Saturday 27 August 2011
We left the seaside camp at noon after a swim (not as hot as the day before, thank God), then avoided an overcharge to both families for our camp stay through Dian's toughness when she went to pay, and headed for "forbidden" Albania.
Near the border we saw a guy on his old tractor, chugging along.... while yacking on his cell phone. We saw women in traditional garb -- gypsies? A Montenegran car suddenly passed and swerved too close to the Dutch van! -- did he hit them? We pulled over and talked, they didn't think so, but sure enough there was some paint gone in that very spot. More gypsies (?) We passed minarets, buildings trying to be modern but clueless. Garish colors.
We crossed into Albania (country #13!), aimed for the capital, Tirane. Graffiti featured the scary-looking Albanian black double-headed eagle, and on the side of a mountain was written, in English, "Welcome to Albania -- students of Vitrinal." We began to see many Mercedes and gas stations, called Castrati, others named Crappi and a truck graveyard on the side of the main highway to the capital plus a cow in someone's front yard. There was some trepidation about entering a Communist country but we soon found that the Albanian people were gems.
Stopping at an Internet cafe so Charles could send his articles to the Santa Monica Daily Press, he was treated with exceptional courtesy and customer service beyond imagination, and when Dian and Nicole showed up the owner treated each of them to bottled fruit juices. The rest of the group took care of errands. Mories had a key made, Isabel bought some things at the apothecary and Nicole was given a container of lotion by the pharmacist who was excited to meet such foreigners. All were greeted with the same friendliness and service.
Isabel and Mories had needed to find a fitting for their gas canister, so we stopped to check out a store carrying all they could ever want in the way of camping gas, only to find it was closed. We were about to leave when Dian saw it was just opening. Our caravan screeched to a halt.
To make a long story longer, we couldn't communicate with the store owner until a man named Bruno walked up and, speaking Italian and German, was able to translate through Isabel their needs. Leaving on two bicycles to weave through Tirane rush hour traffic more quickly, Moreis and Bruno were successful in finding a second camping store, and what a sight it was to see him come around the bend holding a large can of gas under one arm while steering with another.
Bruno was our new "best friend." He invited us to park near his apartment and use his facilities, and led us to his favorite restaurant across the street where the eight of us feasted on unending rounds of beef, chicken and pork, with all the side dishes and seven beers for a mere $64. We're loving Albania.
We left the seaside camp at noon after a swim (not as hot as the day before, thank God), then avoided an overcharge to both families for our camp stay through Dian's toughness when she went to pay, and headed for "forbidden" Albania.
Near the border we saw a guy on his old tractor, chugging along.... while yacking on his cell phone. We saw women in traditional garb -- gypsies? A Montenegran car suddenly passed and swerved too close to the Dutch van! -- did he hit them? We pulled over and talked, they didn't think so, but sure enough there was some paint gone in that very spot. More gypsies (?) We passed minarets, buildings trying to be modern but clueless. Garish colors.
We crossed into Albania (country #13!), aimed for the capital, Tirane. Graffiti featured the scary-looking Albanian black double-headed eagle, and on the side of a mountain was written, in English, "Welcome to Albania -- students of Vitrinal." We began to see many Mercedes and gas stations, called Castrati, others named Crappi and a truck graveyard on the side of the main highway to the capital plus a cow in someone's front yard. There was some trepidation about entering a Communist country but we soon found that the Albanian people were gems.
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| Bruno juggling his two cell phones |
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| Goya and Miro |
To make a long story longer, we couldn't communicate with the store owner until a man named Bruno walked up and, speaking Italian and German, was able to translate through Isabel their needs. Leaving on two bicycles to weave through Tirane rush hour traffic more quickly, Moreis and Bruno were successful in finding a second camping store, and what a sight it was to see him come around the bend holding a large can of gas under one arm while steering with another.
Bruno was our new "best friend." He invited us to park near his apartment and use his facilities, and led us to his favorite restaurant across the street where the eight of us feasted on unending rounds of beef, chicken and pork, with all the side dishes and seven beers for a mere $64. We're loving Albania.
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| Walking back from the restaurant |
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