Monday, July 19, 2010

Over the river and through the woods



When you look at Albania on a map, you're likely to have one of the following three thoughts:


"Hey, that's right on the Mediterranean."

"Wow, it's really close to Greece and Italy."

and

"That's a really small country, isn't it?"

You'd be correct on all three. Today, however, we are talking about transportation, so I want to take a moment to dwell on the last thought. Albania isn't just small. Albania is "smaller than Maryland" small. Whereas Maryland has all sorts of bumps, tails, pan-handles, door-handles, and bow ties to spread it out into a long, odd shape, Albania is basically a tidy little rectangle. 200 miles long, 60 miles wide. When I realized that, my first thought was that a person must be able to get from wherever they were to wherever they wanted to be in the country before it was even time to eat lunch.

Oh, was I ever wrong about that one. For example, there is a beautiful coastal town in southern Albania by the name of Saranda. If you draw a straight line from Pogradec to Saranda, you will find that they are all of about 80 miles apart. And yet if I ever want to go to Saranda, I will need to plan for a road trip that lasts about 8 hours. Probably more. How, a person might ask, does that happen?

To be fair, you must begin by acknowledging that Albania has a terrain that would be a civil engineer's nightmare (or dream, I suppose, if they're a masochist). There are two types of places in Albania: those that are in the mountains and those that are next to the mountains. Flat land is a luxury that is found in very limited quantities here. The mountains aren't all huge, but they are rugged and they are everywhere.

That said, there is a more important factor to consider when trying to understand the transportation difficulties here: before 1991, private citizens were not allowed to own or drive cars. For almost half of the 20th century (namely, the half when the automobile burst onto the scene), Albania was ruled by a communist dictator named Enver Hoxha (ho-ja) who did not fancy his people driving around in the non-communal bliss of a private automobile. I have heard it said that when the communist government fell in 1991, there were fewer than 60 cars in the entire country. I can't vouch for the exact numbers, but what I do know is that building a highway system was not very high on the priority list of Hoxha's government.

I would not be a very honest man if I didn't say that part of me wants to go back in time and give Hoxha a big high-five on that one. I think that much of the western world is far too dependent on cars and that it leads to many unfortunate consequences. That said, you can't just eliminate cars and stop there. There must be a second part of that transportation plan that sounds something like this:

"We won't have cars, so instead, our transportation system will rely on an efficient network of buses/trains/subways/bicycles/large carrier pigeons."

Unfortunately, when Albania put together their transportation plan, I think the conversation sounded something more like this:

Advisor 1: Yes, so like I was saying, we won't have any cars.

Hoxha: Great idea!

Advisor 1: Thank you!

Hoxha: By the way, that is unquestionably the largest bird I've ever seen. Why is it here?

Advisor 1: Glad that you asked! You see, instead of having cars, our transportation system will rely on an efficient network of...

**Advisor 2 bursts through the doors, the faint smell of raki surrounding him**

Advisor 2: HOXHA! The Americans are going to invade!

Hoxha: What?! What can we do?

Advisor 2: How about building 700,000 concrete bunkers?

Hoxha: Isn't that a almost a bunker per person?

Advisor 2: Yes it is!

Hoxha: That will take years! And all of our money!

Advisor 2: Yes! Every last cent!

Hoxha: I... like your thinking! I like your spirit! We need to start this now!

**exit Hoxha and Advisor 2**

Advisor 1: ... and... carrier... pigeons.

A train system is in place in the country, but it is probably one of the only train networks in the world (certainly the only one in Europe) against whom Amtrak can comfortably claim superiority. One of the official tourism guides for Pogradec describes it in the following way:

"The District of Pogradec has access to the railway network. This fact is known by few people. [...]The ride, however, is not comfortable. Trains are very old and it takes seven hours to go from Tirana to Pogradec[...] Only the people that are interested in industrial archeology should venture taking the train to Pogradec. [...] On the train you can enjoy looking at both the scenery and the variety of people that board and get off the strange train."

What they fail to mention about the strange train, however, is the fact that a) tickets are dirt cheap b) you can bring your own alcohol on board and c) many of the cabooses apparently don't keep the back door locked , thus allowing you to sit on the back deck during your journey. Drinking beer with friends on the back of a train while winding through the mountains? Yes, please. It hasn't happened yet, but I have every intention of making sure that it does someday.

Unfortunately, there are times when life requires you to travel with speed and sobriety. Or, should I say, relative speed and functional sobriety. In that case, you must turn back to the roads and the highway system that they have effectively put together from scratch during the last 20 years. I wasn't around for the early days of the American automobile highway system, but it makes sense to think that things grew together naturally. In the beginning, there were very few rules of the road and nobody really knew how to drive, but they also had wooden wheels and cars that topped out at 30mph. The cars became bigger and faster, but the roads also became larger and more organized and the drivers became more experienced.

