Yeth, I went to a place called Theth

September 28, 2006

Four weeks ago my laptop decided it wasn’t going to turn on. I don’t comprehend mechanical and electronic stuff – by that I mean the entire spectrum. From supercomputers to The Wheel – and I tend to apply human characteristics and personalities to these things. The situation with my laptop I interpreted as a bold display of civil disobedience. This was an altogether unwelcome development. My friend John diagnosed the problem as a computer virus that he characterized as a “worm.” This sounded sinister. Like something the bad guys from a Mission Impossible or James Bond movie might unleash on the world. After three weeks things had not improved, and I was ready to concede the battle to The Worm.

I can happily report that after four days of battle, The Worm seems to have been expunged from my computer. John used everything in his repertoire. All manner of virus killing things, screwdrivers and other miniature tools, and a full-blown exorcism routine. There were priests involved. It was a little unsettling.

So this is the excuse for falling down on the blog postings – I offer my sincerest apologies to my mother and the four other people that have ever read this thing.

I’ve been sleeping outside a lot in the last six months. There have been nights on the beach, and a few spent on porches. And like every summer since I’ve been of driving age, there have been the “camping” trips consisting of nothing more than a group of people taking beverages, not enough food, usually nothing to sleep in, and certainly not toothbrushes, to the top of a hill ten minutes outside of whatever town we’re in.

Exactly a month ago my friend Joe and I returned from a memorable four days of camping. We traveled to Theth, a region in a Northern corner of Albania. On a Thursday we were invited by a friend of Joe’s to go camping over the coming weekend. We left on the following Saturday and spent three nights in the midst of stunning scenery and amongst ridiculous – in generally good ways – Albanians.

The weekend before we embarked on out camping trip Joe was in Lezha. Over lunch he mentioned an ambiguous invitation he had received from his Albanian host father. Leading to an exchange that was unimaginable six months ago.

“So I think I’m going to go camping with Papi next weekend.”
“Oh yeah, where you guys gonna go?” I asked.
“No idea. Papi seemed pretty excited about me coming, and I think he said that we were either going to bring a goat and kill it or capture a wild goat and kill it,” John said with wide, expectant eyes.
“Whoa, I don’t think I’d wanna be around for that.”
“Yeah, but I’ve seen goats killed three or four times now. I’m kinda used to it. They’re tasty when grilled.”
“Oh, well that’s different then.”

We went on discussing the various animals we’ve seen butchered as if we were comparing recent movies.

Papi is Joe’s host dad. He’s something of a big name amongst Albanian mountaineers. Not a huge community of people, but most Albanians that know him would say that Papi likes to climb around in mountains and stuff. He’s quick to show off a tattoo that leads one to believe he was the first Albanian to have reached the summit of Mount Everest. This is slightly misleading. He has been to Nepal, he’s been in some big mountains, but he’s actually only seen Mount Everest from the base camp. But that’s just splitting hairs.

In spite of the possibility that I may be a party to a goat killing – or maybe because deep down I wanted to be a party to a goat killing – I pressed Joe to see if I could tag along. Joe secured my place in the camping trip, and I headed up to Joe’s hometown of Puke on a Friday to rendezvous with Joe and Papi.

The specifics of the trip were still completely hazy. All we knew of the destination was that it was “in the mountains.” We cornered Joe’s English-speaking friend Arti who was going on the trip and tried to nail down when exactly we might return.

“Arti man, do you know when we’re going to get back from the camping trip?”
“Yeah sure.”
“So when.”
“Just after a little bit, not very long.”
“Like how long?”
“C’mon dudes. You know. A few days.”
“How many days exactly?”
“Oh I don’t know two, three,…six, you know just a little bit. Too much questions, lets get a coffee.”
“Okay.”

Foiled by temptation of coffee! Not the first time. And still no straight answer on the duration of the trip. We resolved not trouble ourselves with such details. Just to place our faith and entrust our livelihoods Albania and Albanians. Things have gone good so far. And it’s just a lot less to think about.

Saturday morning. The day of departure. I sit at an outdoor café in Puke enjoying the briskness of the morning, waiting for Joe to show up at the agreed upon time of 9:00. I receive the following string of text messages.

