Why Save The Fireworks Until The Game Is Over?

Soccer in Albania

by Davidi

We heard the roar of the crowd as we neared the stadium.  We hadn't planned to go to a game, and were definitely over-dressed, but we had the time and, after some careful consideration,  had recently vowed to be more spontaneous.   So, we headed to our first Albanian soccer match.

The police officer taking tickets, after rather obviously noting that Gina was wearing a skirt and heels, let her in free.  I was charged 500 Lek.  (I asked Gina if she wished to return to the officer and confront him about this obvious affront to gender equality, but she declined.)  I was wearing a red shirt, and fortune smiled upon us, as we had entered the side of the stadium housing the fans supporting the red team (Skenderbeg), rather than the blue team (Tirana City).  I found out later that only a brave man or a fool would have would have entered the other side wearing the wrong color.

Before I describe the game, let me give you a mental picture of the outside of the stadium:  think enormous World War II concrete bunker covered in graffiti.  This contrasts with the inside of the stadium, which appears to be an enormous World War II concrete bunker covered in graffiti and elementary school lunchroom orange plastic chairs.  The European Soccer Federation has informed Albania that they may not continue to host games unless a new stadium is built, so a plan for a new stadium was announced, with, of course, no deadline for its completion.

We sat with a great number of serious looking, silent men in red, who would periodically burst into groans or exclamations for reasons I could not decipher.  On the other side of the stadium, however, there was mayhem.  The blue team fans were in various states of undress, some with body paint and others carrying signs.  They were jumping up and down in unison.  Periodically, they would beat their chairs with sticks or hurl something out onto the field.  Usually, what they threw was toilet paper -- rolls and rolls of toilet paper.  The players and referees failed to take note.  They merely played the game around the rolls.  Even when there was a pause due to a penalty, no one removed the toilet paper streams and rolls.

I found the toilet paper throwing very upsetting.  This has nothing to do with sportsmanship, and everything to do with the lack of toilet paper in Albanian public restrooms.  I surmised that my inability to locate a decent supply of toilet paper in any public restroom throughout the country was a direct result of its diversion to professional sports.  I made a mental note to mention this to the government.

I turned to bring this to Gina's attention, but found her cheering loudly for a team she had not known existed 20 minutes before.  "We're winning," she told me.

It was then I noticed that the blue fans were setting things on fire.  Mind you, they were torching things they had brought with them, but it was real fire, nonetheless.  I also noticed that police officers had surrounded the blue fans, placing themselves evenly spaced about 15 feet apart. But they did nothing about the fires, and were all facing away from the fans, watching the game intently.

It was then that the Roman candles came out.  Blue fans began firing them into the air.  Red and green balls of flame shot out in every direction.  No police officer made a move, and the players and refs went right on with the game.  Then, things got a little strange.

Some blue fans began throwing the Roman candles onto the field.  Red and green balls of fire shot across mid-field.  The police maintained their positions, and the players and refs .............just kept on playing, maneuvering the ball carefully past the pyrotechnics as needed.  There was no apparent surprise in the crowd, with the exception of two amazed Americans.

We left the stadium before the game was over (the red team was up 4-1, so we figured we were winners).  As we left for the walk home, I wondered whether baseball would now seem rather dull.

A Walk Through "Parku i Madh" [Big Park]

Park entrance from Chopin Square

Flowers for sale

Bridge going nowhere. . .

Stools awaiting checkers' or dominoes' players.  In the summer, older men strip down to their underwear and swim in the lake.  Then, they sit on the tree stumps playing games and talking with friends.  Once they dry off and finish visiting, they put their clothes (usually a nice shirt and pants with dress shoes) back on and head home.

Hotel in the park

The exercise equipment in the park is less than a year old

The park is also for shopping . . .soccer balls and kites for sale

On warm, weekend days, the park is too crowded to run on the dirt path or even walk quickly on the concrete path.

And . . . carnival treats are for sale!

For around 20 cents, someone will demonstrate the accuracy of the scales and allow you to weigh yourself. . . after his coffee break.

A few carnival games are scattered through a section of the park

Outdoor coffee bar overlooking the lake

The popcorn smells wonderful.  Sadly, the housing unit is a bit rusty though.

Chestnuts roasting over an open fire . . . 

Books for sale

The park road that runs alongside the lake  -- where most of the vendors sell food, toys, and books.

Game on!  For a game of checkers, at least 5 people are needed -- 2 players and 3 people to tell them what they are doing wrong.  

Target practice

The mountains that surround Tirana are beautiful!

Keep Your Cards In Your Wallet

Paying in Albania   by Davidi

I handed the hotel clerk my MasterCard, and waited for the usual response.  She bit her lip.  "Our machine isn't working," she said.  "Perhaps I should come back in an hour," I replied.  She hesitated.  "Maybe it will work next week."  I pulled out some cash, and gave her two 5,000 Lek notes. She hesitated again.  "I will find someplace which has change."

I carry credit cards with me at all times, but I haven't used them in Albania in months.  We now live in a "cash economy."  Most places do not accept credit cards, and those that do often need a manager to confirm the transaction.  And I've never written anyone a check outside the Embassy, or seen any Albanian accept one from anyone else.  We are careful to have cash with us at all times.  After payday, I bring a pile of cash home from the Embassy that makes me feel like a mobster.

