Near Misses: Leaving Albania #1

One of the hardest things to get used to while in Albania was the transportation system; or I should say lack there of. While most countries choose the organized route with bus timetables and working bus stops, Albania's managed to take a much more rocky approach to the whole getting its people around and has scraped the whole timetable and bus stop idea. Instead, the country's replaced the Western World's idea of civilized travelling with beaten up white mini vans that may or may not make you feel like you're being kidnapped, gathering places for the vans that seems to change on a daily basis, and of course there's the issue of the unpaved roads. But what is traveling if you don't come home a little shaken up? So here's my story of the two day excursion to Montenegro.

The sun was already creeping its way onto my aching back when I managed to climb over the last of the crumbling steps. Ahead of me lay a last look at the beautiful town of Berat; an Ottoman city tiered into the mountainshide, white houses with brown roofs stacked neatly ontop of each other. I crossed the suspention bridge one last time before turning right down the main street to where the furgons were to meet that day. Greeted excitedly by one furgon owner I was told that the next bus was due to leave. So I lugged my pack into the back of the van, squeezed behind the seats, and plopped myself next to the only open window that allowed for a small breeze. When my bottom made contact with the seat, the cushions sank in and the entire seat bobbed on its spring. I ducked down between my legs for a closer look at the seat and found line after line of duct tape holding the seat to the rest of the van.

Slowly the furgon began to fill up with local Albanians and in no time the driver turned the key, awakening the gurgling, chugging, grinding monster under the hood. We were off to a rough start. As we left the city limits of Berat our poor little engine that could, couldn't. The engine huffed as the driver forced the pedal into the floor, swerving into oncoming traffic as to pass slower vehicles, parked cars, and bikers. Once we hit the "highway" I began to question whether or not the hot wheels tires that kept this beast rolling would hold out as the road ahead seemed unfinished. I guess in this case unfinished is a bit of an understatement; chunks of the highway had been ripped out or unfinished and as such, the driver became a game of cat and mouse with oncoming traffic.

By this point my stomach had already begun twisting and knotting itself thanks to my bobble head seat that sent me flying at every swerve, and the smell of sickly sweat was so dense I took to pressing my cheek against the only open window to breathe in another other than BO. Just as I began to drift asleep, a pinging noise shook me awake. SMACK, PING, SMACK. It had begun to hail and chucks of ice the size of golf balls were hitting the rusty white van at all angles. The rain added to the storm; the poor little van was taking quite a beating. Being the only foreigner on the bus, I was the only one in panic. The van was pelted left right and centre, pot holes the size of Texas were strewn throughout the highway, and to top it all off the front window was fogging up and the driver took to sticking his head out the window in the rain to keep us from drifting off course. Looking around at the other passengers I noticed a dark haired man in a worn suit picking at his nails, an elderly woman riffling through her purse, and a couple jabbering on about God knows what. No one seemed nearly as bothered as I was.

The rain conitnued for nearly an hour until we broke through the mountain pass and were nearly in Tirane, the capital of Albania. The land outside the city was shockingly the opposite of the Berat I had fallen in love with. Half raised concrete buildings littered the flat bare lands, heaps of garbage ran alongside the highway, and community watering holes ran clean water into the ditch all day long. For the first time in this country, I felt a sense of guilt. I was no longer seeing the beautiful oasis of Berat's back country or hiking through its historical mountains. What I was seeing now was what a photographer would turn his back on. But something about the people walking along the road put me at ease. They weren't starving and they weren't begging at the van's window. They were simply living. This was life; without highrise apartment suites, 5-star restaurants, and shopping malls. And for some reason or another, I was okay with it.

A-Cup Confusion

While working at the hostel in Berat, I made some pretty good friends. But one of which, was as unpredicted as it was unusual and as I look back on my time spent in Albania, I can’t help but laugh out loud at some of the predicaments I've gotten myself into over the past year...

 

 

For the past 20 minutes all I've been able to think about is how awkward this seemingly innocent gesture made by a fellow co-worker has become. I can't decide which of the materials strewn across the counter before me will cover my now all to obvious chest and avert the gawking stares of the 5 Albanian women crammed into the tiny shop. My choices are a pink frilly bundle of lace or black satin scraps begging to suction themselves to a stripper's behind. If I didn't love Chachay's quirky sense of humor so much I'd march my newly laced ass out that front door, across that dirt road, and back to the hostel full of other Westerners who understand that the gesture of buying someone lingerie as a going away gift is better left to the sleazy husband types.  

