Gjithmone ka vend per nje birre

I think you're onto something there, Mr. Franklin.

A couple Fridays ago, I made the short trip south to Korce, Albania to join several other peace corp volunteers at the 2010 Korce Festa e Birres. Festa e Birres is a four day summer beer festival that the City of Korce began three years ago. Though young, it is already enjoying great popularity (possible proof that there is, in fact, an easy road to success. It is paved with cheap beer, live music, and large quantities of grilled meat). It was a very fun night, despite my discovery that I am an absolutely terrible flip-cup player.

I like to think I was a big part of their success. Unfortunately, I played for the other guys.

I only attended the festival on Friday night, but on Saturday night they fired up the grills, cranked up the speakers, and set the beer to flowing for yet another night of fun. There was probably not a single person in attendance that night that was aware of this fact, but at that moment they were not the only ones who were celebrating the frosty beverage. Some five thousand mile away in Elmwood Park in Roanoke, Virginia, the Roanoke Microfestivus 2010 was in full swing under the summer sun.

It seems somewhat inappropriate to get too philosophical about beer (I think that Ben Franklin's supposed "proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy" takes care of that department), but the choice timing of the festivals themselves did inspire a moment of reflection for me.

To understand why, I suppose that you need to understand a little bit about my history. I was born and raised in Austin, Texas. Austin, as you have probably heard or experienced, is a great city. It combines the eclectic energy of a college town, the passion and idealism of a political hub, the wide and open atmosphere of a booming young southern city, and the friendly-but-confident attitude of Texas into a dish that many people find irresistibly attractive.

That said, I never found my place in Austin. As much as I love visiting it now, the feeling of "home" (beyond the walls of my family's house, at least) has always eluded me there. This was apparent to me even when I was in high school and, as a result, I decided to stretch my wings and explore new worlds when it came time to go to college. I landed in Blacksburg, Virginia and there, in the mountains of Virginia, I finally found a place that felt right.

When I graduated from Virginia Tech I decided that I want to try to stay in the area, despite the fact that it doesn't offer the widest selection of jobs. My methods were hardly prudent, but the pieces came together and I eventually found myself working for a regional planning commission in Roanoke, Virginia, just a short drive up the road from Blacksburg.

The next two years were, in many ways, my favorite two years of life thus far. I had great friends, my sister was living nearby in D.C., and I had a very enjoyable job. Roanoke, despite lacking the flashy appeal that draws people to places like Austin (If I had a nickle for every "You're from Austin? And you want to live in Roanoke?" that I got during those two years... dollars. I'd have at least one) suited me perfectly. It has some beautiful old neighborhoods, great restaurants, good bars, and a surprisingly lively downtown. Traffic isn't bad, the cost of living is cheap, and the weather is great. Best of all, you can trade all the conveniences of a city for a back road in the mountains mere minutes after you walk out your front door.

I could hardly have been happier there. The natural next step would have involved me buying a house, a dog, and a grill and settling down like a proper red-blooded American. My strategy ended up being slightly different, however: I quit my job, packed up my belongings, and moved half way around the world.

The fact that I made the latter choice is slightly unsettling to me at times. On the one hand, this is undoubtedly a once in a lifetime opportunity and has thus far been an incredible experience. I am meeting people and seeing places that I probably never would have come across apart from the peace corps. I feel like I am learning about myself and life at a mind-numbing speed.

Those were all the reasons that attracted me to the peace corps in the first place. There is another side of me, however, that craves familiarity and stability. When I first began to seriously consider joining the peace corps, I was an idealistic college student who thought that taking an 8-5 desk job was the functional equivalent of giving in to THE MAN. Familiarity and stability were four letter words to me then.

During those two years in Roanoke, however, I began to realize that maybe the man wasn't such a scary fellow after all. The settler that lives inside me started to quietly work his way up the chain of command until he reached a very prominent place my mind. He is still there but, needless to say, he is feeling a little neglected these days.

