4 Days in Durres: Drummers/The Other English Bride

Drummers




Looking out from the balcony of our room - lamb roasting in the restaurant kitchen below, clear sky and no ships on the sea... I hear drumming and see two men go by, drums on straps around their necks, singing. I ask Zonja where they're going but she doesn't know.


(We left Durres the day before Bajram, or Eid, as it's known elsewhere, so perhaps these were the 'lodra' players, who drum for the beginning and end of fasting during Ramadan, passing the time between shifts. However, I don't know whether this pre-Communist tradition had been revived in the area.)



The Other English Bride

Another surprise - Zonja asks if we can move out of our room for a night and sleep in the main bedroom with the rest of the family. Another cousin is coming to stay overnight and is on his way over from Tirana, with his new English wife. They've been staying with relatives in a small village in the north of the country and have just been to collect the husband's visa from the British Embassy, as they're flying to England tomorrow.

There are three beds in our room and in this one there seem to be seven or eight, along with the baby's cot so, with a sofa-bed in the kitchen/living room there's no shortage of accommodation for visitors.

Dhendri and the first cousin also arrive for the evening and we push tables together ready for dinner as the wedding photos are passed around along with the new husband's passport with the visa stamp. He tells Dhendri he might have his visa by this time tomorrow but he's not so sure, having waited a year already.

The other English girl tells us about her visit to the countryside, how strange it is to put milk from a cow whose name you know in your coffee, and to eat the chicken you've fed earlier in the day... even here in Durres the family have a garden nearby and grow their own vegetables, broad beans and fruit. Besides these Zonja has made pilaff and couscous, and her husband brings chicken and dolmades up from the restaurant. The couple have brought wine and there is also raki.


The bride and I don't speak much, without knowing why... we haven't quite got our English heads on, and the coincidence seems not at all romantic - it makes us feel like a batch, somehow. And it's as if speaking about our lives in England would spoil the evening, like breaking a spell - who knows when so many members of the family would be together again.


Even the Principessa has a late night. As I'm putting her to bed I can see the lights of the ferries and just make out their dark shapes leaving the port for the night crossing. 11pm - I've started telling the time by them.

4 Days in Durres - Coca Cola

This morning Zonja comes to tell me that her cousin-in-law is here to 'speak English with me'. We find him in the kitchen, amusing the children with a new laptop brought back from Germany, where he has been working. There's no internet connection but there are games and so, after it's been admired, it helps us occupy the children while Zonja goes down to the restaurant.



I ask him if he's planning to go back to Germany again - he's not sure but will have to go away somewhere before too long... it's still difficult to find employment in Albania, even though things have settled down somewhat after the financial collapse of 1997 (peacekeeping forces were deployed here in Durres and other Albanian cities until the constitution was restored in 1998). Foreign companies have built new factories - tomorrow we'll pass the Coca Cola factory on the road out to Tirana- but they employ expatriates almost exclusively, there being no law requiring them to employ Albanian workers. The government takes money from the companies which is never seen again... the country is ruled now by a few families, and, whichever lot one might vote for, contracts for roads, buildings etc are given to their friends and family members and public money disappears again, roads left full of holes and half-finished buildings falling into ruin...

Four Days in Durres (5)

Pillboxes


Along the way I notice some crumbling 'pillboxes' or bunkers and ask Dhendri whether they are from WWII, or later. The question seems to disagree with him, however, as he mutters 'there's nothing there' and drives ferociously six times round the same roundabout. Whether he's offended or superstitious I daren't ask, clinging onto my seat as best I can...

Orange trees and black chickens

The roads are wide and quiet, soon we arrive safely at Dhendri's friend's restaurant and go up to meet the family in the apartment above it: a couple with two young children and a baby, and the husband's unmarried sister, who lives with them. Dhendri leaves us in our room to unpack, saying he'll be back later to bring us our dinner, and not to bother the family too much. His friend goes back downstairs to the restaurant with him.

