Trevor's Travels: October 2007

2) Macedonia-

10-11-2007

I officially finished my Peace Corps assignment on October 10, 2007 and soon after boarded a bus heading to Skopje Macedonia. I sit here now in a small crumbling block apartment in central Skopje trying to comprehend and analyze exactly what sort of potential adventure lies in front of me. Hahaha……..it is increasingly challenging to write at this particular moment because Daniel is leaning up against me and is staring at me wide eyed with full attention and sharp inquisitiveness. His head is less than five inches away from my face……..but I am thinking that as long as I continue to type and keep from breaking my silence, he will lose interest and refrain from striking the keys of my computer in a desperate attempt to get my attention. Daniel is a 9 year old Macedonian boy who is the grandson of my Bulgarian host mother ( I lived with her in her village for three months while learning the Bulgarian language). He has Down syndrome and is one big smiling ball of energy. He woke me up at 5:30am this morning by yelling “batko e la, batko e la, batko e la”. ‘Batko’ is a Macedonian word that means older brother……and ‘e la’ means come here. Hahaha……..he is a joy to be around…….but of course he requires a lot of patience. It gives me a warm feeling in my heart to know that Daniel was born into a family of love, acceptance, and limitless patience. Unfortunately many children with Down syndrome are not born into such a wonderful and accommodating environment. It brings back memories of time spent in a Bulgarian orphanage for developmentally disabled children; most of the kids there were ages 4-10, and had living parents, but were discarded at birth. It saddens me to think about a human life being tossed out like Sundays trash because of physical and mental imperfections.
Today was filled with sight seeing and traditional Macedonian food…..which if I may add; is excellent. Macedonia is pretty much South-western Bulgaria,……….well at least in the eyes of most Bulgarians. Macedonia is currently an independent country but was recently part of former Yugoslavia. Macedonia’s current independence does not however erase the raw facts;…….Macedonian language is the same as Bulgarian (arguably). It is like comparing Californian English to Mississippian English;………sure it sounds slightly different, and each regions may have their own slang and preferred vocabulary but nonetheless, it is undeniably the same language.
Since I have already begun elaborating on this tangent, I should probably note a few interesting facts about the Bulgaria-Macedonia relationship.
-Most Bulgarians I know consider Macedonia to be a part of Bulgaria and think it is silly that they are reluctant to join forces with Bulgaria to form a “larger, united, historically correct Bulgaria”.-Bulgaria is currently offering Macedonians full Bulgarian citizenship and a Bulgarian passport as long as they sign a form denouncing Macedonian citizenship; they do not even have to leave Macedonia.; so far (October 2007) 60,000 Macedonians have signed up.- Around 60 years ago the Macedonian government stopped using the Bulgarian Cyrillic alphabet and created a new Cyrillic alphabet with only 6 letters that differ from the Bulgarian Cyrillic alphabet. This was done (with Yugoslavian force) in order to create a more distinct and visible difference between the Bulgarian and Macedonian languages. -I will note that I personally find the Macedonian language to be nearly identical to Bulgarian. There are a few differences that were most likely exaggerated because of the Macedonia-Bulgaria split, but overall it is as similar as American English and British English. In defense of the Macedonians;…….I will say that there are definitely major cultural differences between the two countries. Also, Macedonia does have a long/checkered history of independence and tradition (see- Alexander the Great).
Overall I am able to say that I like Macedonia so far………but will state my formal opinions after I have done a bit more observation.
I feel wonderful right now; I am spending time with a warm and loving family while exploring a unique, yet familiar country. I feel alive due to my lack of formal obligations, and am as joyously free as I have ever been. I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders and that I am now completely free to see the world at a pace I feel comfortable with. I have absolutely zero pressure to hurry back to the States for any reason, and have enough money at the moment to travel comfortably for quite a long time.
Well…………I am having major problems concentrating right now;……it is not easy to write with constant distractions. So enough for now………I better stop ignoring Daniel…………..
10-18-2007
After Skopje, I spent a couple of days on the Macedonian side of Lake Ohrid. While visiting Lake Ohrid, I hooked up with an intelligent, interesting, and energetic PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) named Al. Al is currently finishing up his Peace Corps service in Macedonia, and from what I have observed, will be missed dearly by his adopted community. Al, a middle aged fellow from Montana/Colorado graciously hosted me in Ohrid and even took me out for a night on the town.

While hanging with Al in a dark smoky lakefront bar, I used my Bulgarian language skills to approach a small group of women who were standing at a table near us. Thanks to the striking similarities between the Bulgarian and Macedonian languages, combined with a splash of gin flavored confidence that was rapidly soaking into my bloodstream;………I was able to crack the code of the Macedonian bar clique and begin socializing with a few beautiful Macedonian girls. Al and I ended up bar hopping and dancing the night away with our newfound crew of college girls. Obnoxious amounts gin was consumed in dark trashy bars containing a blinding amount of cigarette smoke. Our blurred vision, numbed senses and hasty judgment seemed to enhance our dancing skills and loosen our tongues. One of the last fuzzy memories I have of the evening is walking a dark hair, dark eyed, Macedonian girl, hand in hand along a dark cobblestone street while discussing how unfortunate it was that we lived so far apart…..and how our love for each other would unfortunately wilt before it even had a chance to grow………After sharing a gentle, gin drenched kiss goodnight and an overly expressive farewell…….I wandered back to Al’s apartment and arrived just as the sun was creeping over the hills and casting golden beams light upon the majestic Lake Ohrid.

3) Albania-

After getting my fill of Lake Ohrid; I took a bus to Struga and from there hopped on a bus to Elbesain Albania. As I crossed the border into Albania I was consumed with excitement for the unknown. My first general observation after crossing the Macedonia-Albania border was the bomb shelters. Cement dome shaped structures poked intrusively out of Albania’s grassy landscape everywhere the eye could see. They were like giant concrete Easter eggs poking out of the grassy rural hillsides. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that these things were everywhere,….there is an estimated 700,000 bomb shelters in Albania. These dreadful looking shelters range from single to family size, and were built in the 1970s under their fearful and seemingly paranoid dictator.1)-Insert info on Albanian dictator responsible for all the bomb shelters.

