Gezuar

Whenever entering a new phase of life, I find it very interesting to observe the development of the patterns, relationships, and habits that will come to hold lasting places in my memory. I always go in expecting it to be the big things-- the campus of a university, the commutes, the apartment, the office in a new job, etc-- that will define the times, but that rarely is the case. Important though they are, the big things-- the settings, if you will-- often lack the subtleties of character that leave room for the personal touches that allow you to find your own place in the picture. That is usually reserved for much smaller things that you have to find along the way.

With that in mind, I got to thinking about the things that have defined my first three months in Albania. If I got on a plane tomorrow and returned home, what would come to mind when people asked me to talk about this place? There are several things that I immediately think of, most of which I have already touched on in previous posts: Germeli's, furgon rides, language classes, hiking, suflaqe, ice cream (I brought not one, but TWO ice-cream related shirts to Albania with the expectation that the dairy delight wouldn't be nearly as popular over here. I was very happily wrong about that one. As it turns out, I should have brought peanut-butter shirts), dusty roads, and the ever-present dance music to name a few.

One that hasn't gotten proper recognition in my blog, though, was dinner with my host family. Fortunately, it turns out that I have a picture that almost perfectly embodies my memories for this:



The table looks like it did most every night. A bowl of soup and a bowl of pasta for each person, two pieces of bread, and a basket of fruit to end the meal. The table is in its proper place along the kitchen wall and everybody is in their usual seats (except Taulant, who was taking this fine picture). The best part about it though, in my mind, is the raising of the glasses.

I rarely talked during dinner, partly due to the language barrier and partly due to the fact that it took every ounce of my concentration to eat half as fast as the rest of the family, but I never felt uncomfortable at the table. A big part of the reason why has to do with the simple action that you see here. At the beginning of every meal (no, really. Every single dinner for ten weeks), before I took a bite to eat, I would pour my drink and my host father would pour his and we would get things started with the traditional Albanian toast, "Gezuar!"

It makes me smile even now to think about it. If you asked me at the end of my first day in that home (other lifetime ago that it now seems) to identify one thing that would become a part of my lasting memories with this new family, the toast would not have been my guess. I suppose that's what keeps life interesting. And beautiful. And to that, I say, "gezuar."