In Albania, on the other hand, you have small roads, few traffic laws, relatively inexperienced drivers, and really fast cars. It is not always a winning combination. You could not pay me enough money to drive in this country (although plenty of people do and, oddly, I see fewer accidents here than I ever did in the states). Thankfully, there are many people that are glad to let you pay them to drive you around. The carless traveler has several options: hitchhiking, taxis, furgons, and buses.

Hitchhiking is still relatively common in Albania and can be a great way to travel. It's free, you get to meet people, it's faster than furgons and buses, and, when the furgons just aren't running any more, it might be the only way that you can get where you need to go. I don't use this option often or when I'm alone (mother), but it is a possibility.

Taxis? They are expensive. There are much better things to spend money on Albania. Next, please.

Buses! Buses run between most of the major cities in Albania. They will vary in quality from "industrial archeology" to "hey, this thing has air conditioning!" They are usually slightly cheaper than furgons, but they are also slower and make frequent stops. One very nice thing about buses, however, is that most of them operate on a set schedule. You might need to do some investigating to figure out what that schedule is (Albanians don't really like to post information like that in public places), but once you do, you know exactly when you can hop a ride out of town. That might not seem like such a big luxury when you are in America and have that power at all times, but it is a big deal when your alternative is this:

You might be asking what it is that you are supposed to be looking at in that picture. Is it the slick VW detailing on the headrests? Is it the fall-collection zebra-print seat covers? Is it the group of guys standing outside, wondering why some kid is taking a picture of the inside of an empty van? Well, yes to all, but the photograph was originally intended to show the dark side of furgons: the empty furgon. Furgons are great because they'll take you anywhere, but they aren't taking you even so far as the next block until they have enough passengers to make it worth their while. If you're lucky, you find a furgon that is almost full and will leave mere minutes after you arrive. If you're not lucky, you get to sit in an empty furgon for as long as it takes until they can round up enough people that are headed your way. My personal longest wait was about an hour and a half, but I've heard of worse. Needless to say, you need to plan some extra time into your trip if a furgon is your travel method of choice.

Once you are on the road, you'll usually get at least one opportunity to stop and contemplate things like life, the good times that you had, and some of those things that you wish you had done before you died in a fiery blaze somewhere in the mountains of Albania.  

(Editors note: that last sentence may come across as extremely inappropriate right now due to the fact that a terrible bus crash that killed 14 people did happen a couple days ago in the mountains of northern Albania.  I wrote this before I knew about the accident and in no way was referencing that event.  Maybe I should take the sentence out all together, but I'm leaving it in because the subject of terrifying road trips is a frequent topic of conversation among volunteers.  Hope you don't mind.) 

That by the way, is not a back road. That is the main highway between Tirana (capital and largest city) and Elbasan (3rd largest city). Roads like that are not all that uncommon. That is an especially windy part of the road, but straight, flat stretches of highway are rare beasts in this country. Furthermore, what may look like a winding two lane road to you and me is actually a three laner with a passing lane that fits snugly into those seven feet between you and the cars approaching from the opposite direction. Your enjoyment of furgon rides increases immensely once you realize that this lane is there and that your driver isn't just passing on blind corners for the adrenaline rush. That's what I like to tell myself, at least. I could go on trying to explain what it is like to ride in cars on those roads, but really it is just something you need to experience for yourself to properly understand.

There are a few other fun details of life on the road in Albania. One is the Pilaf Stop. If your furgon or bus is traveling any longer than about two hours, chances are good that they'll make at least one stop along the way to let the passengers get out, stretch their legs, drink some coffee and eat some food. Like, for instance, pilaf (a common rice dish in Albania).

That, by the way, is a picture of my furgon camped out during a pilaf stop. I haven't reached the point of randomly posting gas station pictures. Yet. Another fun feature is the natural spring. Some areas of Albania (such as the mountains between Elbasan and Pogradec) have an abundance of natural springs. If a road happens to pass close to one, they don't let it go to waste. At very least, they'll stick a pipe into it and put some tasteful stonework around it. If the spring becomes popular, an enterprising businessman will often set up shop next to it, giving you a full choice of chips and cookies to complement your spring water needs. If the spring becomes extremely popular, entire stores will be built up around them. Anyway, if your driver randomly pulls the car over in the middle of nowhere and runs out of the car with a water bottle, don't be alarmed. He's just thirsty. (A terrible picture of one of the natural springs/snack bars follows)

I feel like I could go on for three more pages about traveling in this country, but I think that I've subjected you all to enough for one go. Next time... maybe businesses. We shall see.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Home Sweet Home

One of the most difficult things about keeping in touch with friends and family while living in a foreign country is the need to continual remind yourself that you live in a world that most of the people back home simply cannot imagine. I know that I certainly couldn't imagine it before I came here. I spent my first couple weeks in Albania in state of wide-eyed wonder, unable to believe that I would ever come to think of my surroundings as normal. Those were the times during which my calls home (or blog posts) were probably at their peak in terms of their information offerings. I still had clear memories of life in America and was able to compare and contrast my life here with the life that I had left behind quite easily.