Albania has a surprisingly animated vibe to it; the pastel colored houses, and smiling faces were a pleasant contrast to Bulgaria’s grey collapsing soviet blocks and their generally cold, suspicious mindset. I have noticed that Albanian houses are often built with hope for the future; each country-farm house (built out of concrete and bricks) has rebar poking out of the upper frame with anticipation that one day they will be able to afford to add another level to their home. An interesting aspect of this construction style is that the Albanians are able to use the second floor before the first. Albanians tend to build their houses/buildings from top to bottom;......... what you often end up with is a pastel colored cement box on stilts……….. I have noticed that the first floor is often used for storage and livestock.
Well, what else can I say about Albania?.........Albania is a land of turkey shepherds..........yes turkey. Who would have known that with a large narrow stick and an open space; turkey herding is indeed possible. I witnessed this phenomenon while driving through the Albanian countryside in a shoddy fixed route van-taxi called a fergon. The shepherds would use a 12ft thin wooden stick to keep 50-100 turkeys together and moving along the countryside.
My Albanian adventure began with a long slow bus ride to Elbesain. The bus was ancient and moved at a ridiculously slow pace; in retrospect, I may have been able to peddle a bike faster than this bus’s top speed. Sleep depraved and marginally hung over, I was dropped off at the edge of a sketchy neighborhood in the small Albanian town of Elbesain. Despite the peculiarity of my situation, I was in fact overcome with enthusiasm and excitement. I am not exactly sure why I was so thrilled at this moment; perhaps it was because I was now in a country that was quite different than Bulgaria. I found Macedonia to be in many ways disappointing and overly similar to Bulgaria. My newfound excitement soon changed into confusion and fear as I was confronted with the hostility and restlessness of the surrounding natives.

All of a sudden the poverty stricken yet serene neighborhood I was in became a bit chaotic. My surrounding atmosphere of seemingly peaceful tranquility was shattered after witnessing a man in his mid twenties sprinted down the dusty dirt road in front of me, yelling belligerently and gleaming with violent determination. A few minutes later he returned to the main road aggressively dragging a scared 12 year old boy along the dusty road. I stood in confusion unable to adequately grasp the events unfolding in front of me, while a bunch of older local men came out of their shacks and began hysterically screaming and yelling at the young boy in custody. The uncertainty and confusion I felt at this point was overpowering. My confusion slowly subsided and my uneasiness grew as I began to understand the unfolding situation. The grey metaphorical clouds began to part after I caught my first glimpse of a hysterically crying, dark skinned 11 year old boy with his shirt pulled up to his shoulders. The boy’s pants were soaked in fresh blood and he had a deep quarter sized hole in his abdomen. A substantial amount of thick, bright red blood was pumping out of his white/pink fleshy wound at a frightening rate,........... just as quickly as it had all begun, it was over. A young teenager picked up the injured boy by his legs and carried him deep into the slum as a mob of angry locals followed.

So……..yeah................my hypothesis is that the frightened kid in custody stabbed the other kid....and the local adults were not too happy about it.

In all the violence, hysteria and confusion I was noticed by a mangy looking gang of locals. Soon after, I was approached and asked several questions in a language I was unable to comprehend. I simply said “Berat” a few times.........which resulted in sympathy and smiles as they simply pointed toward the end of the road. The game plan was to visit a crew of Peace Corps volunteers in the town of Berat.

I approached the end of the dusty street with lingering confusion and fear. I had underestimated the day’s logistical challenges and was now physically weighed down with exhaustion and uncertainty. Out of desperation, I created a small sign with a blue pen and an index card that said “Berat” in large block letters. With patience, energy, and daylight quickly diminishing; I stood on the roadside flashing my newly constructed sign to every car that drove by. After about 35 minutes of nothing but confused looks, and patronizing stares; a van-bus (fergon) pulled up and signaled for me to climb aboard. A short time after I had boarded the white, banged up, Suzuki mini-van, the driver suddenly realized that he was in the presence of an American. The surprisingly ecstatic, middle aged fergon driver suddenly pulled the vehicle over to the side of the road and forced me to join him in the front seat. As a gesture of kindness and respect to his guest, the driver was giving me the seat that is considered by Albanians to be the best seat in the fergon. Americans however, refer to this particular seat as "bitch". I spent the next hour and a half awkwardly straddling the stick shift and snuggling up against the wild driving, rugged smelling, fergon driver. The obnoxiously jolly fergon driver seamed to thoroughly enjoy talking at me and had little concern about my Albanian language comprehension skills…..or lack of. Eventually we came upon a T intersection where the fergon stopped, and the driver helped me flag down another fergon along the main road that was perpendicular to us. The driver quickly flagged down another fergon and signalled for me to climb aboard. Soon after, I was on my way down the dark sketchy road heading toward Berat. An hour and a half later my fergon pulled into the historic Albanian town of Berat...........I had made it!!!!!
Immediately upon my arrival in Berat, I met up with the three Peace Corps Volunteers stationed in the area: Marrissa, Katie, and James. James was to be my host and guide for the next two days. The first significant cultural difference I observed in Berat was how quickly the Peace Corps Albania volunteers ate their meals. As volunteers integrate into their communities, they pick up social norms naturally and begin living their everyday lives the same way as their host country counterparts. It was an interesting contrast between the way I ate, and the way they ate. Bulgarians eat ridiculously slow……….and Albanians eat incredibly fast…….so even though we were all Americans, our eating habits were completely different. Marrissa, Katie, and James finished their meals in entirety before I had even finished my salad.

