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.
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