We go out to the balcony for a while, looking down at the orange trees and black chickens in the garden of the house next door, and beyond them the Port and the sea, over which the sun will soon be setting. (It is thought that the name 'Albania' may come from Italian 'alba' meaning 'dawn', as the sun appears to rise over this side of the Adriatic Sea.) The Principessa seems happy enough enjoying the view, the warm afternoon and the clothes pegs, scraps of sequinned fabric, flowerpots and other odds and ends she finds under the chairs, so I think we should manage not to disturb anyone. From down the hall I hear only faint sounds of tv, and children playing. However the two older children, one girl of eight and the other about four years old, can't hide their curiosity for long and are soon whispering outside our door. Their mother calls them back several times but of course it's pointless... impossible for two women with young children to sit in separate rooms, ignoring each other, and so by the time Dhendri returns we're all in the kitchen and Zonja and I have got the xhezven (coffee pot) on the stove and are nattering over our 'kafja turke'.

A power cut and a visit


Dhendri returns briefly the next morning with fruit, crisps, biscuits and peach juice, before leaving for work - driving casual workers to factories in nearby towns. He won't be back until the evening, so we'll be spending the day here. His friend is already in the restaurant, making breakfasts, and Zonja's sister-in-law is getting ready to walk down to the hospital, where she is a nurse. Durres beach is down that way, she says, and we'll all walk down one day while I'm here, as on a good day it's still warm enough to swim. The children watch tv in the kitchen and Zonja sends me out to the balcony here at the front of the apartment, from which we can see any customers arriving at the car park below - if it gets busy she can go down and help in the restaurant. For now it's quiet and I watch the staff from the 'byrektore' (pastry shop) across the road sit outside reading newspapers.

Mid-morning the tv goes off, suddenly. There's a daily two hour power cut, usually at about this time - electricity is being rationed. The children play with a small toy we've brought, Aladdin on a magic carpet with wheels, or 'Turki me rrote' (Turk on Wheels), as they call it. They eat the rest of the crisps and, as there are no sweeties, Zonja gives them sachets of sugar from the restaurant, printed with the names and colours of international football teams.

In the afternoon her mother and sister visit and, as the power is now back on, we watch subtitled Mexican soap operas, sitting in a row on the sofa with an electric heater in front of us and a blanket draped over our knees and the heater.

History

In the evening we drive around Durres with Dhendri, who has arranged a day off work for the day before we sail back to Italy. We'll go with him to Tirana, the capital city, about 20 miles from here, as he has to take some papers to the British Embassy in support of his visa application. He shows us the 'bright lights', all the newest places, the apartments under construction near the beach, flat-roofed pastel coloured buildings stretching away to the rocky green hills in the distance, and has no time for history... Durres is one of Europe's oldest cities, founded around 627BC by colonists from Corinth and Corcyra. It was part of the ancient kingdom of Illyria, where Shakespeare's Viola is shipwrecked in 'Twelfth Night'. Corinth and Corcyra soon began to fight over it, however, this and other 'conflicts of interest' leading to the Peloponnesian War... so we drive around oblivious to history for a while, and then go to eat barbecued chicken.

Four Days in Durres - Meeting the Bridegroom

At arrivals we pass by a huge portrait of Mother Theresa and wait briefly under a carving of the double-headed eagle, Albania's national emblem, to have our passports checked and stamped (Albania's name at home is 'Squiperia' - Land of Eagles). Right now it's looking to the east and west, while we go straight ahead.

Outside Dhendri is waiting at the turnstile. 'Where have you been?' 'Are we late?' Dhendri smirks and, picking up the Principessa, leads the way to the car park, which is ankle deep in mud. I have to carry my own bags but find we are the proud owners of a rusty white Mercedes... 'everyone here has a Mercedes', Dhendri tells me, 'they're fairly cheap and spare parts are easy to find'.

We drive a short distance to a restaurant overlooking the bay and now I notice that the sun is low over the sea... 'What time is it?'

Dhendri has not had to wait all day at the turnstile, luckily, as the Port staff told him when he arrived at 8am that the ferries had stopped during the night mid-Adriatic and had just set off again to complete the crossing.

All I want is coffee and water, of all things, and soon we leave for the appartment where the Principessa and I will be staying. 'Can't we see your house?', I ask, but he waves vaguely in the direction of the hills around the city and goes to find the waiter, who is busy getting his tables ready for the evening.