8:45: Hey man, helping pack some stuff. Havn’t left yet might be a little late.
8:50: Did u bring a tent? Don’t know if they have one for us.
8:54: More people here. I’m havn coffee w/ them.
9:12: We had some raki. I call u when in town.
-Raki is this Albanian liquor. It’s like grappa. But hurts more to drink. It’s imbibed at all hours, and is particular popular for breakfast.
9:37: Hey. You. I thought we meet at 9:f0. Where u.

I call Drunk Joe and figure out that he rode into town with Papi, Arti, and apparently some other people that would be coming with us. Puke is a small town. I turn around in my chair and see where the group has congregated. Maybe a hundred feet down the street. Joe spots me and waves too excitedly. Papi jumps in his van, I get up quickly trying to indicate that the half block walk is no problem, but Papi zooms up the street, throws some money at the café waiter – whom I already paid – motions for me to get in the van, and screams back down the street where the guys were milling around.

“Dude, I didn’t know you were just up there. That’s crazy!” Joe blasted at me.
“Yeah, I thought we were going to mee…”
“You have to have a tent man. I don’t have a tent. Papi thought we’d have one.”
“No man. I don’t a tent.”
“Shit dude. Well whatever, I guess we’ll be alright, I’m not sure who these other dudes are, I think they’re coming camping to, I don’t know, they came over to the house, we drank some raki…, for like forty minutes or something, I don’t know man.”

I was starting to feel drunk from standing too close to Joe.

“And,” he rambled on, “Papi is wearing my Chacos.”
“What, you mean those crazy flip-flop things with all the straps?”
“Dude,” said Joe, Taking on a deeply serious tone. “Chacos are awesome for mild hiking. And I’m sure Papi messed up all the straps.”
“That’s just tragic.”
“You wanna get something to eat, I think I burned a hole in my stomach with raki.”

While I had another coffee and Joe sobered up over a bowl of pilaf he filled me in on some new developments. Along with myself, Joe, Papi, and Arti, there were four new additions to the camping party. Arti’s two friends, Dori and Samir, would be joining us, as well as Papi’s fifteen-year-old son, (a squirrelly little guy who seemed kind of afraid to talk to Joe and I. I never nailed down his name). And then there was the Old Man.

“So who’s the old guy?” I asked Joe.
“No idea. He showed up at the house this morning. I’ve never seen him before.”
“Is he coming with us? I mean, He’s pretty old-looking.”
“I think so. He was real excited. Kept hugging me and stuff all morning.”
“That might have been the raki.”
“Entirely possible,” Joe deadpanned.

Some new information had been gleaned as to our destination. Joe had nailed down the name of the place as Theth. It was an area North of Puke, near the Montenegrin border, in the heart of the Albanian Alps. We understood this to be one of the most isolated parts of the country. A place that few people who weren’t Albanian and didn’t live up there would have traveled through. And, rumored to be the last bastion of the notorious Albanian Blood Feuds.

“This sounds almost adventurous,” I said.
“I know man. At the every least we’ll have a good story to brag about. But, it gets even crazier.” He paused for effect. “Papi said that our cell phones won’t even work in Theth,”
“We are badasses.”
“Fuck yeah we are.”

As per standard Albanian operating procedure, we let the stated time of departure come and go. Cruising up and down the only street Puke, we picked up food, fueled up the van, stopped to yell at people on the other side of the street, got ice cream cones, and generally just paraded around for forty-five minutes.

The final stop was the hospital, where we would apparently be picking up the ninth member of the group. We waited outside in the van – Papi laying on the horn – for a guy that we would only know as “Doktori.” That’s not his name. The guy is a just a doctor who they all call “The Docotor”. When we asked who we were waiting for, the answer was simply “The Doctor.” He emerged from the hospital with a few boxes and loaded them into the van at my feet. The boxes contained typical medical supplies, as well as some more disheartening items like syringes and i.v. fluids. Joe and I exchanged “whoa, I hope we don’t need that” glances.

We were on the road. Descending from Puke’s mountain-top location to the coastal lands where we would head North before making a right turn and making the ascent to Theth.

I’m tired. I’m going to bed now. Tomorrow I’m heading to Montenegro for the weekend. I’ll get this story wrapped up and post the rest of it on Monday or Tuesday.

Peace Out.