Travel Stories >> Albania >> July 19 - 21: Good-bye Skodra, greetings Fusch-Kruje

ALBANIA – Summer 1996
July 19 - 21: Good-bye Skodra, greetings Fusch-Kruje

The road from Shkodra is dusty and dirty, and it is a blistery hot afternoon. I wish I could write in the car as it is traveling because I have so many impressions and there is so much going through my head that I lose so much of it by the time I get to putting it down three days later. The roads are pretty bad here. Not only are the roads in terrible shape, but they are filled to capacity with taxis (spelled, t-a-k-s-i), trucks, vans, bicycles, pedestrians, and horse and buggies. Horses pull everything, and there are MANY more people in carts than any other forms of transportation. They set old car seats or old sofas in the front of the cart to make a more comfortable seat, but sometimes they are sort of funny looking! The countryside from Shkodra to Tirana is a long, wide, flat valley with mountains along both sides. The valley is full of irrigated plots of land. They are growing corn, watermelons, tomatoes, all kinds of veggies, lots of very funny tall thin haystacks with little cloths set on the tops.

The mountains are just littered with caves and these hysterical round bunkers I described earlier. Angie tells me with a little laugh that the bunkers were built in preparation for the imperialist invasion (by the evil USA). She then says with some derision, "so we had terrible roads, poor shelter, and incomplete infrastructure, but our government sure spent a lot of money on these ridiculous bunkers." To which Gertie, from the front seat (always in the front seat - motion sickness remember), chortles, "ha, and here we are, the imperialists, invading!... although not like Hoxha ever imagined they would!" The caves were also built strategically into the sides of the mountains so that the people could easily hide and respond, if need be, during the invasions. These things were as stupid as the bomb shelters of the 1950s in the US, the difference being, of course, that in the US in the 50s, people could spend their own money stupidly, and if the neighbors laughed, so be it. In Albania, the government forced them all, basically, to build these things, spend precious public resources, and the neighbors couldn’t laugh here because if they were caught they were killed.

We pass a number of large empty factories, a fertilizer plant, etc. They have not yet been privatized, and the confusion that reigns here about who owns what, and how to get things jump started again is really awful. There are lots of different cases. For example, the fellow in our last class: his grandfather owned a lovely leather processing and production factory... the communists took it away and made it a state property. After the fall of the communists, he, and the family, petitioned the government to get it back. This is a long, hard process, and only works cleanly if there really was just one owner. Of course, the machines are all over thirty or forty years old, and pose a MAJOR investment (and capital) challenge to the ‘new’ family owner. The worst were cases like factories where the state simple ‘took’ land from half a town to build an enormous smelting and metal works plant (like outside of Elbasan). Once the communists fell, the descendants of those families screwed in the deal in the first place all appear suddenly and want their piece. The filthy Rozafa Hotel in Shkodra has so many owners that the property is in all kinds of civil and legal morasses. No one owner is willing to lift a finger or spend a lek to have ANYTHING done to it because they’re not going to put hard earned cash into a place if none of the other owners will. What has happened is that people have discovered that if they made improvements to buildings, properties, factories, or offices, before there was anything official giving them sole ownership, others would appear from nowhere making claims on the refurbished space. It is a nightmare and will continue to be for many years.

It is a delight to have Angie along. She is bright, talkative, eager to answer my many questions, and is, like so many Albanians, ready with an opinion, and to tell some hard truths. I take a few bad pictures from the car windows, which will come out poorly, but I cannot delay this trip to take the kinds I’d like to.

Ded takes us through Fusch-Krujë (‘field’ or ‘lower’ Krujë), and we begin to climb up the mountain in Ded’s old Mercedes. We have been told that Krujë (pronounced ‘crew-ya’) is one of the most beautiful places in Albania. The climb through the mountains and the pine forests is eerily like a déja vù for me through Yosemite. It is the same feel. We approach the little town of Krujë in what is now the late afternoon. It is strikingly beautiful. The town is something of a funny mix of Swiss, Greek, and Andean. We can see the famous fortress, castle and museum as we get closer. Krujë is where the famous hero, Skanderbeg defended Albania from the Ottomans. After spending sometime in Provence, Switzerland, and now Albania, I can tell you that the Turks were a royal pain in the ass for most of Europe, and it does not surprise me that Skanderbeg, while not known in the US, is a beloved hero throughout Europe. There are statues of this guy all over Italy, and throughout much of Europe. His name was Gjiorgj, youngest of four sons of an Albanian prince. He was taken hostage by the Turks and sent to Istanbul to a military school there. He excelled, and was named Iskander (Turkish for Alexander, after Alexander the Great), and "beg" which, like the word "pasha" was a big fancy Turkish military title. Skanderbeg. As a young man, he escaped the Turks while fighting the Hungarians, and came back to his home, Krujë, from where he ruled over it all. He was a great man, apparently, and kept the Albanian lands, as well as much of Europe free from Turkish tyranny for about 25 years. Besides the fantastic statues of this huge man with the great head of hair, great bushy eyebrows, and a wonderful big moustache, he is known by the goat head on his helmet.