2) – insert facts about the citadel in Berat
I spent the next couple nights crashing at James pad while spending the daylight hours trading Peace Corps war stories with the other volunteers and hiking around Berat. James hooked me up with an extensive tour of Berat's citadel, which I must say was quite spectacular. (info about Citidel here)The last night in town James, Katie and I shared a meal and pleasantly conversed among other things about volunteer life and its challenges. The time I spent with all three PCVs was truly invaluable. All three were quite warm and motivated volunteers, and it was pleasantly obvious to see just how appreciated they were by their community.

While I was in Berat I noticed a large group of dark skinned women and men sweeping the city streets at around 9pm each evening. After inquiring about this familiar looking ethnic group; James told me that they were “Egyptians”. I knew immediately that these people were in fact Roma (Gypsies), and that they had simply adopted a new, less oppressed, ethnic identity.

So,.........from what I have gathered: a dominant group of Albanian Roma (Gypsies) have adopted the ethnic identity of Egyptian much like many of the Roma in Bulgaria have adopted the ethnic identity of the Turks. In Albania the so called Egyptians are slightly higher up the ladder than their self proclaimed Roma counterparts. Which in contrast is the same way the Turkish Roma are perceived in Bulgaria. I found this to be quite interesting; it is unfortunate that Roma in Eastern Europe are oppressed to such a level that they feel pressured into creating an ethnic façade in order to better their quality of life and social status within their own communities.

I saw this sort of thing everyday while I was living in Bulgaria; much like the Hindus of India, Roma live within a caste system, which to a certain extent divides their communities into a strict social hierarchy. The Bulgarian town I lived in for two years had a Roma slum of around 5,000 people. Within this slum were both Turkish Roma (who spoke Turkish) and Roma (who spoke Romani). Turks, being Bulgaria’s largest minority, though not completely accepted by Bulgarian society, are a huge step up socially than the Bulgarian Roma. So in essence it makes a lot of sense that Roma would begin associating themselves with the Turks in order to climb up the social ladder and avoid blatant prejudices, social persecution and drowning oppression. I am not exactly sure why the Gypsies in Albania began considering themselves Egyptian,……..but I do know that they generally speak Albanian or Romani and not Egyptian or Arabic.

The Roma (Gypsies): I generally use the word Roma instead of Gypsy because in many circles Gypsy is considered to be derogative and in essence politically incorrect. Gypsy is a word that has become synonymous with: drifter, carnie, fortune teller, wandering thief, etc. How many of you have heard the expression: “ that guy just Gypped me”? This usually refers to getting a bad deal, or being had by a con artist. This expression of course is absolutely racist, and pretty much suggests that all Gypsies are dishonest thieves. It is comparatively fair to put the words ‘Jewed’ and ‘Gypped’ in the same category of blatant bigotry. It should be said however that in many circles Roma have taken the word Gypsy back…..and are now completely cool with being known as Gypsies. This happened much like the lesbians have taken back the word ‘dyke’ and black people have taken back the word ‘nigga’. In all three circumstances their will be a large portion of people who still find the words offensive and demeaning……..so for the time being I am just going to stay PC and use the word Roma.

History: Where did the Roma come from? Well, this is heavily debated amongst scholars, however a few promising hypothesis have surfaced.
1) They are descendants of a nomadic Egyptian tribe.
2) They are descendants of a nomadic Indian tribe.
3) They are descendants of a nomadic Turkish tribe.
*(fact check these, and elaborate on history)

It is difficult to determine exactly where the Roma originated, and when they arrived in Eastern Europe due to the fact that Romani is not a written language. The Roma’s unorthodox and nomadic culture has obstructed most traditional methods of retaining ethnic history. The most accurate and well written book I have read about the Roma people is called ‘Burry Me Standing’ and is written by _______________. This book goes into great detail about Roma Culture, and their history of brutal oppression.

Roma are pretty much considered to be the scum of Europe by a disheartening amount of the majority populations. These culturally motivated prejudices are by far the most apparent in Eastern Europe. While living in Bulgaria for 27 months……I not once met a single Bulgarian who did not have deep prejudices toward the Roma population. The animosity runs incredibly deep in Eastern Europe, where the Roma have become the scapegoat for national hardships. The average Eastern European citizen feels that the Roma are lazy, dishonest, and are a parasitic drain on their economy. Throughout Eastern Europe as well as the West, segregation of Roma is surprisingly open and accepted by all. I would compare Eastern Europe’s ethnic tolerance level to that of the United States in the 1930s. Sure slavery had been abolished,………but the segregation continued, and the playing field stayed about as level as the Himalayas for some time after.

Even though the town I lived in was only about 15,000 people, the Roma of my town lived together in a muddy slum on the edge of town, with less than an hour of running water per day. To top it all off, the Roma children were segregated into their own school which only went up to 6th grade. It is a bit difficult to level the playing field when Roma are not allowed education, or opportunity of upward economic mobility. I suppose the point of my tangent is to describe to you all, that the ethnic tolerance problems in Eastern Europe are disastrous. Having so much personal experience with this issue, I could go on forever, but I won’t. I just want to help people understand that countries like Albania, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Romania..etc, have severe ethnic tolerance issues that for the sake of humanity should be resolved. I will not pretend that prejudices and racism does not exist in my own country, it most certainly does; however, the strides the USA has taken over the last 50 years have been quite commendable and should serve as an example to less progressive nations who have yet to stop harboring ethnic hatred and ignorant prejudices toward their minorities.
The following is a personal journal entry I wrote about my struggle with Bulgaria’s lack of ethnic tolerance:

2-12-2006

Well I am not really sure how to write exactly what I am thinking right now but here it goes anyway. I find myself in completely helpless frustration sometimes, and it is not always clear to me exactly what I should do, say, or even think. Yesterday was an absolute nightmare, a day that really put a damper on my spirits and crushed my morale. Last night began just like any other ordinary and uneventful evening in Chirpan, Bulgaria. I received a phone call from my friend Dylian, who invited me to the local bar for a couple drinks. At this point of the evening I had been sitting alone in my frozen room for hours, bored out of my mind, and dreaming about central heating. So I say “why not, I will meet you there”. I had been sitting in my house alone and depressed the entire day, so obviously I had no objection to taking a break from my hermit lifestyle. I then walked down to the local café and met with Dylian, his girlfriend, and a group of about five other guys.

