before i left for albania and upon arriving, i was told to be very careful about going out alone, talking to strangers, and leaving the convent walls, because of the fact that i am a woman and also a foreigner. the funny thing is, most of the albanian men that i've met have been complete gentlemen, polite, outwardly conservative and rather exclusive.
the only creep i've encountered is an italian, working for the nuns, and living in the bedroom next to mine within these rigid and unbending walls.
life is funny.
20090531
20090526
rocks and rubble
(libby took this picture of fioralba and i.. inside of the castle)Sunday evening at 6:00 a girl whose name, 'Fioralba' could be translated as 'Albanian Flower' came to the convent looking for Libby and I. For not even being older than 15, her height and mature demeanor would lead anyone to believe she was at least, 20. Like most of the women that I've met in this country, the incredible kindness and enthusiasm for life, her home and this constant searching for things to laugh about that just shines in her eyes makes the time we spend together into something otherworldy.
We left the gates and started walking through the town we live in, passing fruit vendors and ice cream shops, stray dogs and women in heels and brightly colored skirts, carrying plastic bags full of vegetables, leaves poking out. The sky was cloudy for the first time in weeks and the streets, all pot holes and different colors of concrete like pieces of a quilt sewn together, with bricks between the gaps. There is not one working stop light in this entire town. A speed limit does not exist. No one has the right of way. It's life or death every time you cross the street. I often stand on the sidewalk, pretending to look at a sign, but only waiting for some street-savy passerby to cross so I can quickly follow behind, almost stepping on his heels.. hoping this isn't a tourist who is equally inept at stepping into traffic as i am. I'm not dead yet.
30 minutes into it and the sidewalks are getting dirtier, the buildings all hodge-podge and missmatched, as if a different architect had been hired for each structure, not letting any of the others see his plans. Old men pass us slowly, leaning on canes for support and wearing hats that had probably seen the invention of the bicycle. There are more and more people outside, standing on the sidewalks, most of the women wearing aprons and bandanas and lots of little children kicking balls between the cars and benches. They stared at us when we passed and I felt so detached and foreign, like an intruder but i didn't mean to be. Outside of the bars sat groups of men on boxes and crates and parts of broken sofas that whistled and hissed at us, saying words in Albanian. Fioralba said, "this is a dangerous part of town, but i am not afraid. you don't need to be afraid." I wasn't scared. "This is where the gypsies live," she said. The amount of political incorrectness in that statement meant nothing, because I was the one who was ignorant, naive and uninformed.
A group of kids whose thin, fading cotton outfits, covered in dirt fished through a pile of trash on the side of the road. A little boy about 4, lifted a moldy and rotting piece of cardboard over his head, letting old wrappers and banana peels fall to the ground. Stray cats followed us with their eyes as we passed. We were leaving the city.
More and more open fields began to show their faces and the sun was low, setting in the sky. Abandoned shops turned into farmhouses and we crossed onto a side road, all dirt that led up to the castle. Across the street was a small circus, ancient rides for children with rusting handles that would never pass inspection, but the music still worked. Women with huge and curly, frizzy bleached hair all different colors stood next to men watching little swings go in circles.
There were cows on the hills and the smell of pigs and chickens was everywhere. It's interesting how everywhere has a different smell, but farms seem to smell the same all over the world. It was kind of nostalgic.
The castle was in full view, high on a hill and majestic. We walked until the dirt turned into an ancient, cobblestone path that curved along the mountain and led up to the castle gate where a man, stood, collecting Lekes and allowing us in. The view from up there was incredible. I saw our town, well-manicured buildings in the center surrounded by rubble and old buildings, what we'd just walked through. The water, the mountains, the city. Our friend told us the legend of the castle because, even at 15, she is like so many of the others here, very aware of the story of her town and country.
Grass was poking up between the rocks and dotting the fields were poppies and daisies, wild. The castle brought me into another world, and I slowly started forgetting the images of the kids and garbage, and all of the eyes.
We walked back home and it felt much less shocking.