And speaking of criminals, the cash economy makes it awfully hard for prosecutors to trace money or to enforce tax laws.   In the United States, a prosecutor can often look at credit and debit card bills and determine where someone has been, what they ate, where they stayed, and even where they parked their car.  No such luck here.

The great thing about Albanian money, which is called "Lek," is the exchange rate.  Since we arrived, one Lek has equalled one US cent.  A 1,000 Lek note is $10.  A 5,000 note is $50 etc.  For a guy who is "math challenged," this is a great relief.  It is also a relief that 10% is considered a good tip.  That's easy, too.  What isn't easy is financial transactions with older Albanians.

It seems that people at open air markets (there are many) post prices sometimes in "old Lek," the prior currency under communism.  Old Lek and new Lek prices are different by a factor of 10.  You can end up expecting to pay 100, and owing 1,000.  The problem is exacerbated by the language barrier, which is most acute with older citizens.

The great thing about using cash in Albania is that, after the first week, we had learned that we never have to count our change.  No one has cheated us.  People rarely cheat each other, and no one would dare short-change a guest in the country, much less an American.  The ancient law of Albania, the Kanun, provided harsh penalties for the worst of all sins -- dishonoring a guest.  We are honored daily.

Should I Use The Setting for Sheep or Butterfly?

by Davidi

Our apartment is equipped with “European Style Appliances.”   “European Style” is code for “small.”  Our refrigerator, dishwasher, washing machine, dryer, water heater and even sink, are half the size of American models.  A dinner plate won’t fit in the dishwasher.  A milk carton won’t stand on a shelf in the refrigerator.  After a mere 26 loads of laundry, we’ve washed for the week.

We have adjusted to the size issues, but size isn’t the only thing that matters.  The controls are, of course, in Albanian, or in what appear to be ancient hieroglyphics.  (We have an idea of what the picture of the sheep’s head on the washing machine dial means, but the butterfly and flower petal still escape us.)  Reference to the Albanian language instruction manuals merely confuses the issue.

The most interesting controls are on the oven.  These include four knobs which, as the landlord confirmed, do nothing at all.  On the other side of the oven, there is a timer which has been flashing for the last seven months.  It comes with five buttons.  The landlord’s suggestion:  “I’d just ignore those.”   These challenges have really caused very few problems, as we can't read cooking instrutions in Albanian anyway.

The dishwasher, cleverly hidden within a small kitchen cabinet, has an equally clever delayed start timer --   so clever that the dishwasher can’t be started immediately.  Apparently, it takes at least an hour for the dishwasher to get in the mood to wash dishes. 

Our apartment is pleasant now that the air conditioner in the bedroom and the heater in the living room have been completely replaced.     As is common here, they may only be operated by remote control, so an extra supply of batteries is a must.   The master bath is often toasty warm, as the dryer vents into the bathroom, rather than outside.  The water heater for the master bath rarely runs out of hot water, but the water heater in the half bath never runs out.  It's never been used.  Why they need hot water in the toilet is beyond me.

90% of all phones in Albania are cell phones, but our home phone can't call cell phones because the phone companies don't get along.  Our American FM radios don't get most stations because they tune to odd numbers (92.5 or 98.1 etc), while the Albanian stations are on even numbered channels.

The only perfectly clear instructions we have are on the toilet.  A huge sticker containing an anatomically correct man demands that I sit down to pee.  

"A Light Lunch" . . . Albanian Style

The 4th Entree of the Afternoon
by Davidi

The prosecutors of Elbasan, all 23 of them, asked me to lunch.  A short ride took us to a restaurant, nestled beside the wall of an Ottoman castle.  I was pleased to see a light lunch including a large plate of salad (tossed and slaw), a plate of boiled eggs and sheep cheese, a plate of ham slices covered in olives and more sheep cheese and grilled vegetables.  It was terrific.

This was soon augmented by "fergese" (organ meats boiled in yogurt and sheep's cheese), broccoli in sheep's cheese, and meatballs floating in sheep's milk.  I was soon full.

The first indication that the lunch might not be so "light" came after the prosecutor beside me finished his plate.  He leaned over to me and said "I wonder what we are having for lunch."

When the real lunch arrived, it was something resembling "chicken fried steak" with a meat pie on the side, and oven baked sheep cheese on the other side.  I wasn't hungry, but I ate it, and it was scrumptious.

When the waiter cleared my plate, he asked that I lean back so he could put down my lunch.  The new plate contained a steak, french fries and (surely you've figured this out by now!) sheep's cheese.  I eventually identified another object on my plate as a chicken breast on a large stick with ham in the middle.  I was told "Buft Mire" (bon appetite).  They looked at me strangely when I asked if we had moved to having dinner.  I slowly cleared my plate, but held on to it, afraid that someone would have something more somewhere in the kitchen.

Eating with friends in Albania is a little like eating at your Grandmother's house.  The food keeps on coming, and you must eat it, smile and express admiration.  The food is very good and especially fresh, so it is mostly an easy task, but I was really hoping the end had arrived.

My nightmare came true.  Here came huge chunks of lamb in bowls of rice.  I distracted my hosts, made excuses and talked about how good it looked.  They wondered aloud about dessert. (Thankfully, it was fresh fruit)

Albanians are usually thiner than Americans, but I don't know why.  Perhaps they don't eat as much processed food, and avoid refined sugar and sweeteners.  My theory, is that they foist off most of the food on diplomats.