The story goes that during the second great battle against the Turks (he was defending his castle), he and his forces became trapped. With no way out, Skanderbeg played a trick on the Turks. That night he and his men let out a flock of goats through the only available passageway. They placed candles on the horns of the goats, and the Turks seeing these and thinking it was the army, attacked but became confused. In the confusion, Skanderbeg was able to get the upper hand and run the Turks out. Since then, the goat’s head was depicted on Skanderbeg’s helmet to commemorate this clever victory.

The fortress has, although in ruins, quite an impressive layout. One of the principal towers still remains, as do much of the foundations. The Albanians have built a very nice museum within the ground of the fortress, and we toured through it with the docent, a guide whose English was very accented, but ok! I can only imagine how many other languages he spoke! I won’t go into detail of the museum, except to say that it was a loving testimonial to Skanderbeg. Apparently, the museum was designed by Hoxha’s children, and once he and the communists were gone, someone went along and filed off all the stars on the facade, and replaced them with the double eagle symbol of Albania.

The other thing worth seeing in Krujë is the Bazaar. Rows of old shops, many of them filled with antiques, many just simple workshops for the weavers, coppersmiths, and rug salesmen. We wandered through them, and although I would have liked very much to have stayed and really gone through them. Gertie was making noises about getting on to Tirana, and I have learned that keeping Gertie happy keeps everybody happy, so we headed down the mountain back towards Tirana.

We arrive at the Tirana Hotel (TIH) at about 7:30pm, and bid a sweet and teary (for him) farewell to Ded. I promised him that I would call his son in Detroit as soon as I was home in August. I was particularly sad to say good bye to Enxhi. What a great young woman. I hope I will see her again, and I hope we will be able to keep up a correspondence.

Gertie and I met later in the hallway after showering and getting ready to eat a late dinner. I had just received a phone call from reception telling me that someone was waiting for me. I could not imagine who it might be. We got to the lobby to find Lazer - our leather factory owner from the Shkodra class. And he was there with his wife and 3 year old daughter. Even though we couldn’t really have dinner with them (we were exhausted, and two more hours of his really bad English, and our nonexistent Albanian would have pushed me right over the edge), we did have a quick drink in the hotel cafe, and struggled through a half hour of conversation (such that it was) about life, etc. I thought, after we’d said our good-byes, that it was a proud man who had brought his family in to meet a couple of people whom he’d felt had changed his life in some way. I hope with all my heart that things go well for him. He does not have an easy road ahead of him - not even by Albanian standards.

To bed. And did I sleep like an absolute rock?

TIRANA - Saturday, July 20, 1996

Having the luxury of a nonwork day, I slept in late. I was up at about ten, and didn’t even bother with breakfast, not my big meal anyway. Tirana was gray and cool today, which was just fine. All I really wanted to do today was shop and do a little museum-going anyway. Gertie called just as I got out of the shower, and asked what I was thinking of doing, and even though I was sort of keen to have some non-Gertie time, I figured, aw, what the hell, she might be real annoying, but I find that as we go along on this adventure that I feel genuinely sorry for her incredible social awkwardness. I think because she really has no clue. Her social skills are so forced, like someone who is uncomfortable in their own skin. The more I feel bad for her awkwardness, the easier it is to go the extra mile to be nice.

So off we go in the direction of the store where I saw some traditional costumes last night as we drove into Tirana. And we go one block and there is Mishel! And of course I give him a big hug, and it is like old friends who have gone years (instead of a week) without laying eyes on each other. We wander off to the store I have described, and I find and buy a shirt, a vest, and an apron. I am halfway toward my ethnic Albanian costume.

We stop by Mishel’s dry-cleaning shop (small but very clean, very nice), and do some tourist shopping as well. I have picked up some little things for people, but am still not hooked on anything in particular for anyone in particular. We have a pleasant pasta lunch at a local restaurant, and then Mishel leaves us, and we drop our purchases at the hotel, and head off to the National Museum.

An imposing and impressive building, the National Museum is right on Skanderbeg square, next to our hotel. The front piece/facade, is an incredibly communist, socialist mosaic of the proletariat here in Albania, guns and scythes in hand, out to better the world. I have taken a couple of good pictures - great stuff. Much of the communist schlock has been removed completely. The communist Albanian flag was just a red field with a black star in the middle. The black star has been replaced by the traditional double-headed eagle for which Albania is better known. Statues and mosaics along the roads and in small towns have had the guns broken out of the hands, or the stars removed. Some were just destroyed. In the National Museum, the whole section on the communist era in Albania is off-limits. And although I could certainly understand that from an Albanian’s perspective this is logical, from a foreigner’s perspective I REALLY was curious about that very section!