20090524
Tongue-Tied
Albanians are incredibly talented people. I'm able to travel around this country ordering food and coffees, hearing people's stories and country folklore while speaking solely in Italian. Most of the people that I've met are trilingual.. understanding Albanian, Italian and often English. I was at a bar a week ago and met an Albanian woman who spoke to me in English, Italian and French. They jump from language to language as if it was nothing and rarely get credit for this. They do start studying around the age of 7...
sweet
A few days ago, Libby and i walked to the ice cream shop down the street and, speaking in English started picking our favorite flavors on the others side of the glass. A woman that came up to my shoulders, with wavy, black hair, a flowered skirt and an apron walked into the shop and stood next to me in line. When she heard us speaking English, she leaned in so close I didn't know if I was to kiss her on the cheek or move away! We ordered our ice cream, the whole time I kept making funny eye contact and smiling at this woman, who did the same thing back.. both of us knowing the only words we knew in common were "faleminderit, and "Natën e mirë" (hello and good night).
While Libby was paying for her gelato, the lady and i kept pointing at the different pastries they sold in the shop and smiling and pointing at the ones we thought were good. She pointed to a cookie and said something like.. "amaro," shaking her head up and down. I got it. This one was her favorite.
Libby turned around and I smiled at the stranger again, beginning to walk out, when all of the sudden, she says something in Albanian. I turned around and there she was, standing with a cookie in her outstretched hand and this beautiful smile. She put the cookie in my palm and i, kind of dumbfounded, just kept saying 'faleminderit, faleminderit,' and then she walked out, mounted an old, Schwinn bicycle and rode away down the street.
I'd rather dance with you
Last night was incredible.
I can't even begin to describe how alive and uninhibited I felt.
After taking pictures from the roof, Lib and I left the convent at around 7, only to find a festival close by where there was live music and so many fireworks being shot off of the top of a building. The dust and sparks were so close to all of our faces that we had to shield our eyes that burned and watered from the thick and hot air.
A new friend had asked the nuns if she could take us to a karaoke night at a bar close to where we live and promised to walk us back to our gate by 2am.
They said 'yes!' Miracles happen.
We crammed into a tiny car with 6 people all sitting like sardines and screaming the lyrics of eurotechno songs and speeding through the streets, arrived to the part of town that Lib and i walk to almost every day because it's so lovely. The Strada Pedonale, full of cafes and bars and a tourist shop and a few random stores. Benches and lightposts line the sidewalk, which, during the day is full of passerbys and ancient looking bicycles that people all ages ride. Never had we seen this part of town after dark because we've always been locked in. Women aren't supposed to go out alone without men to accompany them. That's what they tell us, atleast.
We parked the car in some abandoned lot full of debri from a building that is slowly being destroyed by time.
People kept showing up as we walked to the bar and by the time we arrived at the door, there were probably about 15 of us. Everyone was singing and shouting and so ready to enjoy life. I felt pretty and everyone looked so beautiful in skirts and shorts and high heeled shoes that made so many little clicking sounds against the cobblestone streets. The boys, tan from the sun and wearing slick jeans and tight shirts reminded me of being in Naples and I felt so at home.
We ate delicious pizza at a 'pizza al metro' close to the bar that had thin crusts and the most aromatic cheeses, meats and mushrooms mixed with strong garlic, tomato and olive oil that held the smoke and grilled flavor of fire and of the giant, stone oven they used to cook them in. my mouth waters just thinking about it.
When we got to the bar, I met more people and ordered vodka and peach which turned out to be pink vodka that had the scent of peach and the strength of a steel wall. Libby and I sang karaoke in english and everyone was dancing arm in arm, the boys with boys and girls with girls and then mixing it all up, shouting the words to all of the most well-known Albanian songs and standard American tunes. There was Italian music and a lot, a lot of euro-techno-electronica dance music.
The way people dance here was such a shock. In the US, dancing is often, incredibly sexual. I remember once, this guy told me that all I had to do if i wanted to be a good dancer was, "spell your name with your ass, in cursive and don't move your feet."
Here, everyone dances. Everyone dances really well.
The dancing looks like the types of rituals that birds do before they choose a mate. There's minimal touching and a lot of arm moving and clapping and walking in circles around the other. It's incredibly hot. The men look kind of funny, resembling that bent-legged, arms to the sky 'Fiddler On The Roof' sort of movement.. like something from the old country ;) The women move their bodies and their feet, clapping and lift their arms above their heads in pretty flowing pictures as if they were actually expressing their connection to the music.. it's a lot less sexual.