The beginning of this particular social gathering was very typical and pleasant. I was enjoying my 60 cent gin and tonic, and answering the usual questions directed at me……..the village American. I suppose I have become a novelty of some sort around Chirpan; everyone knows me and I guess to a certain extent I am popular and well liked within my small community. While enjoying my drink and the pleasantly heated café, I was asked questions like “What do you think of your president?”, “Do you like Bulgaria?”, “Why are you here?” …etc ..Then all of a sudden and completely out of the blue, the skin head sitting on my right changed the subject and blew my mind. The oafish, rocker type guy sitting beside me asked me what I thought about Hitler. Well,……. I am sure you’re thinking…WTF..what kind of question is that?….umm yeah… I wasn’t really prepared for that one. But it gets better;… after I gave him the typical “Hitler was a monster” response, he proceeded to tell me how Hitler was a great man, and how he believed in all of his ideas and philosophies pertaining to racial purity.. After the conversation got rolling, the other guys at the table cued in and began talking about how Jews, Blacks, Roma and so on, were all social parasites and are less than human.

I desperately attempted to explain to these people how I felt, but they didn’t want to listen. I did my best to control the situation and in vain tried to explain to these guys that it’s simply an issue of poverty, discrimination, and destructive negative stereotypes. “These people are no better or worse than us, we are all human beings, and posses unique qualities good and bad. Judging people individually or collectively by their ethnicity or skin tone is ignorant and unfair”. Needless to say, by this point I am very shocked and frustrated with the situation. My friend Dylian notices that I am appalled by what is being said, and quickly apologizes for the other guys’ behavior and tells me that they are very drunk and are not to be taken seriously. I told Dylian that I just don’t understand what makes them think the way they do. I quietly explained to Dylian, that speaking of what Hitler has done as “good”, is horribly wrong, ugly, and completely offensive, especially where I am from.

Visibly at this point the evening had taken a deep ethical plunge and was in a fast and painful downward spiral. I began thinking to myself, ….these people are just idiots, and it’s not Dylian’s fault that these people are anti-Semitic bigots. I then rhetorically asked Dylian if he understood just how horrible Hitler was, and how savage and disgusting his actions were. I expected a normal response from Dylian because he was in fact a highly educated and level minded guy. However, to my shock and dismay, Dylian responded by telling me that he feels the same way about Hitler as the rest of the hate mongers sitting at my table. Dylian told me that he hates Jews because they are social parasites who are responsible for all of the world’s problems………………Well, that was enough for me; the one person at the table whom I thought would see through the bullshit and understand that the other guys are wrong, tells me in so many words that he in fact is an ignorant, narrow minded hate monger just like the other guys.

Well,……….. the moral of the story……. I have no idea. What am I going to do?……. I have no Idea. How I am going to go about finding decent friends?…….. Beats me.

This was the first time I had ever felt so angry about close-minded people. I felt ganged up on and helpless. My language skills hindered my ability to debate, and made it difficult for me to explain exactly how I felt. I was hopelessly frustrated and felt disgustingly ashamed to be associated with those people. How can I maintain an ordinary social life in this country, if I am only surrounded by close minded bigots? How can I avoid this sort of situation in the future? This is a dark day for me and I am depressed……..

After a couple of amazing days in Berat, I boarded a 7am bus heading to Tirana (Albania's capitol). After arriving in Tirana, I met up with Marissa; who was in the capitol for a meeting. We then grabbed a quick lunch and headed to Albania’s Peace Corp office. After meeting their Country Director and trading stories with PCV’s in the lounge for about an hour; I was on my way to the train station.

As I journeyed along the four mile trek to the Tirana train station, I was amazed to see how vibrantly beautiful and unique Tirana was. The city was full of bright, creatively painted buildings and green, cleanly landscaped parks. I was surprised to see that the city of Tirana had a progressive, glowing existence to it, which in comparison is delightfully different than the other generally gloomy, grey, and crumbling Eastern European capitols. About an hour later I had arrived at my destination: the Tirana railway station. I knew that my bus was nearby, but had no idea exactly where to start looking for it. Eventually I mustered up enough courage to confront a group of locals about the whereabouts of the bus station. A few non-verbal conversations later, I was pointed in the right direction. I wandered through a loud, dusty, chaotic, smelly, street market, before coming across a large dirt parking lot containing a handful of buses. The bus for Puke (Pronounced Puka) was located at the end of the busy Middle Eastern style market. I will forever remember the chicken man! This dude had about 75 live chickens tied to the front of his bike.........not sure how he pulled that one off.
A few observations about Albania:-They love Americans and seem to be warm and friendly to all foreigners.-Lots of stray cats and dogs......I counted a crew of 12 dogs taking a nap together in a Tirana parking lot.-Pick up truck style donkey carts:....I saw a few donkey carts with make shift enclosures on the front.... it made the cart look like a truck (pretty sweet!).-Who can forget the Turkey herders!-The food is wonderful, locally grown olives are delicious, and the blend of bread, meat, and spices I found to be unique and ideal.-lots of litter(trash)……….seems to be a pattern in Eastern Europe........nature is one big trash can for this region.-Locals seam to be very pleasant warm and friendly.-Lack of power: The electricity is generally turned off between 9am and 7pm everyday…all regions have their specific/sporadic schedule,...same issue with water in the mountainous regions; the businesses that need power have large-loud generators in front of their stores. Apparently this problem has roots in Bulgaria. When Bulgaria joined the EU, it was forced to shut down several nuclear power plants because they were not up to grade with EU standards; in consequence Bulgaria was not able to continue exporting its surplus energy to Albania.
After a long, slow, and beautiful journey through the rugged mountains of Albania, I had arrived in the desolate village of Puke. Upon arrival I was immediately met by my host Dan: a PCV in his early 40s working for the local municipality. Dan is both an outdoorsmen and a beer connoisseur; I knew right away that I was in good hands. After dropping off my bags and a few minutes of introductory conversation, we were on the trail hiking toward a nearby mountain peak. When we had arrived at our destination, I was awestruck by the natural beauty of the surrounding area. I was enclosed in a desolate paradise of fall colors and ruggedly magnificent mountains. Beyond the lush valleys and rolling hills were rows upon rows of snow capped mountains with cerated peaks. We pleasantly sat upon the mountainside for over an hour silently soaking in the beauty of nature’s unwrapped gifts.