His Royal Poutyness is easy enough to ignore most of the time, but there are moments when he pops up with a triumphant, "Ha ha! I told you this was a crazy idea! But nooo, you didn't listen to me and now..." and so on. One such time was when I started to hear my friends in Virginia talk about Microfestivus '10.

It isn't so much the beer that holds a special place in my heart-- tasty though some of it is-- as it was the things that the festival brought together last year. It's great friends and the city and Macado's sandwiches and summer days and dancing and our old house on Maiden Lane and Thelma's Chicken and Waffles. It is the life that I left behind to come over here and the life that I won't get to see again for at least two more years.

Microfestivus '09. Just in case you ever wondered what was going on in the rest of that picture.

You don't replace something like that. I have no desire to, at that. Should I dwell on its loss, however, I am in danger of missing out on the different-but-equally-incredible people, places and opportunities that I am going to have find while I'm in Albania. Finding the balance with appreciating where I was while also embracing where I am has been a difficult hurdle for me to pass. How do I let go of the past without also losing those things that I loved about it?

There are no easy answers that I've been able to find, but occasionally life has a way of providing encouragement. When I learned that the Korce Beer Festival and the Roanoke Beer Festival would be going on simultaneously, there was the gentle nudge and a smile.

For me, it was a reminder to keep my head up and my eyes down the road. I lost something when I signed up to live so far from home for two years, but I gained something at the same time. I moved away from great friends, but I gained some new friends. I don't have Macado's here, but I do have and endless supply of byrek. My chicken is kernacka and my waffles are petule. My dances happen in a circle. And my beer festivals are now in Korce.

The day that I come home will undoubtedly be a great one, but I'd say that I have a lot to look forward to before then as well.

Wild, Wild West

One of the most interesting things about my experience thus far in Albania has been learning first-hand about the perception abroad of America and Americans. In Albania, the perception is overwhelmingly positive, but not always realistic. When I tell people that I am from America, the most common response is somewhere along the lines of "Ohhh, American?! Very good. Things are good in America, aren't they?"

When I am asked this question, I try to answer it honestly and take moment to think of the America that I know. I see tidy middle class neighborhoods, abundant stores and restaurants, nice schools, football games, barbecues, parks, happy babies, and the like. "Yes they are," I say.

It is around that time that you can see the glimmer in their eyes. I like to imagine what it is that they are picturing at that moment. My guess is that they see me in the America that they have come to know through movies and TV... floating in a pool behind my beachfront house, a glass of fine scotch in one hand and a cigar in the other. When I finish my cigar, I let a light breeze blow me over to the side of the pool where my tuxedo-clad man-servant Reginald awaits with a new cigar and a light. The light, of course, comes in the form of a burning $20 dollar bill, the likes of which occasionally clutter up our finely manicured yard when a breeze passes through the french doors of my bedroom and stirs up the giant pile of cash that serves as my mattress.

"Yes," they reply, "things are very good there. Not in Albania, though. There is no work here."

There is no work in Albania. If you spend any amount of time talking to an Albanian, you can almost be assured that they will bring the subject up-- especially if you come from a developed western country. It can be very frustrating at times; there is no question that things aren't perfect here, but as an outsider it is all too easy to try to make a quick diagnosis based on what you see on the surface.

If only people would put more effort into their work. If only the business community would try to diversify the markets. If only the education systems were better. If only, if only, if only. The reality is that the roots of the situation-- both the good and bad aspects of it-- are complexly interwoven through their history and their culture and there are no quick fixes.

As such, I have found that patience is perhaps the most valuable skill that I can bring to work every day. On the bright side, many Albanians are putting forth genuine effort to improve their country and progress is being made. I have been told by many people (Albanians and non-Albanians alike) that I would hardly recognize the Albania that existed even five years ago. Infrastructure, in particular-- the roads, water systems, and power grid-- are light years beyond what they were half-way through the last decade.

