My New Albanian Life

Greetings! This is a chronicle of my time in Tirana Albania as a Fulbright scholar. These are my thoughts and observations. Nothing expressed here should be attributed to the Fulbright program, the Department of State, or the universities I am affiliated with.

For each post I will offer the reader a guide to wade through the drivel. Here's the one for this post: Look at the pictures and read the last story, everything else is mainly just to chronicle events so I have a record of my time here.

Falemnderit! (that's Albanian for thank you!)

I made it. I arrived in Tirana, Albania around 11:30AM on September 5, 2012. But really my new Albanian life started well before then. As soon as people found out I was leaving for this often overlooked Eastern European country many came forth with their own Albanian stories – encounters with Albanian people, field assignments in Albania, bits of history they knew. 

Stories, narratives – the essence of humanity. I cannot guarantee interesting stories to emerge here; what I can guarantee are the stories I live as I find my way and the stories told and lived by the people I encounter. I start by relaying three stories from my journey and my first night here that serve as the beginning frames of my new Albanian life.

Story One: Church Ladies at Adams Field

Although my flight did not leave until 10:30AM on Tuesday (9/4), I arrived at the airport around 7AM – partly because I was anxious about the weight of my bags and partly because it was the latest my son could take me and arrive to work on time.

All went smoothly – neither bags was more than the maximum weight of 70 lbs. (Whew!) and the line to get through security was nonexistent. At the gate by 7:20AM, I leisurely observed people coming and going as the time for my own flight drew closer.

About an hour before departure, two older women (yes, older than I am J) entered the gate area looking for a place to sit. I moved an abandoned newspaper in the seat next to me and beckoned them to sit by me. I was ready for a bit of mindless chatting, the kind of talk we generally have with strangers in public places. I asked the ladies where they were off to . . . .

There was about a half second pause and then the woman closer to me uttered quietly, “Albania.” I imagine that she expected my reply to be something like, “Albania? Where’s that?” But, of course, that was not my reply.

“Me too!” I exclaimed perhaps too enthusiastically. Both ladies looked at me with an expression that suggested they found my reply somewhere between incredulous and curious.

They were off to see one of the women's daughters, who has lived in Tirana, Albania for many years -- she is a missionary and teaches English ["teaches the Bible by teaching English"]. The women have been going over to Tirana periodically since 1992. One woman's husband was a retired speech professor who taught at Harding University in Searcy, Arkansas. [It is so interesting how many commonalities we have with others if we only seek them out.]

I asked them if the city had changed much since they first started going there. 

"Oh my, yes! In 1992 there were hardly any cars on the roads, mostly carts. Now there is a four lanes highway from the airport to the city. There are less vegetable vendors also -- they used to line the streets." [Now that I have walked up and down Rruga Abdyl Frasheri a few times I find it hard to believe at one time there were even more fresh fruit and vegetable vendors -- they can be still be found in abundance!]

"But what has not changed is how nice the people are." One woman related a story of how a man caught her in the street before she fell because of the broken sidewalk. "A perfect stranger who was watching out for me!"

While I saw these lovely women off and on as we made our way to Tirana, the exchange we had at Adams Field waiting for our first flight was by far the most significant. I've been here six days now and had many an encounter with "perfect strangers" who seem to be watching out for me too!

Story Two: Rome (FCO), Tirana (TIA), and Hotel de Paris

Flights proved uneventful and I arrived in Rome in plenty of time to make the connecting flight to Tirana. While I have been at FCO before, I don't remember the chaos of having to make a connecting flight. 

The good news is you don't have to collect your bags and recheck them, the bad news is you have to wait in a mob of people to go through security again.

And it is truly MOB!! No real lines just people jockeying for position to get to the head of the line.

At first my American sensibilities railed against this odd process I found totally inefficient -- but once i let it go and just went with the flow it seemed to work okay. I made it to the front of a line, I got through security, I got a boarding pass, and got on the right plane. What else could one ask for really?

The flight from Rome to Tirana takes about an hour. You fly over the Adriatic Sea and when you first glimpse the Albanian port town of Durres, you know you are in a very different country. The view from the plane window revealed a mountainous landscape with few roads. It reminded me very much of flying over the Rockies.

Going through customs at TIA (actually Mother Teresa International Airport) was so simple. The border guard asked me no questions and simply stamped my passport. I was expecting to pay an entry fee but didn't.

As I was gathering my bags, a man asked me if i needed a cart. I indicated it would be nice but I had no change. He just simply unhooked a cart and gave it to me. A "perfect stranger" looking out for me!

A representative from the US Embassy was there to pick me up. We had to hunt for the hotel (Hotel de Paris) but found it after some time and asking for directions. Here are some pictures from my balcony at the hotel:

Above is a view of “Sky Tower” with the view of the mountain barely visible between the buildings.

Above is what most of the area around where I live looks like from the street. I live in an apartment building very similar to this, but this is not my apartment building.

Story Three: Civil Society, Public Discourse, and Freedom of Speech

I saved the best story for last -- the story of the talk. The talk here is what the talk at home should be. While the people here are struggling with democracy and looking to the west for answers, in reality they are living democracy in a way we 21st century Americans cannot because we take so much for granted. We assume so many of our rights as givens or the nature of things when they are really very fragile and could be taken away in a heartbeat.

One quick example - I was talking with the woman who showed me the apartment I now live in and she began saying how much she loved the idea and practice of freedom of speech - she related an example of the lack of either by describing a conversation she had had with a group of women about the need for more active pursuit of women's rights initiatives here - Apparently few of the women wanted to openly discuss this and proclaimed "everything was just fine."

I guess what really struck me was that her example was of a relatively private conversation - I had never thought about how a constitutional right can profoundly effect private conversations - but then one has to wonder how do revolutions start? What sparks some people to risk articulating " dangerous" positions even in private? 


It also got me thinking about how in America we do not fear (in most situations) expressing our dissatisfaction with something. We can argue with our boss (in MOST situations -- I have been in work environments that are oppressive, sometimes ironically so), we can argue with our friends, we can work to change laws that are unjust, we can protest, write letters -- and above all we are eternally optimistic that our efforts will bring about positive change. How wonderful is that?

But I think perhaps lately we have become a bit too complacent, a bit too distracted and in being (doing) so we are in danger of losing something quite precious -- something other people striving for democracy do not take so lightly, see as precious, understand as fragile.

Think about it! More next time. Miss you all and wish you well!