My time with Dan was filled with pleasant conversation, beer, and incredible hikes. We enjoyed engaging in long intellectual talks, and traded personal views about everything from love and religion to politics and microbrews. Dan’s living conditions were quite modest; besides being located in a mountain village in the middle of nowhere, he lived on the 3rd floor of a crumbling block apartment. I mention this only because I found his bathing situation to be amusing. His toilet and shower were one and the same; basically, Dan’s squat toilet(hole) sat directly under his shower and functioned dually as a shower drain and a shitter. After a couple fantastic days in the beautiful mountain village of Puke,........I boarded a 5am mini-bus headed to Vau Dez.

It was 6am, freezing cold, eerily dark, and rainy heavily when I arrived in Vau Dez. Vau Dez was nothing more than a muddy desolate mountain village containing a few collapsing shacks and dimly lit cafes. I took a seat in the center of a cold, wet cafe and ordered an herbal tea. I was intensely observed by the curious locals........and maliciously stared at by a couple of teenagers sitting at an adjacent table. As I was desperately attempting to heat my core with the hot tea; I noticed that most of the men in the room were sipping a clear liquid out of what looked like large shot glasses. The grisly looking men wearing black work clothes and dark wool caps sipped the large shot glasses while periodically taking long drags from their cigarettes. After later inquiries; I discovered that the men in the café were drinking raki (a strong brandy). Raki with a coffee chaser is a surprisingly popular morning beverage in Albania. It was 6am for god sake and these men were boozing!!!! What do I know; it was cold, dark, and raining hard, perhaps these men had the right idea.
An hour later I hopped on a crowed fergon heading toward Koman. The darkness was now slowly fading but the cold rainy weather clouded the windows and added a mysterious and unpredictable element to the ride. My exhaustion was increasingly fierce at this point, and my mood began to darken as the ride began to show graphic shades of danger. The shabby roads were wet and poorly maintained; however, this did not deter the driver from driving like he had just robbed a bank. The two hour journey through the wet unpredictable mountainside made me fear for my life. The roads were almost completely dirt, and littered with aggressively large potholes. Undeniably the most frightening part of this journey was crossing the bridges. These bridges looked as if sections had been recently bombed, and that they would collapse at any moment. The bridges generally had no railings whatsoever and they all provided a very real potential for disaster. The windy one lane road rapped around the mountainside dangerously taunting the absorbing powers of the giant, soft edged cliffs only feet away from inside perimeter of the road. The old mechanically shoddy fergon raced along the increasingly dangerous road with little caution or concern for its occupants. To my surprise, the psychotic fergon driver got me to Koman alive and in one piece.

The rain was hammering the brown muddy mountainside with invasive strength as the fergon pulled into the desolate ferry port of Koman. Upon arrival, I immediately took shelter from the rain in a nearby café. I spent the next half hour evading puddles of urine and feces as I attempted to put on a pair of long johns in the café’s bathroom. The light was broken, and the floor was saturated with filth, but in the end the operation proved to be successful. My bag was now empty……..do to the frigidly cold weather, I was forced to wear (literally) all of my clothes while attempting to stay warm. After downing a cup of bland and flavorless tea and a couple spoonfuls of peanut butter; I took a nap. I awoke around 9:30am surrounded by a large crowd of people who like me were waiting for the ferry.

With a few memorized Albanian word phrases, I was able to ask the middle aged couple next to me what time the ferry would arrive. Before I knew it I was sitting at their table submersed in a mostly non-verbal conversation. Their wrinkled, leathery faces, illuminated kindness and warmth as I munched on the food they had provided for me. I am continuously amazed by how warm and hospitable Albanians are. Albania’s worldwide reputation as a rough, hostile, thuggish land run by lawless mobsters has proven to be completely unjustified. I have found my interactions with Albanians to be quite pleasant thus far, and have felt incredibly safe while traveling throughout Albania. It is however true that Albania’s level of organized crime is extremely high. These Albanian organized crime groups are arguably the most thuggish and rapidly growing in Europe. The Northern areas of Albania, especially the port cities have become increasingly entangled with illegal and repugnant enterprises. This particular region has become a haven for heartless thugs responsible for trafficking a substantial amount of drugs and people (usually for sex slavery) out of Albania. However, all countries have their trouble areas; it is our responsibility to recognize problems and help initiate solutions while embracing and respecting the country’s functional majority.

I boarded the Ferry at around 10:15am and immediately crashed from exhaustion. Surrounded by socializing locals, I sat on a cold steel bench sleeping face down on a warped wooden table. I awoke about an hour later in a puddle of my own saliva (a consequence of sleeping with my mouth open)........and to my dismay the ferry had not moved an inch. A thin man with short, dark, hair in his late twenties sat down beside me and penetrated my monotonous daze with a warm smile. As I slowly began to regain my consciousness, and fall back into the realm of sociability, we began to converse. Dashamir spoke broken but comprehendible English, and was returning home from a nearby border town. He works for the Albanian customs agency and had recently finished his degree in Law at a university in Tirana. Dashamir is one of the nicest guys I have ever met, his constant smile and genuine inquisitiveness seamed almost unreal. After he curiously berated me with frank and usual questions, he warmly offered me an invitation to be a guest in his home. He proposed that after we arrive in Fierza, we take the 2 hour mini-bus to his village and stay with his family for the night. He and his family live in a small, isolated, mountain village of about 300 inhabitants located near the Albania-Kosovo border. I considered his gracious offer for a moment before enthusiastically accepting. After all, a night in an isolated Albanian village sounded both appealing and intriguing to me. Unfortunately the ferry was extremely slow, and due to the excessive lateness of our departure; we had missed the last bus to his village. Doshamir was forced to stay the night in Baijram Curri and catch a bus home the following morning. I briefly considered staying the night as well,..........but then remembered what I had previously read about Baijram Curri in my guide book.
Barram Curri according to the 2001 Albania & Kosovo Blue Guide:

“Security in this region is problematic most of the time. As a result it is very unwise to try to visit the town or stay there. In 1998 ‘The Times’ correspondent Anthony Lloyd reported that he was issued with a handgun at the local hotel along with his room key. With this war-zone activity went a strong suspicion of foreigners, many of whom were rightly believed to be anti-Albanian spies. And an influx of criminals and lowlife types, hoping to make a profit out of the war.”
-And in the Where to stay section: “It is not recommended to stay the night in Baijram Curri, but in extremis, there is ‘Hotel Shkelzeni’. Rooms are habitable but fairly primitive. The hotel is also used as the local mortuary, and on occasion corpses may be seen in the hall, awaiting funeral rites and burial.”
-“Animal lovers will find much to dislike in this region, with badger baiting, dog fighting, and other blood sports being a traditional feature of male recreational life.”

So anyways,………even though Baijram Curri sounded quite appealing; I decided to bid farewell to Doshamir upon arrival in Fierza and move on to Gjakova, Kosovo.

A few times during the long sluggish ferry ride, the rain subsided long enough for me to step outside for some sight seeing and a bit of fresh air. The views from the upper ferry deck were breathtaking. The small ferry waded slowly through the narrow river at the base of an incredibly desolate mountain canyon. Enormous rocky cliffs on both sides of the canyon provided a very imposing representation of nature at its purist. Occasionally a bundle of sticks on the steep mountainside would show proof of habitation; but generally the area was left for the birds. While basking in the natural beauty of my surroundings, and daydreaming about my future endeavors; I was interrupted from meditation by a loud voice coming from the deck below me. I had picked up on a conversation spoken in American English, and quickly went down to the lower deck to investigate. It turned out to be a US State Dept official working out of Tirana and his translator. My conversation with the other American was both unfulfilling and short, due to the man’s arrogance and generally condescending attitude. I am not sure exactly why, but it appears to me that US State Dept staff generally feel they have some sort of underlying entitlement and importance. As a former Peace Corps volunteer working for the US State Dept; I often encountered this sort of superiority complex while conversing with US State Dept staff. It always appeared to me that the US Foreign Service looked at PCV’s as immature hippies with a diminutive developmental impact.

4) Kosovo-

The ferry pulled into the Fierza ferry port at around ________pm. The port was nothing more than a muddy dead end, in an incredibly inaccessible location. Upon arrival in Fierza, I immediately boarded a mini-bus heading to Gjakova, Kosovo. As we pulled away from the primitive and weather damaged fairy dock, (thick mud, flat surface, on the edge of the river) I began to mentally prepare myself for the unknown challenges that inevitably lay ahead. To be entirely truthful, I had absolutely no idea what to expect. What would Kosovo be like? What would the people be like? Would I be a welcome foreigner, or seen as a meddlesome outsider? My reservations about my immediate situation began to ease after the woman sitting across from me greeted me warmly and presented me with a tray of cookies. I graciously grabbed a handful of stale chocolate wafer cookies from the tray and gave her the universal smile-nod thank you. After a few attempts of cordial conversation were blocked by the towering communication barrier; we settled for the serenity of mutual smiles and peaceful silence.

After stopping briefly at the border’s security checkpoint, we entered into the disputed territory of Kosovo. The weather was cold and drizzly as we drove through the green mountainous region along the spaghetti string roads. The disperse villages along the countryside looked even more run down and poverty stricken than those of rural Albania. The villagers I witnessed, young and old, farming in the freezing rain exhibited great determination and discipline, laced with an underlying will to survive.

An hour later I arrived in Gjakova……….a remote Kosovar town with around 75,000 inhabitants. Gjakova was severely damaged by the Serb Offensive in 1998-1999, however much of the historic, ottoman era old town has been restored in the recent years. My first impressions upon arrival in Kosovo were slightly skewed due to my impending exhaustion and overall lack of motivation. I was excited to be in Kosovo, but was more than ready to plant my feet somewhere and indulge in a bit of R&R. After a quick and relatively uneventful self guided tour of Gjakova, I decided to press on to the historic town of Prizren.

After a short 45 minute bus ride I arrived in Prizren,………population 80,000. It was now 5pm and the daylight was vanishing rapidly. My immediate objective was to find a place to stay for the night. I wandered around the dark wet streets of Prizren for about an hour before I was able to track down an Internet café. Before finding the glorious establishment inhabiting the Google machine; I came across a little token of amusement. I found myself standing in front of Prizren’s own “Klinton Restaurant”.
It was a small restaurant with a large glowing sign draped above the entrance; on the left side was a flag of the USA with a superimposed picture of Bill Clinton.

