A Meeting with Merlin

May 4, 2006

It’s 9:00 p.m.; the power has been out for about five hours. This is a fact of life in Albania, nowhere is there electricity for twenty-four hours a day. I don’t know why, but the Elbasan area in particular suffers from lack of electricity, the city has the capacity to provide electricity for only about eight hours a day. During the better part of the daytime there is no power, surprisingly, it’s not that disruptive of daily life. People simply open their windows to the daylight, most businesses have independent generators, and things like traffic lights aren’t really obeyed anyway. I had not even noticed the lack of electricity during the day until Nancy explained to me last week why all these generators were running all day. My experience over the last six weeks has been that the power reliably kicks in around 6:00 p.m., this is the first time we’ve been without electricity this late into the evening.

Right now the light of my laptop is all I’ve got in the house. I had dinner by candlelight, very romantic indeed, and had no idea what I was eating – not for the usual reason of not being able to identify what was in the stew, tonight was because I literally could not see what was in the bowl. I just went to the bathroom, I’m about sixty-percent sure I hit the Turkish toilet.

My candle’s getting down to the wick, I guess it’s almost bedtime. Real quick, I heard a funny story from the other Asian person in our group, a girl named Lisa. Lisa, a Vietnamese-American, has had an experience similar to John’s, general confusion as to why she insists on calling herself an American. In the village that she is living in she is simply known as “Mulan,” probably the only depiction of Asian people that Albanians are familiar with. Lisa isn’t sure if the people in her village call her this in a joking way, or if they’ve decided that she, clearly, must be The Mulan of Disney cartoon fame.

My cell phone died about an hour ago. I hope I’m able to charge it in time for the weekly Sunday call from Mom and Dad.

May 7, 2006

As we try to get things in order for our school-yard repair project we’ve been trying to meet with people that we’ve picked out as the “mover-and-shakers” of Labinot Fushe – the school director, the mayor, teachers, anyone with a wheelbarrow or tools – and enlist their help. It seems to be a roundly popular idea with people, but we haven’t gotten the “yeah I can help, I’ll be there tomorrow with forty men, tools, cement, rocks, and a blueprint for the project” response that we’ve been hoping for. In a conversation with my host father, Steve, last week he mentioned someone in the village called the “Kryeplaku,” and that we should talk to him about our project. I looked up “Kryeplaku” in my dictionary, the translation was rather mysterious, the word means “Village Elder.”

It took a couple of days of asking around about the Kryeplaku before word got back to him that the Americans wanted to talk to him. He showed up last Friday at the café when we were having our usual afternoon coffee. At first we had no idea who this Albanian guy was that sidled up to our table, introduced himself, and looked at us expectantly – this type of thing does happen nearly everyday. Thankfully, Nancy was with us and introduced the stranger as the Kryeplaku. The five of us released a collective “Ahhhhohhhh” as the light bulbs switched on.

We talked to the Village Elder – a much more interesting title than “alderman,” I think I’ll call him Merlin – for about an hour, mostly about what exactly he is, and briefly about our school-yard project. Disappointingly, Merlin isn’t some kind of oracle or yoda figure that the townspeople come to for advice or approval as the name “village elder” implies, and as I had a hoped he would be. He’s actually just an alderman of sorts, he hears issues from people and brings them to the mayor and the commune council on their behalf, BORING. Obi-Wan Kenobi also wasn’t that old, probably in his forties. He was a big guy, full head of black hair, and the standard kind of Greek/Southern Italian look to him – which I guess is really the Albanian look.

The Great Owl – Secret of Nimh anyone? – liked our project plan –We also learned that he has a daughter living in the United States. At first when I asked where she lived Gandalf replied that it was a “secret.” None of us were sure what this meant, – I figured she must be in the country illegally – after some prying the Wizard revealed that his daughter lived in Atlantic City. He had been there himself, “Atlantic City, shume bukur, po” – very beautiful, yes he offered. I’ve been to Atlantic city, there are a lot of phrases I’d use to describe the place, “shume bukur” is not one of them. Apparently under a spell cast be the Witchdoctor, we nodded and declared in agreement that Atlantic City was, indeed, “shume, shume, bukur.”

“Wow, I must go this Atlantic City,” Nancy said after our meeting with Nastradamus.
“Actually, what I meant by ‘shume bukur’ was ‘sewer-like,’” I said.
“It’s on the coast, there are some beaches that are ok, but it’s really dirty, and unless you gamble there’s not much to do there,” Chris added.
“This place, it sounds like Albania,” Nancy deadpanned.

Ba-doom-ching Nancy!

May 8, 2006

Last Saturday we gathered at the Ministry of Culture Building in the nearby village of Peqin for Culture Day. The Mayor of Peqin invited us to attend the event, which was being held in recognition of “Heroes Day” in Albania, the equivalent of Memorial Day. We filed into an auditorium – in which the seats offered slightly less leg room than the Dumbo ride at Disney World – along with a sizeable crowd of townsfolk for a morning of traditional Albanian music and LOTS of circle dancing. Many of our language teachers were on hand, decked out in dresses and gowns that I have a hard time describing, but if you saw the outfits you would immediately associate them with the Balkans. Lots of fabric, simple, bright colors, kind of heavy-looking, attractive, but not in a light and graceful way. That probably doesn’t help.