Libby said people in the States seem to dance as if they're testing out how someone will be in the bedroom. I don't know if it's because of the nature of this culture as being conservative as far as dating is concerned, but it's not like that at all. I love dancing and have nothing against the way we dance in the US, but it's interesting to see such a difference among people my own age.
The music became more traditional and suddenly everyone was holding hands in a circle and doing this old dance that they must have all learned from their relatives and older family members. so fun!! I didn't know how to do the steps but i tried to copy the others and if you're smiling, people look at your face and not your body, anyhow. The person at the front of the circle led the whole group around the bar and we were all singing and dancing and laughing and no one was smashed, and still able to have a conversation. A lot of the people at my table were drinking Red Bull instead of alcohol. I think that if the drinking laws are less rigid alcohol doesn't seem so mysterious and appealing. Maybe...
I met a lot of people that were so kind and there were these girls that told me to talk to Obama and tell him to let them into America. It hurt.
I met a boy named Claude who hadn't seen his mother or brother for 9 years because they were living in New York, his brother working as a carpenter and his mother living at home. He lives here with his dad. He was quiet and mysterious, the one who took a lot of pictures and didn't dance as much. Someone said.."He's been to America! Only for 2 steps though." I didn't understand.
Claude had gotten a ticket to New York to live with his mother and brother and to see them after 8 years, and when he got to customs, they didn't let him in. He took the next flight back to Albania.
he said: 'it's in the past now. it's ok'
We danced and sang and laughed. These people are so full of life.
At 2am, stumbling and red-faced, singing Albanian patriotic songs while Marco kept saying "everybody," the only english word he knew, we got back into the car. The streets were empty and with the music blasting out the windows, we arrived at the convent, said a hundred 'naten' kissed everyone on the cheek and returned to the other side of these walls.
I can't even begin to describe how alive and uninhibited I felt.
After taking pictures from the roof, Lib and I left the convent at around 7, only to find a festival close by where there was live music and so many fireworks being shot off of the top of a building. The dust and sparks were so close to all of our faces that we had to shield our eyes that burned and watered from the thick and hot air.
A new friend had asked the nuns if she could take us to a karaoke night at a bar close to where we live and promised to walk us back to our gate by 2am.
They said 'yes!' Miracles happen.
We crammed into a tiny car with 6 people all sitting like sardines and screaming the lyrics of eurotechno songs and speeding through the streets, arrived to the part of town that Lib and i walk to almost every day because it's so lovely. The Strada Pedonale, full of cafes and bars and a tourist shop and a few random stores. Benches and lightposts line the sidewalk, which, during the day is full of passerbys and ancient looking bicycles that people all ages ride. Never had we seen this part of town after dark because we've always been locked in. Women aren't supposed to go out alone without men to accompany them. That's what they tell us, atleast.
We parked the car in some abandoned lot full of debri from a building that is slowly being destroyed by time.
People kept showing up as we walked to the bar and by the time we arrived at the door, there were probably about 15 of us. Everyone was singing and shouting and so ready to enjoy life. I felt pretty and everyone looked so beautiful in skirts and shorts and high heeled shoes that made so many little clicking sounds against the cobblestone streets. The boys, tan from the sun and wearing slick jeans and tight shirts reminded me of being in Naples and I felt so at home.
We ate delicious pizza at a 'pizza al metro' close to the bar that had thin crusts and the most aromatic cheeses, meats and mushrooms mixed with strong garlic, tomato and olive oil that held the smoke and grilled flavor of fire and of the giant, stone oven they used to cook them in. my mouth waters just thinking about it.
When we got to the bar, I met more people and ordered vodka and peach which turned out to be pink vodka that had the scent of peach and the strength of a steel wall. Libby and I sang karaoke in english and everyone was dancing arm in arm, the boys with boys and girls with girls and then mixing it all up, shouting the words to all of the most well-known Albanian songs and standard American tunes. There was Italian music and a lot, a lot of euro-techno-electronica dance music.