This infrastructure will provide a valuable foundation for development, but the work cannot stop there. In efforts to improve the economy, one of the primary fields that Albania's leaders are promoting is tourism. They are surrounded by two of the world's tourism giants in Greece and Italy, and the upcoming star of Croatia is within shouting distance to the north. They see all the money that tourists pour into those countries every year and, understandably, want to get a piece of the pie as well.

Albania has the makings of a great tourism destination-- beautiful beaches, mountains, interesting cities, a very convenient location, and a long and colorful history. Now they just need to find a way to package these resources and sell them to the world's travelers.

There are some hurdles that must be overcome before the country is able to truly compete in this market. The infrastructure, improved though it is, still needs work. The omnipresent trash needs to be cleaned up. And, most importantly in my mind, they need to improve the ease with which tourists can find information about this country.

Unless they are an American, a tourist is usually not an overly demanding subject. (I say this with love! But really, we don't have the best reputation abroad.) They just need to know where to go (maps), how to get there (transportation information), where they will sleep (hotel directories), and what to do once they are there (tourism guides). These all exist in some form in Albania, but the quality and accessibility of most of this information leaves much to be desired.

Pogradec, for example, is known primarily for its beachfront along Lake Ohrid. Beautiful though this is, it is not the only thing that the city can offer visitors. In the region surrounding the city you can find historical churches, monasteries, quaint villages, and old stone bridges alongside a wide variety of natural attractions. The tourism guide for the city tells you that these places exist and encourages you to see them, but they forget to mention how you are supposed to find them.

One of things that I would like to help accomplish while I am here is the collection and publication of this information. A simple, "This is the village of something-something. You can hike there using such-and-such route, drive there on this-or-that road, or catch a furgon at the station by that one place. The journey will take so many hours by foot or so many hour by car; etc." could be all the difference between a visitor leaving after one day at the beach or deciding to stay an extra day to visit some of these nearby attractions. It is relatively basic information, but it isn't information that you can expect someone to go out of their way to find while they are on vacation.

One of the perks of becoming involved with a project of this sort is that it calls for research of the most entertaining variety. You can't very well tell people how to go to a place that you've never been to, can you? Last weekend, I decided to commence this research with a hike to the village of Potkozhan- known for its stone houses, narrow cobblestone streets, and a small medieval church. It is located in an area known as the Mokër Highlands- a rural region tucked away into the mountains west of Pogradec. If the land was flat and the roads were good, you would be able to cover the distance between the city and the village in matter of minutes. In this case, however, the roads are terrible and there is a sizable mountain ridge between the two, meaning that the trip takes better than an hour even when you are in a car.

Lake Ohrid, Pogradec, and the mountains that separate us from the Mokër Highlands

A car is hardly a proper mode of transportation for the youthful, the vigorous, and the foolish, however. This is Albania- a world with shepherd paths and without fences that begs to be explored by foot. I convinced one of my site mates, Brad, to join me on this expedition and together we set off early on Saturday morning in search of Potkozhan.

You know a hike is going to be good when your trail brings you to engineering wonders such as this a mere 10 minutes into the day.

We begin our ascent into the hills.

A church, conveniently located next to absolutely nothing. It's pretty, though.

Our first glimpse of the Mokër Highlands

Lake Ohrid from above. If the morning sun wasn't playing havoc on the picture, you could probably see parts of Pogradec along the lake shore.

Navigation strategy of the day: this looks like it goes west, right?

Pictures taken in the midst of talking and while looking into the sun are always flattering.

Hi there, random spring in the middle of nowhere. I sure hope nobody is crazy enough to try to drink out of...

...noooo! Actually, it was cold, refreshing, and delicious. And I'm still alive! Wins all around.

You know what I was thinking would really compliment our nice new stone house? A stone roof.

Tales of better days.

Flowers, trees, mountains. I think that you're obliged to take such pictures.

Eventually, we found our way to the road. This, by the way, is the main road in the Mokër Highlands. When they say rural, they mean rural.

Sa bukur.

A mere four and a half hours after we set off- the church! Which... is... well, they weren't kidding about the small part, now were they?