The dancers were backed up by the five-piece house band, playing instruments that looked like – but were all called something completely different – a fiddle, a rounder version of a guitar, a recorder, a giant tambourine, and an accordion. The men wore pirate shirts, small red-wool vests, and baggy pants that were tight around the ankles, kind of Riverdance looking but not as shiny. The Music was also hard to give a good explanation of, but when I heard it, it definitely sounded Albanian. The band’s set was one ninety-minute song. Three different guys came out and yodeled along with the music, while the dancers performed an endless circle dance, which I thought looked like a combination of belly-dancing, the hokey pokey, and the robot, in a kind of circular conga line. As I feared the circle dancing turned into a forced participatory activity for all the Americans in attendance.

My favorite musical performer was a guy who played a very small version of a recorder, about the size of kazoo, purely because the musician weighed about three-hundred pounds. When the big guy stepped up to the mic I was expecting him to belt out another yodel song. Instead he pulled out his little recorder, it looked like a normal-sized person playing a toothpick. This little thing could play about three or four notes, and it was incredibly loud. It sounded like someone was playing the bagpipes about a foot away from me. I think it’s a Daffy Duck and Marvin the Martian cartoon where Daffy gets his hands on some huge laser-gun and Marvin just has this little pea-shooter, but it’s really powerful and blows the feathers off of Daffy. That’s what this little kazoo/recorder thing made me think of.

After the song and dance we were ushered through different tables that had been set-up throughout the Ministry of Culture Building, each with a different cultural theme; literature, history, arts and crafts, food, and so on. The tables were all manned by townspeople who were very eager to show off their wares, and it all was very cool. I particularly enjoyed the table with backgammon and dominoes – similar to marbles, before coming here I didn’t know that there was actually a game you played with dominoes. They’re actually not just for lining up and knocking over. I played with a grizzled old guy who probably played a lot of dominoes back when television, music, books, magazines, pictures, pencils, and paper weren’t allowed. He took it easy on me the first game as I figured out the game, and then schooled me as any good domino-shark would.

The Food table was another big hit. Another American, who will remain nameless, asked what I thought was particularly tasty. “Ooo, I’d have to say that kind of lemony custard thing,” I replied.

“Oh, really? I thought that was just okay.”
“What did you like?”
“Oh, I don’t know. To be honest I think the food is better back in the U.S.”

1) We’re at Culture Day; 2) The food is good; 3) I almost decked this guy. And as I’m writing this I’ve decided I don’t want to protect his anonymity. Eric Anthony. There, I feel better now.

May 9, 2006

There’s an office supply and computer store in Elbasan with the regrettable name “Hard and Soft.” I think they’re trying to emphasize that they sell computer hardware and software, and I’m sure it’s only my American friends and I that snicker whenever we walk by the place, but still. Maybe the Mormon missionaries around town share our middle-school sense of humor, but I doubt it.

So, I realized the other day that Hard and Soft had a Visa / MasterCard sticker in their window. This was exciting, I could now purchase the prohibitively expensive D batteries I’ve needed for my radio, and have my financial manager – my Dad – back in the U.S. arrange for payment. In nearly seven weeks this was the only store, restaurant, hotel, furgon, or little girl selling apples that I had seen that would accept a credit card. Even though Hard and Soft would only allow me to spend beyond of my “walk-around stipend” – which literally provides enough money to walk around, and not much else – at an office supply store, I was looking forward to splurging on pens, notebooks, binders, watercolor paints, and of course batteries.

Dave and I stopped in Hard and Soft last Sunday. The D batteries cost three hundred leke for two batteries, only about three U.S. dollars, but still about three times what the gypsies sell them for at the bazaar, and about double what I pay for lunch everyday. I filled my basket with twelve D batteries, nearly all that were on the shelf, and walked up to pay. The woman behind the register spoke a little bit of English. As has been the case in every situation I’ve been in with an Albanian that speaks just some English, rather than talk to each other in either English or Albanian, we play a game of chicken to see how far the other can get in their respective broken second language.

“Miredita, Une kam batteries. A mund te bleu me credit card?” – Good day, I have batteries, can I buy with credit card? I asked.
“Yes, always, you can even pay for things with cards of credit at here.”
“Mire, une kam dymbedhjete batteries. Sa kushton?” – Good, I have twelve batteries. How much?
“Of course, because I will add the price.” She added up the price of the batteries, confirming that each set of two did in fact cost three hundred leke. “The whole price is even one, eight, zero, zero leke. I can even take your credit card.”
“Mire.”

The transaction began to break down when she tried to run my credit card through their machine. She claimed that the machine was “not having ability to like the card.” I wasn’t entirely sure that my credit card was still active, I thought I had it squared away when I left the U.S. seven weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure and its not like I’ve had the bills sent to Albania. She handed me back my card while I had terrible thoughts of my credit rating having been ruined because of some unpaid thirteen-dollar bar tab at Arbor Brewing Company from the night before I left the country.

Dave was fairly certain that the cashier had put the card through the machine backwards, or it wasn’t turned on, or something that was not my fault.

“Yo, yo. A mund te pagoni me credit card tjeter, te lutem?” – No,no. Can you try to pay with the credit card another, please? Dave asked the cashier.
“Yes, I have tried twice, I will try even three times.” She ran my card through again, this time Dave was certain that the magnetic strip was on the wrong side.
“Yo, yo. Ju keni perdoroni nuk mire” – No, no. You have used not good.
“What are you mean?”
“Ahh, credit card, magnetic strip, backwards, turn around, kupton?” Dave mimed out the action of turning the card over. Unfortunately, the words “magnetic strip, backwards, and turn around” had left our poor saleswoman looking very scared. She replied with a slur of extremely fast Albanian, leaving us with our heads hanging and staring helplessly at the coveted D batteries I would clearly not be able to buy.

On the way home we acknowledged that Hard and Soft may have won this battle, but the war for D batteries was not over, and we would return.