The way people dance here was such a shock. In the US, dancing is often, incredibly sexual. I remember once, this guy told me that all I had to do if i wanted to be a good dancer was, "spell your name with your ass, in cursive and don't move your feet."
Here, everyone dances. Everyone dances really well.
The dancing looks like the types of rituals that birds do before they choose a mate. There's minimal touching and a lot of arm moving and clapping and walking in circles around the other. It's incredibly hot. The men look kind of funny, resembling that bent-legged, arms to the sky 'Fiddler On The Roof' sort of movement.. like something from the old country ;) The women move their bodies and their feet, clapping and lift their arms above their heads in pretty flowing pictures as if they were actually expressing their connection to the music.. it's a lot less sexual.
Libby said people in the States seem to dance as if they're testing out how someone will be in the bedroom. I don't know if it's because of the nature of this culture as being conservative as far as dating is concerned, but it's not like that at all. I love dancing and have nothing against the way we dance in the US, but it's interesting to see such a difference among people my own age.
The music became more traditional and suddenly everyone was holding hands in a circle and doing this old dance that they must have all learned from their relatives and older family members. so fun!! I didn't know how to do the steps but i tried to copy the others and if you're smiling, people look at your face and not your body, anyhow. The person at the front of the circle led the whole group around the bar and we were all singing and dancing and laughing and no one was smashed, and still able to have a conversation. A lot of the people at my table were drinking Red Bull instead of alcohol. I think that if the drinking laws are less rigid alcohol doesn't seem so mysterious and appealing. Maybe...
I met a lot of people that were so kind and there were these girls that told me to talk to Obama and tell him to let them into America. It hurt.
I met a boy named Claude who hadn't seen his mother or brother for 9 years because they were living in New York, his brother working as a carpenter and his mother living at home. He lives here with his dad. He was quiet and mysterious, the one who took a lot of pictures and didn't dance as much. Someone said.."He's been to America! Only for 2 steps though." I didn't understand.
Claude had gotten a ticket to New York to live with his mother and brother and to see them after 8 years, and when he got to customs, they didn't let him in. He took the next flight back to Albania.
he said: 'it's in the past now. it's ok'
We danced and sang and laughed. These people are so full of life.
At 2am, stumbling and red-faced, singing Albanian patriotic songs while Marco kept saying "everybody," the only english word he knew, we got back into the car. The streets were empty and with the music blasting out the windows, we arrived at the convent, said a hundred 'naten' kissed everyone on the cheek and returned to the other side of these walls.
20090523
The Roof
The place that i will probably remember more vividly than anywhere else in this country will be the roof of this building.
I can't tell you how many times i go there to relax and be alone, under the stars or the sun. The nuns don't let anyone up there because i'm sure they'd feel liable, but i can't even begin to describe the way it inspires me. hopefully, someday i'll be able to put an image up for you to see. Every day when the nuns are in mass or busy i sneak up the stairs and through the door that leads to the top of the convent.
The view is stunning. The tips of the cathedrals, mosques, markets and shingled, apartment rooves are in full view. The city, old and encircled by a backdrop of mountains, spotted with trees and ancient stone castles and farms is only ameliorated by the pristine nature that masks the dusty streets and crumbling buildings. There are only a few other buildings taller than our own, and so, often times i finally feel like a liberated animal.
There are so many birds here and often the sky is so clear that the trails of smoke left behind by airplanes stay like white pencil sketches above my head for what seems like hours. There is always a soft breeze. the type of breeze that you hardly know is there until you feel something soft brush against your arm, as if it was alive. it's a spiritual retreat.
I found an old exercise machine that resembles a mini stair-stepper in the nun's kitchen behind the television set, that one of them had used for physical therapy. I bring it to the roof and do a bit of aerobics as often as i can. it's never enough and i'm too easy on myself, but it's better than nothing. Today I put on shorts and brought the little machine to the hideaway and exercised and spent two hours reading and stretching under the sun. The apartment next to my convent can see our roof from the top floor and i'm sure i was quite a spectacle.. the weird foreigner.. a little boy came to his window and started bobbing up and down, waving at me as i stared straight back at him, bobbing up and down. oh i'm strange. It's just that i feel so alive after spending so much time in solitude. There are walls that surround the roof that go up to my waist and so, when i'm laying down on my back, all i can i see is the rippled, yellow paint and clear blue sky. From below all of the sounds of the city, honking cars, the bells on bicycles and the prayers coming from the mosque and outdoor vendor's voices can be heard but no one knows i am there and i in feeling so invisible i guess i feel liberated. it's like being able to exist solely for oneself and knowing that no one can see you but ladybugs and birds.