Or the old part, for that matter. That's an 1159, in case the picture is hard to see.

When we returned to the village itself, we started talking to a group of guys who informed us that a furgon would be passing through town in a few minutes if we didn't want to walk back to Pogradec (the hiking culture doesn't really exist in Albania, so they were quite confused about why we walked to their village in the first place). We sat down and talked with them while we were waiting, with the result being that I managed to fail to take any pictures of the village itself. Oops.

The ride back to town probably qualifies as my greatest furgon adventure to date. It wasn't so much the driving as it was the vehicle (which I assume to be a lab hybrid between a 1980 suburban, a stagecoach wagon, and a Yugo) and the road itself. It was narrow, dusty, bumpy and... well, here's the satellite picture:

The little lightning bolt you see in the midst of the green is the road. We made it back alive, though, and with a full report in hand:

Potkozhan:

Furgon departure location: next to the market

Furgon cost, one way: 200 lek

Travel time by vehicle: about one hour

Other recommendations: Start in Pogradec and walk west. It's more fun that way.

Style Points

Last Wednesday, I worked a half day in the morning and then left Pogradec to make the hour and a half journey to the village of Librazhd. There, I joined several other volunteers for a training in a Peace Corps program called Outdoor Ambassadors. Volunteers who participate in Outdoor Ambassadors organize groups of kids (usually high-school age) in their cities and villages who will take part in events and trips that promote environmental education and outdoor recreation such as hiking and camping. I wanted to learn more this program and therefore joined several other interested Group 13 volunteers in Librazhd, where the older volunteers already have an active program. We tagged along on one of their camping trips in order to learn more about what is involved with organizing and managing one of these groups.

Librazhd is located near the intersection of two of the rivers that flow down out of the mountains of eastern Albania. The river valleys provide a stunning landscape for both the town and for our campsite, which was located about an hour's walk north of the village. From here, I'll let pictures do the talking.

The next morning, as we were all preparing to make our ways back to our sites, one of the volunteers in Librazhd suggested that I take the train back to Pogradec. It was going to be passing through town at mid-morning, it charges less than half the price of a furgon, and the journey between Librazhd and Pogradec is regarded as one of the most scenic sections of the entire train system. I considered all to be excellent points and, a couple hours later, found myself standing on the deteriorating passenger platform of the Librazhd train station, watching my very first Albanian train slow down to a crawl as it pulled into the station.

Just in case you happened to miss my last post, I'm going to take a moment to recap the train description that is provided in the official Pogradec tourism guide in order to set the stage for my journey:

"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."

Somewhere between industrial archeology and strange train, I had become convinced that a train journey in Albania would be one of those adventures that you take only to be able to say that you've done it. Considering these low expectations, I was very pleasantly surprised when I found conditions that were actually quite comfortable. A brief summary:

Seating: Cushioned! I honestly thought that I had heard that some of the passenger cars have wooden bench seating. That's not to say that there isn't a wooden bench or two somewhere out on the system, but on this train there were none to be found.

Windows: Destroyed. Every window in the two passenger cars that were on my train (no really, every single one) had been shattered by what appeared to be rocks. When I'm old, grey, and showing my grandkids pictures from this trip in 40 years, though, I will doubtlessly recount tales of wild bandits on horseback riding down out of the hills to raid the trains for women and the tens of lek that I guarded dearly in my leather money purse... because really, they look like bullet holes. I'm pretty sure the culprits were rocks, though. If you read the artricle that one of my old high school friends linked in the comment section of my last post (by the way, thanks for that Andy), you will find out that it is speculated that furgon drivers payed children to throw those rocks in order to deter people from using the trains as a transportation option. This may sound surprising uncivilized if you've never met a furgon driver, but if you have... yeah, that sounds about right. An interesting breed, those fellows are.

