The Sacred Arts

It is my belief that deep within the recesses of every man's heart is a secret longing to know what he looks like with a mustache. From time to time, a generation of men will step out from the shadows and embrace this longing (see: 19th century Bavarian military officers and 60's/70's southern rock bands), but far too often it is ignored or-- even worse-- ridiculed into a sad and silent submission. It never completely dies, though. Hard though some may try to kill it, the longing simply retreats and waits patiently for a spark of inspiration to set it free.

For the men of Peace Corps Albania Group 13, that spark came during our pre-service training in the form of a whimsical conversation between some of the volunteers in the village of Librazhd. According to legend, the conversation was drifting into the subject of facial hair when one of the girls simply stated, "You're in Albania. What does it matter? You should all grow mustaches." The logic was sound, the timing was right, and the spark was ignited. By the next day, nearly every one of the 16 (or so. Can't remember the exact number) male volunteers in our group had agreed to grow a mustache for our swearing-in ceremony at the end of PST.

As the weeks past, some of our proud soldiers fell victim to the whims of social convention and renounced their vows, but several of us remained committed to the cause until the bitter end. Some guys began their mustache journey well over a month before the swearing in ceremony. Others waited until only one or two nights before. I was somewhere in the middle- I made the transition from beard to mustache about two weeks before our ceremony.

I never appreciated just how important the supporting cast is for the success or failure of a mustache. I have made many jokes in my day about the questionable character of any man who sports the lip-curtain. For example:



in said get-up, I probably fit the profile of a wanted criminal in no fewer than 27 cities in America. On the other hand, there are many natural, peaceful companions of the mustache. Plaid shirts and cordoroy jackets were my tools of choice. And the aviator sunglasses, of course.



And just like that, all of your suspicion evaporates. Well, most of it, at least. Thanks, plaid shirt!

And with that, I think that I just wrote about 500 words too many about mustaches. Apologies if you were expecting, you know, news. In brief, this was my first week in Pogradec. Everything has been going well- I'm getting settled into my apartment, getting to know some of the locals, and, after a few days of waiting, finally got a desk to call my own at the bashkia. I'll be sure to devote a little more time to all that and more next week. Until then, just go back and admire that mustache at the top of this post again. You know you like it.