I can't tell you how many times i go there to relax and be alone, under the stars or the sun. The nuns don't let anyone up there because i'm sure they'd feel liable, but i can't even begin to describe the way it inspires me. hopefully, someday i'll be able to put an image up for you to see. Every day when the nuns are in mass or busy i sneak up the stairs and through the door that leads to the top of the convent.
The view is stunning. The tips of the cathedrals, mosques, markets and shingled, apartment rooves are in full view. The city, old and encircled by a backdrop of mountains, spotted with trees and ancient stone castles and farms is only ameliorated by the pristine nature that masks the dusty streets and crumbling buildings. There are only a few other buildings taller than our own, and so, often times i finally feel like a liberated animal.
There are so many birds here and often the sky is so clear that the trails of smoke left behind by airplanes stay like white pencil sketches above my head for what seems like hours. There is always a soft breeze. the type of breeze that you hardly know is there until you feel something soft brush against your arm, as if it was alive. it's a spiritual retreat.
I found an old exercise machine that resembles a mini stair-stepper in the nun's kitchen behind the television set, that one of them had used for physical therapy. I bring it to the roof and do a bit of aerobics as often as i can. it's never enough and i'm too easy on myself, but it's better than nothing. Today I put on shorts and brought the little machine to the hideaway and exercised and spent two hours reading and stretching under the sun. The apartment next to my convent can see our roof from the top floor and i'm sure i was quite a spectacle.. the weird foreigner.. a little boy came to his window and started bobbing up and down, waving at me as i stared straight back at him, bobbing up and down. oh i'm strange. It's just that i feel so alive after spending so much time in solitude. There are walls that surround the roof that go up to my waist and so, when i'm laying down on my back, all i can i see is the rippled, yellow paint and clear blue sky. From below all of the sounds of the city, honking cars, the bells on bicycles and the prayers coming from the mosque and outdoor vendor's voices can be heard but no one knows i am there and i in feeling so invisible i guess i feel liberated. it's like being able to exist solely for oneself and knowing that no one can see you but ladybugs and birds.
i am you are he/she/it is we are you all are they are
Libby and I teach English for a total of about 20 hours a week. Some of the classes are taught solely by us, others are in classrooms with more than 30 kids where there is also another teacher present and then others are small groups of about 5-10 seniors who are studying for the TOEFL English exam. (...and that's what you call a run-on sentence, class.)
One of the classes that i usually look forward to teaching is a conversation class that is made up of 7 people ages 13-19 and meets after school three times per week.
I've never seen a group of students so eager to speak.
A few minutes before the class had begun, i had been talking to Jennifer on facebook and she inspired me to inspire them. I love how feelings can can even pass through computer cords and satellite dishes and black lines and dots that show up on someone else's screen.
Libby hadn't been able to make it to the class and usually I just prepare conversation/discussion prompts for them and we have a nice talk for about an hour about our favorite books, unique things about the culture, movies, dolphins, anything really..
It's very hot here and there isn't air conditioning anywhere so the classroom was absolutely stifling! I had an idea. I told them that if they promised to only speak in English, we could go buy ice cream! Gelato here is only 20 cents a scoop and I had 500 Leke in my pocket! (about $5) I've never had so much fun teaching a class in my life! We walked in a big group down the street to the ice cream stand, the whole time talking about the one thing that we love or are interested in that we feel makes us different from everyone else. One of the students said that she loves the book and film "A Walk To Remember." Another said that she loved to act and dance and another said that she really liked swimming and that last summer she won a swimming race at a pool in Tirana. Listening to people express themselves in a language that is foreign to them is so beautiful because it helps us remember how simple life actually is. I don't know if it's the fact that when one can only use simple words, things appear to be less complicated or if it's just that we're less complicated and only make ourselves into these Rubick's Cubes with our tongues. Does that even make sense?