Somewhere along the line, though, life in Albania became somewhat unremarkable. Not in the sense of being boring, but simply in the way that you grow used to anything that you see every day. Shopping in open markets no longer feels exotic. A furgon seems like a normal means of travel. I forget that there was a time during which I wasn't familiar with Euro-pop music. Tirana, Korce, and Skopsko mean the same thing to me as Bud, Coors, and Shiner. Byrek is standard lunch. And so on and so forth.

I have found myself casually referening all these things and more during conversations with people back home and am almost surprised when they remind me that they don't have the slightest clue of what I'm talking about. If I do this, I promise that it is not in an attempt to make you feel uncultured or untraveled. I simply tend to forget what the world that I knew looked like while I was sitting in the airport in New York City on March 16th.

Some of this is unavoidable. Some of these topics, however, are begging to become blog material. Therefore, I am going to make an effort to spend the next few weeks trying to fill in and explain some of these little details of my life. We'll begin today with the most basic of the basics: my apartment.

Most apartments in Albania come in one of two styles: communist block apartments or high rise towers. Many, if not most, volunteers live in communist block apartments. These are usually 5 stories (give or take) tall. They aren't much to look at from the outside (unfinished brick or some dully colored plaster), but inside, many of them are surprising comfortable. Most are relatively spacious with a front entry hall, full kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom, and balcony. The size and quality of everything will vary from apartment to apartment and city to city, of course, but they usually make for decent living quarters.

Others of us live in the newer apartments that were built in post-communist times. Almost all of these take the form of high rise tower apartments. Most are ten stories (give or take) tall and can vary in quality from comfortable to borderline luxurious. I would classify mine as being closer to the comfortable side of the scale. A picture of my building from the outside:

I have a bit of the hike to the city center/my office (ten minutes through a lakeside park. Some guys really have it rough), but what it lacks in convenience, it makes up for with the quality of its venue: I am sandwiched directly between the football stadium and the lake. I haven't had a chance to take in a game yet, but the lake is a daily pleasure.

Once you enter my apartment building, you get into the elevator (if you didn't just say, "Whoa. Elevator." you obviously haven't been living in Albania) and dial up the 4th floor. The discerning rider will notice, however, that you got in the elevator on the 2nd floor... which is marked as floor 0... so I'm actually on the 6th floor. Go figure that one.

When you get off the elevator, you will probably be greeted by complete darkness. There are no windows in the stairwell and all of the lights are on temporary timers to save electricity. Not a problem, though. You simply walk straight forward until you hit a concrete wall and then feel around with your left hand until you find the light switch on the wall. Easy peasy! Once you flip it on, you have a couple minutes of light to take care of the business of finding your door and your keys.

Actual photograph of my hallway, before finding the light switch..

I wasn't sure about things at first, but I have come to be quite fond of my apartment. I too have an entry hall, living room, dining room, bedroom, and full kitchen. They just happen to all share the same room. Such is the way of the studio apartment. With a little imagination and some rearranging of the furniture, though, it has worked out quite well. It is also very easy to photograph. From the four corners!

View one: Kitchen (left), entry hall (middle), bedroom (right)

View two: Bedroom (left), living room (middle), wardrobe (right)

View three: dining room (left), bathroom (middle), kitchen (right)

View four: You've seen those part before. What you didn't know was that the pearly gates are located directly outside my balcony. And/or I need to turn on the flash.

Other notable things:

The balcony. Complete with washer (blue and propped up in the corner) and drier (front and center). That's probably the closest that I come to a standard Peace Corps experience.

The view from the balcony. I would be willing to bet that every building you see here has been built in the last fifteen years. If you zoom in, you'll find that half of them aren't even complete yet. The closest ridge line more or less marks the border with Macedonia. Please also note the herd of sheep in the empty lot. Their shepherd apparently decided to make a trip to town that day.

My sweet light fixture...

...and my sweet rug. Aside from the down comforter that I plan to buy for the winter, that will probably go down as my most costly purchase in Albania. But it was worth it. It really ties the room together, man.

The bathroom. It's nice. It's blue. It has a new water heater and great water pressure in the shower. I remember during one of my first posts that I was showing some pictures of our hotel and talking about how our bathroom was missing something (began with shower and ended with curtain). Well, this bathroom is also missing something. Begins with "shower" and ends with... wait, that's the shower?!

That's no trick of perspective, friends. There are about three feet-- if that-- that separate my toilet and the shower. Not the tub, not the shower stall, but the shower head itself. Takes some getting used to, but it is great for multi-tasking. (I kid! For now...) The water, in case you are wondering, simply collects in a drain in the middle of the bathroom. I was slighly annoyed in the beginning, but it does have the advantage of making it very easy to keep your bathroom floor clean.

So there you have it. The humble abode. This coming weekend, I will be doing a little bit of traveling, so the next post will probably be about transportation in Albania. To wet your appetite, I give you... the hokie furgon!