Yup, ………….so in Kosovo it has become wildly apparent that the Kosavar Albanians are a big fan of President Clinton; most likely because of his action taken in 1999.
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-For those of you unfamiliar with this situation: Former Yugoslavia was a conglomerate of ethnically and culturally diverse regions. When the dictatorship fell, and the Belgrade (Serbia) based leadership became unstable and weak, regions began to pull out and reorganize their own countries. Slovenia and Macedonia were able to separate with little conflict, but it was a whole new ball game when Croatia and Bosnia & Herzegovina attempted to pull out. Belgrade was losing grip on its crumbling empire and the Serbs started getting pissed off. Serbia was to Yugoslavia what England is to the United Kingdom. So now Serbia is losing its once glorious kingom, piece by piece; which is not a good thing for land locked Serbia. So to make a long story short the Serbs were angry about losing their land, and decided it would be easier to dissolve the problem by mass genocide of the predominantly Muslim Bosnians. I believe the mentality was ‘kill them all, and reclaim the land’. This became a ridiculous conflict that the Europeans should have stopped and cleaned up immediately…………….instead it was USA who was forced to step in and initiate a stop to the genocide(years after it had begun). After the dust settled (1994ish), Croatia and Bosnia & Herzegovina were able to reclaim their independence……….and Serbia’s war criminals went into hiding. This brings me to Kosovo…….a region much like Bosnia. A predominantly Muslim area that just happens to have a majority population of Kosovar Albanians. {these large pockets of Muslims are obviously residual products of centuries of Ottoman occupation} Because Kosovo is “in Serbia but not of it”……..they decided that they would like independence as well. After a few scuffles between the Serb and Kosovar population in Kosovo…….the Serbs decided to bring back the ethnic cleansing method and knock off some of the “opposition”. Bill Clinton fearing that another Sarajevo like situation would occur, coerced NATO into bombing Belgrade in order to send Serbia a message that another ethnic cleansing would not be tolerated. And this is why Clinton is a hero in the eyes of Kosovar Albanians. In the years after 1999, Kosovo has become a giant parking lot for white SUV’s (meaning they are now occupied by UN peacekeepers). Everyone knows that the stability of Kosovo depends on strict intervention……….which means international NGO’s and militant peacekeepers are stationed in Kosovo indefinitely.

After a rigorous search at the internet café, I was able to find a relatively inexpensive pension (shitty hotel) in the heart of Prizren’s old town. The problem now was that I had no idea where I was. After mustering the word “Center” and enthusiastically performing a physical gesture representing confusion, the cashier at the internet café seemed to fully comprehend my dilemma. A few minutes later I was being escorted into an Albanian guy’s car and taken to the center of town…………more Albanian hospitality!! After a bit of awkward silence, and an attempt by my chauffeur to tell me a dirty joke about Clinton and Monica Lewinski, we had arrived in the center of old town. We shook hands firmly before parting ways; I was again on my own. I spent the next 40 minutes shivering uncontrollable while wandering through the cold, dark, rain polished, cobblestone streets before finding my pension.

The hotel owner seemed nice enough,………..his only other foreign language was German,……….which meant that he spoke German to me every time our paths crossed .

As I dipped my head into the chalky bathroom sink, the cold water numbed my face thoroughly while shaking my body into an uplifting sense of alertness. The long day of freezing rain and shoddy public transport had physically taken its toll on my body. I had been on the road since 5am and had been so preoccupied with logistics that I had eaten hardly anything the entire day. After a swift analysis of my options, I escaped the heavy snow by entering a small grilled meat restaurant located up the alley from my pension. I enjoyed my carnivorous meal with a couple of local middle aged drunks and the two young men who ran the joint. A pleasant essence of male camaraderie filled the dimly lit room as we silently drank beer and watched a boxing match through the fuzzy television screen. Even though the restaurant was freezing cold, I noticed that the other men wore only thin long sleeved shirts. I was bundled up in a winter hat, thermal shirt, fleece, and rain jacket; despite my battle against the elements, I was still freezing my ass off. These men were tough as nails! One of the men in the restaurant went next store and came back with hot tea for the whole crew (including myself)…………..even though words were not spoken, I had become part of the gang and it felt nice.

I spent the remainder of the evening pleasantly reading in my hotel room. Frequent and sporadic power outages constantly challenged my intentions; however, the generator powered lamp in my hotel room usually emitted enough light to adequately brighten the pages of my book.
(insert info on Prizrens Citidel)
I woke up early the following morning to pleasantly dry weather and full electricity. After a warm shower, I hit the streets of Prizren and began my long hike to the historic citadel. I decided to make use of the pristine weather conditions by taking the indirect route to the citadel. I hiked through a narrow valley along a shallow river before taking a cut back trail up the steep hillside to the citadel. The peaceful silence of my walk was periodically disrupted by military helicopters parading through the skies above me.
(explain KFOR units)
After a few hours of self induced ignorance, my eyes began to open and I was able to see the town of Prizren for what it was. Unfortunately it was not only a quiet, beautiful, Eastern European town; it was a massive militarized zone heavily occupied by German KFOR units. Military convoys thuggishly overpower Prizren’s peaceful streets while Kosovar locals ignore the tension in the air while attempting to coincide with their heavily armed occupiers.

I was overcome with calmness and serenity as I curiously gazed upon the city of Prizren. The view from the top of the citadel was brilliant. It became entirely apparent that little money had gone into restoring this ancient citadel; however the structure has held up strongly against the elements. After enjoying the stunning view from the top and a peaceful stroll around Prizren’s massive citadel, I began my descent. I decided to take the more direct trail this time, with hopes of visiting a nearby church in route to the bottom. As I walked down the rain slick cobblestone path along the left side of the citadel, I became visually aware of some of the atrocities committed during the war. Along the right side of the red brick path was a cluster of destroyed Serbian homes; the Kosovar Albanians had literally cleansed the town of Serbians. There was razor-wire surrounding the perimeter of this wasteland, and German KFOR soldiers armed with machine guns patrolling the remains of this collapsed neighborhood. Roofless shells of collapsed homes have become overrun by invasive flora. A once peaceful Serbian community now lays in ruins due to violently oppressive bouts of ignorance and hatred. Long after the Serbian Corpses had been disposed of, and the blood had been washed away from Prizren’s cobblestone streets by the cleansing of heavy rains; animosity lives on, hatred lingers and grows, and the ethnic tolerance amongst the Serbian and Kosovar populations continues to steadily slip into the consuming black hole of prejudice and war. I began to feel increasingly displaced and paranoid as I walked along the edge of the destroyed Serbian neighborhood. The beautiful church I spotted from above was indefinitely closed due to the occupation of German KFOR units. The German KFOR soldiers had a military style bunker/lookout booth overlooking the hillside within the gates of the old church. I peeked through the tall iron gate to see the soldiers examining the city with high powered binoculars. For a brief moment I felt confident ignoring the large ‘no photos’ sign and snapping an image of what I was seeing. I felt like a clever spy as I mischievously observed the preoccupied German soldiers at work.