One of the classes that i usually look forward to teaching is a conversation class that is made up of 7 people ages 13-19 and meets after school three times per week.
I've never seen a group of students so eager to speak.
A few minutes before the class had begun, i had been talking to Jennifer on facebook and she inspired me to inspire them. I love how feelings can can even pass through computer cords and satellite dishes and black lines and dots that show up on someone else's screen.
Libby hadn't been able to make it to the class and usually I just prepare conversation/discussion prompts for them and we have a nice talk for about an hour about our favorite books, unique things about the culture, movies, dolphins, anything really..
It's very hot here and there isn't air conditioning anywhere so the classroom was absolutely stifling! I had an idea. I told them that if they promised to only speak in English, we could go buy ice cream! Gelato here is only 20 cents a scoop and I had 500 Leke in my pocket! (about $5) I've never had so much fun teaching a class in my life! We walked in a big group down the street to the ice cream stand, the whole time talking about the one thing that we love or are interested in that we feel makes us different from everyone else. One of the students said that she loves the book and film "A Walk To Remember." Another said that she loved to act and dance and another said that she really liked swimming and that last summer she won a swimming race at a pool in Tirana. Listening to people express themselves in a language that is foreign to them is so beautiful because it helps us remember how simple life actually is. I don't know if it's the fact that when one can only use simple words, things appear to be less complicated or if it's just that we're less complicated and only make ourselves into these Rubick's Cubes with our tongues. Does that even make sense?
20090522
meeting 00Genti.. press this if you want to see!
Dear Blog,
Dear Blog? This feels so weird... having a conversation with a wall.
i'm sitting in the basement of a convent in Albania in a tiny room called "internet," listening to "Closing Time" on youtube while all of the nuns have said their prayers and are now probably fast asleep. I wonder what they think about when they're in that almost asleep but still awake dream state, it's like the twilight before passing out. Probably, Jesus.
I've been in this country for a little over two weeks now and have a lot of stories which i hope to blog (?..can i even use that as a verb?) but i'm not in the mood to start at the beginning. so here's tonight:
A girl that goes to the high school where Libby and i teach English invited us to a concert that was going to be held in the courtyard of a building fairly close to the convent where we live. This courtyard has a stage where something called "Maj Fest 2009" had been held last weekend.
I got to the concert 15 minutes late and everyone was already gathered around the stage, some standing and others in chairs. Libby was already there with the girl that invited us and her friends. Standing on the platform was a skinny man wearing a blue shirt and lots of necklaces, in his arms was a red, electric guitar and there he was, alone.. rocking out with a ring on his index finger and bracelets covering his wrists. Some of his songs were in Albanian and others in English. His accent sounded almost Australian.
People kept talking and getting up and moving around the courtyard because here it isn't considered impolite to not act fully entranced by live musicians. i'd be scared out of my mind if my audience reacted like that. there's an air in this place of not having incredibly high expectations and also not being incredibly judgmental. It's not like people are trying to be rude, but it's as if they don't put performers on a pedastel the way we might in the States. There is this feeling that i get where it seems like everyone feels like what they have to say is important and just because there is someone else on stage, they're not going to quiet themselves. School here is the same way... no one raises their hands and the kids interrupt the teachers and professors when they have an opinion. it's lovely and chaotic. the idea of feeling like your opinion counts at 14 is a beautiful thing.
During the middle of his performance, he took a water break and a boy that was probably about 13 years old walked onto the stage, took the mic and began to tell a 'barzelletta' or 'little joke' in Albanese about an American that came to Albania and said 'hello' which in Albanian sounds like 'halo' which means.. 'to jump off a bridge.'
The music was good even thought the acoustics where really shitty and his mic only worked half of the time.
After the concert was over i talked to the singer. On his arm was a tattoo that said "Orchid Trip," the name of his band. His English was fantastic! He'd lived in England for 12 years after leaving Albania at the age of 18. You'd never guess he was 30.
