On the 28th, while waiting to catch the last bus into town around lunch time, I could hear people asking “will there be another bus?” I thought it might be nice to walk down the hill into Tirana. That way I could see if anything was happening at the monument of the woman holding the torch near the cemetery in the Sanitorium neighborhood.
A few minutes later, when the bus arrived at capacity and then began to load the two-dozen people I had been waiting with, I started walking. The road down into the center was blocked by police so I cut through the trees into the park. To my surprise, a large crowd had gathered in the square near the statue. I walked around a bit, taking photographs and generally keeping to myself. There were quite a few foreigners in business suits there to meet with other foreigners in business suits. A group of men in bright red outfits stood ready to play instruments, and others stood as honor guard to wreaths of flowers.
I had almost decided to head on, down the hill into Tirana, when people began to clap for someone. Sali Berisha looks like all of the videos of him I’ve seen on television. I dispersed with the crowd down the hill at the conclusion of whatever ceremony I had stumbled into. Four abreast we made our way, taking up one of the lanes intended for vehicles. Rruga Elbasan is under construction, the going was slow.
At the base of the hill I called a friend of mine from outside of the U.S. Embassy. In order to receive clear counsel, it is best to make calls from a commonly known landmark. Tirana was full of people wearing their nicest blacks and lots of reds.
Flags were on cars, hats, scarves, peoples’ backs and flying from banners, poles and windows. The air was reserved, slow walking, respectful; a people doing all they could to honor those around them.
I saw and heard a man crack something hard and black over the crown of a seven year olds’ head. Red faced with anger, the little boy tried to lash out in response, but his father was holding his hand. The black thing was a toy machine gun and the man was probably the child’s uncle. This was not a day for pranks and plastic guns.
I watched most of the parade from the steps of the Opera House near Sahati. Behind me, at the top of the stairs was a platform with the remains of what had been a four ton cake atop it. People were calmly helping themselves to the strawberry frosted sweet. Cake and plates, napkins and sticky were everywhere. The floor felt like it was that of an old movie theater. At some point in the day the people providing help for cake lovers had ran out of forks. Frosting covered fingers made for careful walking and watching out for who you were standing near.
The parade honored members of all of the armed services as well as some of the less appreciated services carried out in the city of Tirana. Near the end of the parade was a march of international flags. Each flag had its own moment of honor. My friend Ben and I hooted loudly for the United States. We were not alone.
You may or may not know, but this little nation of 3.2 million people has troops on the ground helping out the United States in it’s mission in Afghanistan. They are not merely allies in word, they are allies in deed. Congratulations on 100 years Shqipëri, we love you.
albaniacalling 