On Saturday of last week I met Ervis in Tirana at 6:3AM. I had forgotten my cell phone at the college, so it was fortunate that I recognized his bright blur Adidas jacket shortly after making it to the center of town. We walked the customary half-mile or so to find a forgone to take us to Peshkopia, which is a town some four to five hours drive away. As we made our way down the highway past Fushekruje, we stopped to pick up Veesy’s mother, Drita. Drita is a lovely lady with a really terrific smile. Drita means energy in the Albanian language.
Once we arrived in Peshkopia we took another forgone into the mountains where Veesy’s wife’s family lives. The forgone reached a point of no return on the primitive road. Saying thank you, the three of exited to finish the trek on foot. Our destination could best be described as a hamlet. About a dozen or so structures within a stone’s throw of each other; some for humans, others for livestock. Every structure was principally constructed of stone and mortar with timbers composing the support of any elevated floors or roofs. Wood was also used for headers over door and window wall penetrations. If Disneyland were to install a “Little House on the Prairie Land,” their artisan craftsman would toil in design over thousands of man hours to come to the realization of this place. Fences twisted together out of rare wood scraps, strips of tree-bark, living trees and precious nails keep the beasts from roaming. Huge mountain dogs unleashed and unafraid yet obedient to the strictest of degree keep strangers from harming their masters. Streams of cool clean water keep thirst travelers from heat exhaustion. Steep, loose-rock covered paths to all corners keep one from lapsing in vigilant care. Farms right up to the edge of the world keep a resourceful people well provided for.
Upon my arrival, I was taken into a room with seats lining all four of the walls within. I was given the seat furthest from the door, an indication that I was encouraged to stay. I met most of the primary men in the family, including three of the four brothers who comprise the patriarchal nexus of things. One of the brothers is Veesy’s father-in-law. His son would be married the next day. He sat next to me for this photograph.
After a piece of candy, some coffee, some water, a glass of fresh milk, and an offer of raki, I was invited to eat something. “For everyone?” I asked. “No, just for you.” I was told. “I will wait until everyone eats.” I said. “Bravo,” was the reply. Soon I was ushered to an upstairs bedroom for a meal with Veesy. In the bedroom napping was the fourth brother. He was the only smoker of the four, and he wore the woolen cap of a southerner from the flat lands. There are three traditional styles of hat in Albania. Each style is indicative of a person’s origin.
After our honorary meal, one of the brothers, a man named Zaladin (which has to be one of the greatest names I’ve ever heard) offered to take me for a hike around to take some beautiful photographs. Of course I said yes to that. Over the course of the hike, we arrived at about four places with some of the most beautiful views imaginable. Also, at each of these places, I was offered, if I wasn’t too tired of course, to go to a higher, more beautiful place. Looking back, I can’t say for certain if this man knew exactly how to goad me into another bit of hiking, or if he truly was making sure that I could keep up with him. Either way we soon were near the top of the mountain, having set out initially for a brief jaunt. At one spot, we came to a field dotted with flat stones. Our host explained to me that the stones had a high salt content, and that the animals which made the trek to that place to lick the salt had the most delicious meat around. The house near the top of the mountain was the home of a family friend of Zaladin’s. Veesy and I waited for him for about 20 minutes while he paid his respects pending the marriage of his nephew. After the two men joined us back outside the four of us hiked the last bit to the ruins of an ancient stone catholic church. The footprint of a structure was not discernible to me, but an altar had been stacked out of some of the cut stone which lay about. The shrine was a place of great respect for my Muslim hosts.
At the top of the mountain we could see some of the mountains of Macedonia, Albania’s neighbor to the east.
By the time we arrived back at the house, three hours had passed. Festivities soon commenced. I am going to leave the story here, because I want to capture it as completely as I can in another post. Good night.
albaniacalling 