Where Did Everybody Go?!

by Davidi

Tirana is usually like a bee-hive.  Traffic is snarled and sidewalks are often crowded.  It takes awhile to get used to what people at the Embassy refer to as the “standard Balkan noise level,” which extends well into the night.   But things are now eerily quiet.  Many stores and cafes are closed. The streets and sidewalks are empty.  I can even cross the street without running or praying (I usually do both).   Why did everybody leave?  It’s August.

August is the traditional vacation month in Albania.   Tirana is for work and school.  School is out, it’s too hot to work, and Tirana is not a place to go on holiday.   The Adriatic Sea is only 45 minutes away, and the entire city is there.  I’m told that every grain of sand on the beach is covered with a towel or cooler.

But, alas,  I’m the new guy, so I stay at work, where I could roll a bowling ball down the hallway and not risk injuring anyone.   I can’t get anything done because there are no prosecutors or judges to contact.  You see, for some, August is mandatory vacation month. By statute, Albanian prosecutors are required to be on vacation in August.  So are judges.   This works well, as most of the criminals also take the month off.

The white sign on the gate of the restaurant above appeared on August 1st stating,
"To vacation, reopen on 1st September.  :) "

On my way to work, I walk past an older woman who sits on the same square of the sidewalk each day and asks people for money.  She hasn’t been there for three days now.  My coworker has bet me that she’s at the beach.

Don't Deliver Lunch Tomorrow, Babe

Skodër

Rozafa Castle, Skodër

On the ride to Skodër, David's colleague shared the Albanian legend about the medieval Rozafa Castle:

This legend was first written down by famous local writer Marin Barleti in 1504. The story goes that the three brothers who were constructing the castle arrived to work each day finding the previous day's work demolished. A wise man was consulted and told them that only a human sacrifice could stop the devil from destroying their work, and the brothers agreed to offer the first of their wives who would come up the hill to bring food. Unfortunately, the two older brothers broke their promises and told their wives to stay at home ("Don't deliver lunch tomorrow, Babe.") – and it was the youngest brother's beautiful wife Rozafa who showed up the next day with lunch. She valiantly agreed to be walled into the castle on one condition – a hole should be left so that her right arm could caress her newborn son, her right breast could feed him, and her right foot could rock his cradle. Rozafa is said to still be in a wall of the castle today which remains standing. 

Not sure about the takeaway from this story, but I sure won't be taking lunch to David any time soon!

Wait! Don't Call Until I Plug The Phone In On The Back Porch

by Davidi

Having successfully memorized a few Albanian phrases, I confidently strode into the Albanian Attorney General's office with my colleagues. I shook his hand firmly, and started to introduce myself. I got out three words, "Une yam David," before all the lights went off.   My mind went blank.  I couldn't think of another Albanian word.  

Power interruptions are common in Tirana.  Our apartment has a backup generator, as do all Embassy residences and international businesses.  We've stopped being surprised by power outages, knowing that the reassuring hum of the generator will soon bring us light.  Most Albanians do not have a generator, and some neighbors have quietly hooked their houses up to an American home's generator without anyone noticing.  

The problem isn't a lack of electricity. Albania is currently exporting excess hydro-power to other countries.  It is the wiring. 

Albania's wiring is strung by anyone anywhere they wish. Poles may have 50 lines tangled like hair In a shower drain. Lines droop so low to the sidewalk that you must duck to miss them.  Old lines are not removed.  They are just cut, with the ends left to hang down, sometimes at eye level, over the sidewalk.  Even on downtown streets, there are often no poles, so the lines are casually draped over tree limbs.  Sometimes exposed wires stick up out of the sidewalk, attached to nothing.  Walking to work is a little like that old board game "Operation." Touch anything metal and you may light up.

At our apartment, the wireless internet router is outside.  The phone plugs in on the back porch, apparently because the wire won't reach any farther.  This makes it less likely we will be making calls during heat waves (now!) and blizzards. Maybe an email is your best bet.