 

 

But let's forget the undergarments for a minute so I can give myself a chance to rid my cheeks of their now ruby color and start at the beginning. I met Chachay at the hostel in Albania. The thing that first made me take a liking to Chachay, with her mousy reddish brown hair and short stubby legs, was the fact that even though I don't speak a lick of Albanian and she knew it, instead of using hand signals to go about our business, she took to speaking at a snails pace and yelling the same jumble of synonyms in the understanding that by doing so, I'd miraculously become fluent in Albanian. I didn't have the heart to walk away from the smile that all too clearly mentioned friendship.

 

 

As the days rolled by, Chachay got creative with her communication and resorted to smacking my ass or just plain laughing at me whenever I walked by her. It was comical, to say the least, seeing her waddle across the kitchen with a wooden spoon brandished in one hand and a mischievous smile sprayed across her face.

But when the time came for me to move on, I knew I couldn't leave without a proper goodbye. I invited myself to Chachay's for some tea and before I knew it she had armed herself with a photo album and was relieving each of her son's childhoods to me. When the reminiscing had ended, or else I think it did because she was speaking Albanian the whole time and I didn't really catch much, she stood up and started pointing at her boobs. Weird, I know, but stranger things have happened. I tried to go along with what the point she was trying to make with a strained and confused expression playing across my face. That is until she made me nearly faint when she motioned to lift her top up. What the hell? After convincing her to keep her clothes on, she started writing in what looked to be More Code until I guessed right that she was asking for my bra size. I figured I'd humor her and went along with her game before giving her a hug and heading back to the hostel. 

The next morning at breakfast Chachay came bustling into the kitchen dripping in sweat from the sun that had decided to set to work early. She handed me a plastic bag and when I opened it I could barely control the waves of laughter. Staring back at me was a hot pink bejeweled wonder bra that looked as if it belonged on a Can-Can Girl or Jennifer Lopez. I removed it from its casing in pinched fingers and held it at an arms length while I examined the most goddy thing I have ever seen. I even had to shield my eyes when the sequins and gems caught the sun's light as to avoid being blinded. It wasn't until I found the bra's size that really made me crack up: A32 a.k.a the cup size of the spokesperson for the Iddy Bitty Tittie Commitee.

When I explained the sizing issue to Chachay she looked at me through determined eyes, grabbed her purse and hauled me down to the main street where I now stand with five pairs of shameless hands doing their best to embarrass me further. With one look at the pile I spot the right size, pull the tag and the red satin piece attached to it and stuff it in my bag before making a break for the door before Chachay and her middle aged friends decide I need matching knickers. Once in the confines of the bustling street, I hold back a minute or two so Chachay catches up and, like that experience is one she sees to everyday, she slips her arm into mine and we stroll back through the foreign streets of Berat.

Taking a Breather: Berat, Albania

Helping out at the Backpacker's hostel in Berat, Albania was one of the best decisions I think I made all year. Hesitant at first to be traveling through the Balkans as a single female traveler, I was soon able to squash my worries when arriving at Berat Backpacker's. The energy that hung throughout the place was astonishing and I had this strange feeling that this was were I was meant to be.

 I was lucky enough to befriend some of the greatest people while in Berat. Nick and Lucy, an English couple were light-hearted and had a way of making even the worst situations seem like a walk in the park. As for Jandrew, the dynamic Australian duo, well their charismatic energy made it hard for me to leave Berat.

During my stay, Andy, Jade, and I decided that the good weather was best enjoyed at the waterfalls. Joined by a most interesting couple, Jen and Noam, we set off for the falls, taking in the brilliant Albanian scenery. The waterfalls themselves were a sight, like we had uncovered this untouched oasis. Berat will always hold a special place in my heart, and I know deep down that one day I'll return and that upon my arrival I'm sure to feel just as alive I did when I was 19 and carefree.

Albania: Undercover

This is the link to an article I wrote about Albania for Travelhoppers, enjoy!

http://www.travelhoppers.com/2011/07/21/albania-home-of-the-nodding-no/