We talked about Albania and America, English tea, the nuns and the amount of time I spend on the roof of this building. He invited us to a show he was playing later at a bar we pass almost every day on our walks, promising us it would be a fun time. I wanted to go so badly, but we had to ask one of the nuns if she'd let us go out because it was already after 10:00 and we're not allowed to leave the walls of the convent once the sun has set. She said 'no' and we really had no choice but to stay in, because getting out means passing a german shephard, the guard, and a 10 foot steel gate. ha. (i could only imagine coming back in after sneaking out)
it was a nice night though. i felt like i was my age again and not 17. Speaking English with him was also lovely and i felt that same sort of feeling for him as i've felt for so many English-speaking people i meet in foreign countries. I don't understand language barriers, they seem so menial. i do understand the ties we feel for people we meet on these islands so different from our own, that can understand us maybe just a little more than the others, all because of vocabulary words. Why does that happen? Language is an incredible thing.
Dear Blog? This feels so weird... having a conversation with a wall.
i'm sitting in the basement of a convent in Albania in a tiny room called "internet," listening to "Closing Time" on youtube while all of the nuns have said their prayers and are now probably fast asleep. I wonder what they think about when they're in that almost asleep but still awake dream state, it's like the twilight before passing out. Probably, Jesus.
I've been in this country for a little over two weeks now and have a lot of stories which i hope to blog (?..can i even use that as a verb?) but i'm not in the mood to start at the beginning. so here's tonight:
A girl that goes to the high school where Libby and i teach English invited us to a concert that was going to be held in the courtyard of a building fairly close to the convent where we live. This courtyard has a stage where something called "Maj Fest 2009" had been held last weekend.
I got to the concert 15 minutes late and everyone was already gathered around the stage, some standing and others in chairs. Libby was already there with the girl that invited us and her friends. Standing on the platform was a skinny man wearing a blue shirt and lots of necklaces, in his arms was a red, electric guitar and there he was, alone.. rocking out with a ring on his index finger and bracelets covering his wrists. Some of his songs were in Albanian and others in English. His accent sounded almost Australian.
People kept talking and getting up and moving around the courtyard because here it isn't considered impolite to not act fully entranced by live musicians. i'd be scared out of my mind if my audience reacted like that. there's an air in this place of not having incredibly high expectations and also not being incredibly judgmental. It's not like people are trying to be rude, but it's as if they don't put performers on a pedastel the way we might in the States. There is this feeling that i get where it seems like everyone feels like what they have to say is important and just because there is someone else on stage, they're not going to quiet themselves. School here is the same way... no one raises their hands and the kids interrupt the teachers and professors when they have an opinion. it's lovely and chaotic. the idea of feeling like your opinion counts at 14 is a beautiful thing.
During the middle of his performance, he took a water break and a boy that was probably about 13 years old walked onto the stage, took the mic and began to tell a 'barzelletta' or 'little joke' in Albanese about an American that came to Albania and said 'hello' which in Albanian sounds like 'halo' which means.. 'to jump off a bridge.'
The music was good even thought the acoustics where really shitty and his mic only worked half of the time.
After the concert was over i talked to the singer. On his arm was a tattoo that said "Orchid Trip," the name of his band. His English was fantastic! He'd lived in England for 12 years after leaving Albania at the age of 18. You'd never guess he was 30.
We talked about Albania and America, English tea, the nuns and the amount of time I spend on the roof of this building. He invited us to a show he was playing later at a bar we pass almost every day on our walks, promising us it would be a fun time. I wanted to go so badly, but we had to ask one of the nuns if she'd let us go out because it was already after 10:00 and we're not allowed to leave the walls of the convent once the sun has set. She said 'no' and we really had no choice but to stay in, because getting out means passing a german shephard, the guard, and a 10 foot steel gate. ha. (i could only imagine coming back in after sneaking out)
it was a nice night though. i felt like i was my age again and not 17. Speaking English with him was also lovely and i felt that same sort of feeling for him as i've felt for so many English-speaking people i meet in foreign countries. I don't understand language barriers, they seem so menial. i do understand the ties we feel for people we meet on these islands so different from our own, that can understand us maybe just a little more than the others, all because of vocabulary words. Why does that happen? Language is an incredible thing.
20090520
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