Refrigeration Not Required

Shortly before I left for Romania, I had written a blog about the spell of cold weather that we had experienced the week before. I got caught up with packing and trip planning, however, and failed to add it on here before I left. Things have warmed up (slightly) since then, but it is still relevant enough that I figured I'd add it on today. So without further adieu...

December 20th, 2010

A few days ago, I made a stop by the Peace Corp medical office in Tirana to receive my seasonal flu shot. I have had several shots since I arrived in country, but all the others had been administered during the heat of summer when the logistical challenges associated with rolling up your sleeve are quite small. Winter gear, on the other hand, presents a couple new obstacles for this task. With that in mind, the medical officer indicated a chair where I could set my jacket when I walked into the room. Off came the jacket, but that was just the beginning of the fun. The next step was to unwrap my scarf. Then I took off my zippered sweater-jacket. That was followed by my long sleeved shirt and then my long underwear top. Finally, I was down to my short sleeved undershirt and was ready for business. The medical officer regarded the small mountain of clothes that I had shed with a smile and said, “It's cold, isn't it?”

Why yes, it is. Cold, I would go so far as saying, took on an entirely new meaning for me last week. Having lived through six winters in the mountains of Virginia, I thought that I had a pretty good idea of how a person goes about dealing with day to day life when temperatures start to drop. As cold as last week was (temperatures dropped below freezing in Pogradec early on Friday morning and didn't come out of it for any sustained period of time until Saturday... 8 days later), I've dealt with colder spells in the past.

There is an important distinction that needs to be made whenever a person talks about winters in America, however. “Wow, it's really cold!” doesn't adequately describe the situation. What you're almost always trying to say is, “Wow, it's really cold outside!” That may be, but once you get where you're going, you're probably walking into a 70 degree room and shedding your layers.

Not so in all places in the world. For example, when I returned to Pogradec the day after my shot, I shuffled/slid through the snow and ice covered streets of the city back to my apartment, which greeted me with the loving embrace of...

35 degrees. Actually, my thermometer is in Celsius, so the actual number displayed on the screen was 2.

Excuse me while I flex my beard.

After doing some quick figuring in my head (35 degrees inside... 20-some-odd degrees outside), I turned with some trepidation to my sink. I turned the faucet on and sure enough, a couple sad drips were followed by a lot of nothing.

There are some points in life when it is very helpful to take a step back and look at the whole picture. For me, standing in front of my then-decorative sink and watching my breath rise in heavy clouds was one of those moments. All in all, the checklist didn't look bad. My health was good. I had plenty of sweaters and blankets. I also had plenty of food. If I needed running water or a warm room, I had only to slide out my door to find both surrounding me. My job is endlessly interesting, my friends and family are amazing and... all in all, frozen pipes and a 35 degree house are nothing but great material for the grizzled old man stories that I'll get to tell the grandkids in 50 years. And, um, to blog about.

So I settled in on the couch, wrapped myself in a blanket, turned on the space heater, and let time march on. The confines of my apartment didn't top the 50 degree mark until the following Sunday, but there is a charm that comes with cozy sweaters, blankets, and big, hot mugs of tea that central heating just can't match. I won't go so far as to say that I plan to abandon modern heating technology when I return to the states (if for no other reason than showering in a 40 degree bathroom= NOT FUN ( = it doesn't happen too much)), but things could certainly be much worse.

Like, for example, if I lived in northern eastern Europe. To give that theory a run, three other volunteers and I are turning our backs on the Istanbuls, Sicilies, and Greeces that are calling away so many of our other friends for holiday vacations and will be heading up into the mountains of Romania on Wednesday. On the one hand, we'll probably run into a little bit of cold. On the other hand, how often do you get to spend your Christmas in Vlad Dracula's home town?

Viti i Ri 2011

Happy New Year! I hope that everyone has had a lovely holiday season. I spent Christmas in Romania with a few friends (more on that trip later) and returned to Albania on December 30^th with just enough time to unpack my big bag, repack a smaller bag and make the trip to Bishqem to bring in the new year with my host family.

New Year's is arguably the biggest holiday in Albania. In some ways, it incorporates bits and pieces of several of the American holidays that I am familiar with into one big, blowout night. In the weeks leading up to it, decorations announcing its pending arrival appeared throughout town- New Year's trees, New Year's lights, and the jolly patron saint of New Year's himself, Santa Claus (he has a different name here, but I can't remember what it is. Më fal.). They may look like their Christmas-themed cousins on the surface, but you'll get confused looks from the locals if you tell them how pretty their Christmas tree is.

On New Years Eve, you gather with friends and family for a feast not all that unlike our own Thanksgiving- roasted turkey and all. They up the ante, however, with giant platters of Baklava. Take notes, America.

Finally, when the clock strikes midnight, everyone goes outside and puts on a fireworks display that would put your average Fourth of July party in America to shame. Throughout the month of December, the soundtrack to life in Albania began to be peppered with the occasional loud explosion. The frequency of these booms and bangs increased steadily as the end of the month drew closer. Walking around Pogradec and Elbasan on New Year's Eve day, I was struck by the thought that a small scale military attack could be happening in an Albanian city that day and it would probably take a few minutes before people took notice. The firecrackers that kids play with here are more akin to small bombs than to the piddly strings of black cats that we have in America. It's slightly disconcerting at first, but you get used to it.

With such firepower at their disposal during the day, I was quite curious to see what the show would be like at night. It did not disappoint. Whenever I had the chance to play with fireworks as a kid, my favorite part of the night was when the box of artillery shells made its appearance. These are the egg sized fireworks that shoot high into the sky and explode in a miniature version of the displays that your town or city might put on in their central park. There is a sense of danger that accompanies the artillery shells. You shoot them one at a time out of a thick cardboard tube that is placed on a stand. This tube, of course, must be 30 feet away from all people and buildings. The lucky person whose turn it is to light the shell carefully slides it down the tube, lights the foot-long fuse, and then runs back to the shelter of the house to wait expectantly with their friends for the lone shot to come forth. They are big and pretty, but even on a fast night you're only setting off about one per minute.

There is another popular type of firework that I grew up with in the states: the Roman Candle. These, in case you need a refresher, are the small foot-long tubes that you hold in your hand. They contain six or so small colored charges that are connected on a single fuse and shoot off one after the other. They are great if you want to add a little color to the night and even better if you want something to shoot at your friends. In Albania, they apparently looked at a box of Roman Candles and then at a box of artillery shells and then thought, “wouldn't it be fun to put those two together?”

The results look something like this. I took this video while standing on the balcony of my host family's house, overlooking the tiny town of Bishqem and neighboring Pajove. The quality isn't the greatest, but you'll get the idea. Happy New Year, everybody.