Plaka

One of the most difficult things to find in the United States of America is a good tile layer.  Craftsmen of high caliber are typically in short supply there.  Tile can be done poorly and then it is a stain on the face of a home or business until that place is torn down.  The best tile layer I have seen is a man named Victor Zayshlyy.  He is from one of the former Soviet Block countries.  The Soviet Union fielded a generation of some of the most mathematically sharp immigrants our nation has ever benefited from receiving.  Stone is a common building material in Albania.  It should be no surprise that finding an excellent tile layer in Albania is about as rare finding a fast-food restaurant in Texas.  This entire country is built of concrete, stone, brick, marble and granite.

I was twenty-seven the first time I mixed a batch of thinset for my Uncle Norman.  The trick is for the grout to resemble wet sand, and for you to add water carefully.  Once you get over your fear of it, tile installation is one of the most satisfying of any of the construction tasks.  It was good for my heart to see the progress which was made today.

My crew, after another round of negotiating the obvious with ourselves and the engineer, installed six of the eight pusetes we need to handle the rain run-off at the church.  We should be ready to cover the entire system by the end of next week.

Today was payday, which is always a good thing.  The men I work with find it necessary to remind me that someday I will be gone from here.  Both Fatjon and Saiamir mentioned it today.  I originally came for a seven month service stint, but after being here for 10 weeks I feel like I am still in the process of getting my footing.  I can’t really imagine going back to the States right now.

At the end of the day today I returned home to the school in Sauk.  Every evening there is a better-than-even chance that I will run into Cimi, my friend who acts as the guard and maintenance man of the school.  Today he invited me to sit on the davenport outside of his brother’s house for some coffee.  Of course I accepted, and soon I was deep in conversation about work and my day with Cimi and his mother.  Cimi knows the word “no” in English.  I am almost certain that it is the only English word he knows.  Tomorrow he and I are going to meet at his house at 8AM to head to the Mount Dajti.  Afterword, I will be joining his family for a church service.  Cimi is a good man with a rare heart.  He is a family man and has only been to one other country in his life; a visit to Athens for 10 days.  Given my experience there, I can understand why he never traveled outside of Albania again.

Love.