The National Museum was fairly impressive. Following Albania’s history we also got a dose of the ethnography - which was fun. The biggest and most terrifying rooms were the recent additions - 1945-1992. The entire display was a compilation of names (Vietnam Memorial style) of those executed under Hoxha. Three television screens running videos of testimonials, glass cases hold possessions of those family members shot during uprisings (including the shirts they had been wearing, bullet holes, bloody stains and all). For the first and probably only time this visit, I was suddenly glad I could not understand Albanian. I was happy not to read the horrible letters, the lying official documents, the names under the photos, the testimonials and reports of events as they were recalled. What a horrible and dramatic piece of this country’s history. And didn’t it take the US twenty years to get around to facing Vietnam? Communism has not been dead for five years here. Hoxha died in 1987. They are doing something important here, they are bleeding publicly. I hope their collective catharsis and cleansing helps them.

So after our dramatic visit to the National Museum, Gertie and I head back to the hotel to have a quick drink before meeting John and the USAID project officer, Paula. They arrive, and I immediately like Paula. I have met John a number of times, and he is a gem, so this is a really nice meeting all around! Gertie and I see what they are wearing, we run upstairs to change, and are whisked off to La Perla, a very nice Italian (aren’t they all?) restaurant around the corner. We have a wonderful meal, full of laughter and conversation, and after all is said and done, we head off to the disco! This roof-top discotec is a perfect spot for a warm summer evening with friends. As many as 12 more people eventually join us for what we realize later is a belated birthday party for Paula, as well as an early good-bye. She has been riffed from USAID (talk about a bureaucratic SNAFU) and is leaving the country in two weeks, much to her, John’s, and local USAID’s chagrin. So we dance and drink with their friends (some Canadian, Dutch, Irish, Albanian, etc..) Until 2am when we’ve all sort of had it, and it’s back to TIH for some shuteye!

TIRANA - Sunday, July 21, 1996

Up on the early side (the body works in mysterious ways!), down to the hotel restaurant, and after a quick cup of coffee and a croissant (about all my late night loving body can do in the morning) with a slightly annoying Swiss man in from Geneva on vacation (?), I head off to see if there is anything open. I buy a couple of postcards, and some trinkets, but again, nothing is really moving me as far as gifts are concerned. I get back to the room for one last great TIH shower, and I meet John and Mishel for errands - Gertie is off to church - thank God one of us is getting some spiritual support these days! Too bad the big guy can’t help Gertie with her social skills.

Mishel goes off to deal with the transportation issue (we are off to Elbasan for this week’s training today), and John and I hightail it to the Tirana market. Very cool experience. It is sort of like the more primitive markets in the Andean mountains in Peru, only with a more limited supply of goods. John tells me that Tirana still has more goods than the two cities he frequents (Elbasan and Korça) so he likes to stop by here when he can. It is a very good sized market, and the fruit and vegetables, while mostly the same, look good, and fairly healthy. We buy lettuce, carrots, black beans, parsley, oranges, tomatoes, cukes, and more. The vendors are kind, and honest, and once they find out are Americans are downright jolly with us! They claim to like Bill Clinton, and hate Sari Berisha (their own president) - who has just rigged the elections here to become said president. The market in general is a fun experience, and we even run into Jim (our Peace Corps friend from Shkodra) who promises to buy Gary a funnel for an iced tea operation.

We get back to the hotel to meet Gertie and Abdoula, our driver for today’s excursion. We are off to Elbasan by about 1pm. The trip is a short one, and we drive through a wild thunderstorm that does not last long but is impressive. Everyone we talk to is surprised by ANY rain at all this time of year. The road to Elbasan is absolutely breathtaking - much of it looks like skyline drive in Virginia, only wilder and much more impressive. I am hoping I can sneak out after class one afternoon and get a taxi to drop me up on top and walk back down some and take pictures - It was incredible.

I am dropped at Mark and Susan’s house, and am delighted to be here. They are a young couple from Philadelphia. Mark was the first RBA Director on the project, and has been suffering Rich (the ineffective chief of party) longer than either John or Gary. They are good natured, bright, fun people, and I am so glad to be here tonight. Susan puts together a Thai (!!) meal for us, and we chat about what our week will be like. Mark has some good ideas, and I think that this will be a VERY different experience from our wild adventures in the north. I am off to bed after catching up on this thing, at about 1am. Tomorrow will be a long day, perhaps.

Copyright © 1996 by Rachel Peterson

(top)