To Durrës

In Tirana, on Rruga Mine Peza, between Rruga Petero Marko and Rruga Kongresi i Tiranes is a way-station for for old Mercedes vans and mismatched, outdated minivans called Zog i Zee.  Any person who is familiar with mass transit in the city knows of Zog i Zee.  You might think it is named after former French President Nicolas Sarkozy, but the name means literally “black bird” in Albanian.  From Black Bird you can get anywhere from Laç to Vlorë, Durrës to Elbasan; and area of about 7800 square kilometers.  The cafe at Zog i Zee is where I have my first cup of coffee most mornings.  I’ve gotten to know the waiters, drivers and some of the patrons there.  Saturday morning I saw some familiar faces.  “Fushekruje!  Hitha Fushekruje!”  But I was not going into work that day.  I was going to the beach.

Ervis asked me early last week if I would like to go with him to Durrës.  Ervis has become one of my closest friends here, and I trust implicitly.  I had been to the beach in Durrës once before, but that was with a large group of people.  I need encouragement to see the different parts of this country, to experience them as the locals do.  Vissy’s offer was just the thing to get me out in the sun for something other than digging canals and mixing concrete.  For just less than two US dollars you can get from the heart of Tirana to the seaside.  The Adriatic is warm and has legendary healing properties.  

Vissy and I rented a palapa, two long beach chairs and an umbrella, for four dollars.  I have been to the beaches of California, South Carolina, Florida and half-a-dozen other states.  I have also been to some beaches in Mexico.  No where have I found such a wide assortment of goods made available by deeply tanned merchants slogging up and down the hot sand, toting their wares.  There were boys age 8 and up selling cold bottles of beer and water; cigarettes, phone cards and pens in trays hanging from around the necks of teenagers.  Fruits, towels, hats were also for sale.  The most curious items I saw were a pair of stuffed birds mounted on wooden perches; one was a crane and the other an owl.   

There were people driving three wheeled motorized carts laden with beach toys, men pushing wheel barrows full of fruits and vegetables and more than a few donkeys with hard plastic crates strapped to their sides in place of saddles.  Vissy and I enjoyed some peanuts, a treat I usually save for Mariner games with my father, and corn roasted on a Hibachi grill.  I grew up with corn on the cob, and I don’t like it.  Corn burn-roasted black over charcoal is quite good, however; the kernels release easily from the corn-cob and are as chewy as raw cashews.

Every time I am with Vissy, I get a taste for the real Albania.  I did venture into the salty sea to float and drift and kick around.  The water is a quiet, safe, fascinating cradle; just like I remember.