My heart skipped a beat as I turned around to find three German KFOR soldiers 10 feet behind me and staring directly at me. They had snuck up behind me like sly cats and were observing my apparently not so smooth activities. Shocked and embarrassed by my own foolishness; I quickly scurried down the hill, and have not since considered taking any pictures of military activity in Kosovo.

At about 10pm I was again nestled warmly in my well heated hotel room enjoying a beer and a book. My relaxing evening alone quickly ended when the power abruptly went out (including the generator powered lamp). I was not quite ready for sleep and instead of sitting in eerie darkness, decided to go for a walk. I had not wandered far before I began to hear loud Albanian folk music coming from a nearby café. Music, Electricity, beer and a room full of locals sounded like an excellent way to escape the black out and numbing fall weather. Within 20 minutes of entering the café; I was summoned by a group of grizzly looking middle aged locals to join them at their table. Even though this bar had literally zero females (Islamic Culture); the atmosphere was energetic and the men were all smiling from ear to ear. Imposing amounts of drunken joy were spit across the room by glassy eyed men singing along to obnoxiously loud folk music. It was really interesting to see these men get so excited about the music. Each and every man in the bar seamed to be consumed by the overpowering sounds of their musical heritage. One patron even joined the band on stage and performed a wildly popular duet with the band’s lead singer. After 3 beers, 2 hours, and countless attempts to abolish the language barrier; I was on my feet and dancing. We all joined hands and danced around the room in a circle, it is a traditional dance throughout the Balkans (in Bulgaria it is called the Horo). After about 20 minutes of dancing in circles, and trying to keep the belligerent guy on my left from falling over and running into tables;……….the song was over. The evening had become a memorable cultural treat, with about as much loud folk music, dancing, and misunderstanding as I could handle. I decided to leave the bar at around 1am but did not make it back to my hotel until well after 2am. Saying farewell to my new friends proved to be a lengthy and complex process. I was summoned to shake absolutely everyone’s hand in the bar before leaving; including the band.

I awoke the following morning to zero electricity, freezing rain and a shower that would give hypothermia to a polar bear. After a simple breakfast, I checked out of my hotel and made my way to the bus station on the edge of town. At around 12:00p, I boarded a surprisingly clean and well maintained bus in route to Prishtina (Kosovo’s capital). The snowfall from the previous evening strangely gave the city of Prizren an even darker less uplifting vibe. The deep puddles of muddy slush along the roads, the snow covered collapsing buildings and the diesel powered military convoys, presented an eerie atmosphere reminiscent of the Cold War era. During my trek to the bus station the combination of mud, slush, and soldiers gave me an increasingly uneasy feeling. Is it unethical to visit a war zone as a tourist? I began to feel that being a tourist in Prizren at such an unstable time was in a way obnoxious and insensitive. Despite my last minute reservations, I can say wholeheartedly that I enjoyed my time in Prizren, and found the town to be potentially beautiful. The polluted streets, collapsing infrastructure, and the daunting occupation by German KFOR soldiers is the only thing keeping me from giving Prizren a gold star.

I arrived in Prishtina on 10-21-2007 around 2pm; the freezing weather was almost unbearable. Upon Arrival in Prishtina; I immediately changed into all of the warm weather clothes I had with me in my bag. I gradually began to regain circulation and warmth by hiking swiftly along the muddy streets of Prishtina. After passing the Bill Clinton textile shop, and hiking 1.5km toward the city center; I came upon Bill Clinton boulevard. Bill Clinton Boulevard is a main road leading into the heart of Prishtina. One particular block apartment along the boulevard is decorated with a five story tall sign with a picture of Bill Clinton smiling and waving. On the top of the sign it says “welcome to Bill Clinton Boulevard”. Hmmmm the evidence is piling up……….People in Kosovo are definitely huge fans of our former president Bill Clinton (however I have noticed that more often than not: they spell Clinton with a K).

I am now in Prishtina, Kosovo; it is 3:47pm on Monday October 22nd. I am staying with a French woman in her late twenties who works for a large humanitarian NGO. Her hospitality and kindness has made my stay in Prishtina quite peaceful and pleasant.

Today I found a break in the rain and was able to take a long exploratory walk around Prishtina. The streets here are filled with large white SUVs with either large black letters saying UN, or the acronym of one of the many international NGO’s (non governmental organization) working in the area. Prishtina in my opinion is vastly unimpressive. However, the atmosphere of international collaboration and potential conflict does add an element of excitement to the area. I have never been in a region with such potential for disastrous conflict. I genuinely hope that all conflicts will be resolved peacefully in Kosovo; nevertheless my unrelenting realism exposes a more rational outcome.

I awoke at 5:30am on Tuesday October 23rd and began to trek through ugly darkness and freezing rain to the Prishtina train station. False directions provided by an unreliable local lead me off course about a mile before I was able to accurately reroute myself and proceed through the harsh rain and impending darkness to the train station. Depressing elements of coldness penetrated my core as I stood in the dimly lit corridor of the dilapidated train station. Damp silence was occasionally broken by the gentle sounds of mice scurrying across the wet marble floors. Was I in the right place? Was there actually a train to Skopje? Emptiness and eerie darkness became sinister props in my plagued and wandering mind. My overactive imagination wandered into brutal war scenarios that took me back into time while holding me firmly in the present.

An old man with a long thick mustache and a sickly face showed up moments before the train departed, and quickly sold me a ticket to Skopje, Macedonia. Padded down with cold damp clothes; I shivered constantly and sporadically slept during the four hour train ride to Skopje.

The US embassy aka McDonalds became my place of refuge for the next 4 hours as I waited for the afternoon bus to Sofia, Bulgaria. I arrived in Sofia with the thrill of victory splashing around my veins. I had completed the first leg of my journey with complete success, and was now ready for more.