Four Days in Durres (3)

Sleep peacefully through the Great Storm which delays the ferries by more than five hours and, further north, threatens to submerge Venice, where my stepfather is staying. When we wake it's 1.30, according to my phone, but I hear people moving luggage out of their cabins. Unbarricade the door to investigate and see the lorry driver leaving his cabin. He gives me directions to the 'self service'. Leather Man emerges from another door and staggers off down the corridor.

Up on deck I am surprised by daylight, sun shining on sparkling blue wavelets outside the window. The clock here tells me it's 2 and, confused, I ask the lorry driver if the time is different here - yes, time's different here, he smiles. And everyone's speaking Albanian now. 'We're all Albanian', he admits, but nothing is said about why they have pretended otherwise, or about the delay. The Little Principessa, as she has become known, races around making friends and babbling her own version of Italian.

At the first sight of land people gather at the windows, waiting for the Port of Durres to come into view. The lorry driver shows me where to queue to disembark and says our passports will be returned as we leave. (I've found a photo of the mural we stood next to as he left us, which identifies our ship as the Apollon, at: http://hhvferry.com/blog/?tag=bari )

Four Days in Durres (1)

During half-term holiday tidying I came across this account of our visit to Durres, Albania, which I will post for the curious in serial form, as it's a bit long... no photos, unfortunately, but photos of Durres and Tirana can be found on Wikipedia, etc.





Two names have been anonymised thusly:


Dhendri - Albanian for 'The Bridegroom'


Zonja - short for Albanian 'Zonja e Shtepise', ('Lady of the House')

Port of Bari

Spend the night at Stanstead Airport and land in Bari just after 9am. I take a bus to the railway station, where I'll find a taxi to take us to the Port. My daughter sleeps in her buggy as I wait with a crowd of Italian students. When the minibus arrives they lift the buggy with daughter still in it onto the bus. It's passed over passengers' heads to the back seats and jammed into the aisle. Someone helpfully changes seats so I can sit beside her.

By this time it's raining heavily and I decide to go straight to the Port and book the ferry, even though it won't sail until 11pm. Perhaps by afternoon the weather will improve enough to get out and see something of Bari.

At the Port there are at least a dozen ticket offices, each for a different ferry, but I find they all sail at the same time. The clerk at the first open office I find offers to look after my case while I wait and directs me to the bar and restaurant, both almost empty.

The weather doesn't improve. I go back to the ticket office to ask whether there is anywhere nearby we could visit without getting soaked. Better to wait inside, I'm told - but his assistant has got us a cabin for the same price as a seat on deck...

Meanwhile more passengers begin arriving in the waiting areas and queues form at the ticket offices. Everyone speaks Italian, some speak English, no-one else, apparently, speaks Albanian. Is everyone going there on holiday, then, I ask... some for holidays, some for work. We sit quietly looking through the windows as rain pours into the grey Adriatic.

Mid-afternoon a noisier group arrive from the bar. One of them is a man dressed in black leather, a bandana and much gold jewellery. I'm just wondering whether I would describe him as part of an ex-Soviet state Eurovision rock act or an extra from some sort of 'space cowboys' film when I realise, too late, that staring at him has attracted his attention. People look uneasy as he joins our table but smile and greet him politely. He replies to them in Albanian, which they ignore, and switching to Italian asks me where I'm from and where I'm going. Someone interprets and then changes the subject... they seem to know each other and are reminiscing about some recent feat of alcoholic over-consumption. Later he sees another acquaintance entering the waiting area and excuses himself. By now he has remembered enough English to tell me 'I'm on the run'. Okey-dokey then...

At 10.30pm we queue to board the ferry. The man checking passports and tickets tells me that as we have UK passports it will be safer if he keeps them in the office until we arrive in Durres tomorrow morning, which service he will undertake for a mere 10 Euros... I've been awake for more millions of hours than I'm capable of counting by now and do not want to fall asleep alone at the Port of Bari. Hoping vaguely that the photocopies in my case will save us in the eventuality of the possible non-return of our passports, I give him the passports and the money.

Get lost looking for our cabin and am rescued by a kind English-speaking lorry driver who carries bags and buggy and tells me to be sure to lock the door. I tell him about the passports and am assured that 'everything will be fine'. Inside the cabin I lock the door and put a chair up against it. Take a wobbly shower along with my daughter, put out the light and we both fall instantly asleep in the bottom bunk.