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.