Fellow passengers: Pleasant. I once had a seat on an Amtrak train next to a guy that told me all about how he spent all of his disability payments on booze and low rider pick up trucks and was on his way to live with his son in Indiana for a couple weeks while he waited for the next payment to come in. Mercifully, our conversation was cut short when he found out that the girl working on the cafe car was a cutey and went to go work his magic on her. (There are some moments when I am incredibly grateful to be a man. But I digress.) Fair or not, he is what I tend to picture in my mind when I think of Amtrak passengers. I understand that this is Europe and that trains serve a much, shall we say, broader base of the population over here, but Albania doesn't exactly have the silk cushioned luxury lines that you find racing across the countrysides elsewhere on the continent. As such, I was half expecting to be surrounded by the Balkans cast of Amtrak. Instread, everyone on board seemed surprisingly normal. Certainly no stranger than furgon passengers, at least.

Speed: Not so much. Partly because of the age of the engines and partly because of the conditions of the tracks, the trains maintain what surely must be no more than a 30mph clip throughout their journey. This has a way of making a trip from one side of the country to the other extremely long, but it added less than an hour to the trip between Librazhd and Pogradec.

Scenery: Lovely. It is the same countryside that you pass through on the road (the tracks and the highway run nearly parallel for the entire journey), but you get to enjoy it at a slower pace and without the impending feeling of doom that often hangs over the trips on the road. Speaking of which...

Impending feelings of doom: Depends on what you think of tunnels. Namely, tunnels built during communist-era Albania by young volunteers. There are many between Librazhd and Pogradec, including a 2-miler --gulp-- that passes under the mountain ridge on the western shore of Lake Ohrid. Mercifully you are not forced to observe the handicraft of these 15 year old mountain dwarves, though, seeing as how there are no lights on the train cars and no lights in the tunnels themselves. That is a very effective recipe for "dark," in case you were wondering.

Random English Tourists: One. A little over half-way through the trip, some Albanian boys who I had briefly spoken to earlier came running up to me and told me that I needed to follow them. They were quite excited because there was a girl from England on the train and, seeing as how I spoke English and she spoke English, we obviously needed to meet. I couldn't imagine that a tourist would actually be using the train, but I thought I would humor them and see what the story was.

As it turned out, they weren't lying at all. Sitting in the car behind me was a 20 year old English girl from London who was backpacking around the Balkans. By herself. She acknowledged that it was maybe a little bit crazy to do so, but up to that point everything had been going quite well. We talked for a while and, shortly before we arrived at the station in Pogradec, I asked her how long she was planning to stay in town. She told me that she intended to pass directly through Pogradec and make her way over the border to Ohrid that evening due to the fact that Pogradec doesn't offer any hostels.

If this was America, that probably would have meant that our meeting would have ended there. This is Europe, though-- the world of hostels and couch surfing. Inviting traveling strangers into your home isn't quite the oddity that it is in America. As such, I decided to ignore my instincts regarding what does and doesn't qualify as being an individual of questionable character and offered her a spot on my extra bed that night if she had any desire to stay around and see Pogradec.

Somewhat surprisingly, she actually accepted my offer. A wonderfully awkward story about me getting called away to a meeting with my apartment managers as soon as we got back into town follows, but I'll spare you the gory details here. In summary, what I expected to be a short coffee meeting turned into a long Raki meeting, meaning that I left the poor girl alone in my apartment for about an hour and a half (mercifully, she was tired and slept through the entire thing) just to return-- in the middle of the afternoon, mind you-- smelling of strong alcohol (the duet it played with "sweaty camping" must have been quite melodious) and feeling a wee bit tipsy. For bonus points, those same apartment managers informed me that they needed to take some measurements of the layout of my apartment that day, meaning that I returned drunk and with two new strange men in tow. How she restrained herself from dousing us all with pepper spray and running out of the building screaming is something that I may never understand. Let's just say that I'm glad that I didn't still have a mustache. After that, though, things settled back down and I had a very enjoyable evening of showing her around Pogradec.

All told, I am a very big fan of our train system and, if you're even in Albania, I would strongly recommend that you take at least one trip on it. Even if you're not into industrial archeaology.