger. I was probably a cun even when I graduated from college. I tend to dislike them when they act like assholes because I am reminded of the worst parts of myself. That being said, not all boys are cuns, but all cuns are boys. Their behavior has to be learned from older cuns because all the young boys I know from my neighborhood are awesome. Oh, and puberty. That’s a big one.

Conversely, it seems like all the girls in this country are friendly, responsible, hardworking and well behaved. There has to be some terrible ones out there somewhere, but I haven’t met one. My host sister is awesome. I defended her honor while playing chess with her. A boy started moving pieces for her to try to be cute or something. I told him no and moved her pieces back each time until he quit. He sat there dumbfounded while I destroyed her at chess and then I destroyed him at chess just to show him. Now he knows not to mess with Franceska Salufi.

The street kids are a different story. One boy tried to pinch my arm in order to get money from me. He was probably 8 so I laughed at him. Then he stole a cigarette right out of the mouth of a volunteer and smoked it in front of him. I saw a kid wielding a bent rebar beg (is it begging if you are pushing people? or is that threatening?) from girls who just got out of school, every once in a while a older guy would come hit him and then he’d threaten them with the rebar. He was probably 6 or 7. These are hard working kids who are living on the street and who are trying to survive I don’t blame them. It’s the kids who are taken care of and still act dumb that are the problem.

Another topic that is amazing is: what people say to get my attention. I saw some guys on a corner today and said “howsit” (c’kemi) and they said “good” (mire) and then when I passed them they yelled “Sex Sex Sex” for a long time (I’m must be starting to fit in). Another time I was walking with a friend and two kids yelled “Fuck you” and then when they passed us they were exceptionally polite and were glad to meet us. Essentially, people will yell whatever English word they know and what is the one English word everyone knows? Fuck. Obviously. It’s the most versatile word in the English language. I hope this trend continues indefinitely.

Things in Albania that I will never get tired of:

Donkey carts holding up beemers and benzes.

Animals being slaughtered on the side of the road.

My host father falling asleep on the couch in fantastically ridiculous positions.

Jeans that are more zippers than jeans.

How excited my host sister gets when Djalli (that telenovella) starts.

Mish Dele

Informal Poll: Is this blog boring? What do you like? What do you dislike? Do you feel like you are learning about Albania and Albanian Culture? Do you think my white male American perspective is too biased?