Zonja's sister-in-law helps me to pack as Dhendri is coming over early to drop us at the Port before he goes to work. We notice that my passport photo looks like her and pretend for a while that we're going to swap places, when we feel like a holiday. She asks me how much the Principessa's expensive French dresses cost - I tell her half the real price, she's not appalled but asks me to leave some for her neice.
Another Delay
As we're about to board the ferry, the ticket inspector tells me the tickets Dhendri has bought us are for the 11pm crossing, not the morning, so he has to phone him to come back and take us to wait at the apartment.
A Djinn
As it's Bajram tomorrow the whole place is being cleaned, rugs scrubbed and hung out to dry over the balconies. While I'm folding sheets with Zonja I think I see a djinn, or ghost, something that rushes by me too quickly to register as a shape, like a disturbance in the air or small, fast-moving heat haze. When Zonja notices I'm staring at 'nothing' she gives me a warning look and says, 'It's an old country', meaning, I suppose, 'ignore it - they don't bother us if we don't bother them.'
Another Storm at Sea
The power cut comes late today and storm clouds darken the sky so that the afternoon seems like evening. We take the rugs back inside as rain starts falling and the younger children fall asleep by the light of candles and lightning crackling over the bay.
When Dhendri returns in the evening the power is back on, the storm has passed over and the first holiday guests are beginning to arrive. Zonja's husband comes upstairs with Dhendri, bringing a small clockwork toy for the children, which distracts them from our departure. Dhendri leaves the Principessa's Maclaren buggy for Zonja and we go to have dinner near the Port.
At the Port we're charged another 10 Euros for 'cardboard' - Dhendri doesn't know what it's for. As we're saying goodbye I'm brought a small blank strip of cardboard, which is impatiently thrown away when I present it with our tickets and passports. I walk past Mother Theresa again, board the ferry and find my way to the windows facing back towards the Port. As the engines start up, the Douanier and I find ourselves staring at each other, without knowing why, and so continue as the boat sets off, until the shiny black top of his cap disappears amongst the harbour lights. People settle down to sleep and soon the last lights of the Port and harbour disappear, and all I can see outside are the boat lights reflected on the surface of the sea.
Saturday 5 March 2011
Thursday 3 March 2011
4 Days in Durres: Zog
Zog
Late in the afternoon Dhendri relents and we drive up into the hills around Durres, close to the pink summer palace of King Zog, Albania's first and only king. Little birds flit around the wild herbs and the Principessa runs around chasing the goats which wander onto the road here. Dhendri gives her a 10 Leke coin, minted in the year of her birth.
(This was also the year when Zog's widow, Geraldine, and her son were allowed to return to Tirana, the family having been in exile since Mussolini's invasion. She lived only a few months longer, dying in the military hospital at about the time of Dhendri's own return to the country.)
Tomorrow we're due to return to Bari on the 11am crossing and will stay there overnight before catching the daily flight to London the next morning.
Late in the afternoon Dhendri relents and we drive up into the hills around Durres, close to the pink summer palace of King Zog, Albania's first and only king. Little birds flit around the wild herbs and the Principessa runs around chasing the goats which wander onto the road here. Dhendri gives her a 10 Leke coin, minted in the year of her birth.
(This was also the year when Zog's widow, Geraldine, and her son were allowed to return to Tirana, the family having been in exile since Mussolini's invasion. She lived only a few months longer, dying in the military hospital at about the time of Dhendri's own return to the country.)
Tomorrow we're due to return to Bari on the 11am crossing and will stay there overnight before catching the daily flight to London the next morning.
Tuesday 1 March 2011
4 Days in Durres: The British Embassy
Dhendri returns just as the Durres-bound ferries sail into the Port. I'm ready in my suit - 'Nena ime!!', he shouts (tr. 'Mama mia!'), 'What have you got on?!' He thrashes around the apartment looking for something more suitable. Finally I depart in oversized trousers and denim jacket. The Principessa is allowed to keep her velvet coat and hat because she's 'so small you can hardly see her'. I wonder how I'll pass myself off as an English teacher in this get-up but he's decided that our best bet is to look as wretched as possible, so that the Embassy staff will feel sorry for us.
Leaving Durres we stop to let an old man, leading a cow on a rope, cross to a traffic island, where he sits down on the grass and lets the cow graze. The morning is overcast, the sun an indistinct orange blur behind grey clouds, but still warm. As my visitor yesterday warned, the road is a bit rough in places, but not enough to cause real problems. Coming closer to Tirana I notice some huts and shelters made of wood and corrugated metal, and a crowd of people around. Dhendri begins trying to distract me, pointing out the road signs overhead which show how near we are... because in fact those poor people are living there, by the motorway, and so I shouldn't stare. Soon the traffic slows almost to a stop, so many cars and lorries going into the city. Up ahead police are stopping cars, every twenty or so - fines for speeding. There are beggars here as well, some of them women with babies, knocking on the car windows, but Dhendri says don't open the window. Before long we leave them behind and make our way into the centre of Tirana.
We queue outside the Embassy for a while and then sit in the reception area waiting for Dhendri's name to be called. He's really going for it by now, sitting with his head in his hands, moaning softly. Glared at when I try to cheer him up, I look around the waiting area, while the Principessa falls asleep. Everyone looks slightly bored, going up to the desk in turn where a clerk deals with queries and passes documents to the office behind him. When Dhendri's name is called he hands in our documents, I'm pointed out but not required to speak to anyone, and that's that - they'll be in touch.
Dhendri has some other business in town and leaves us for a while, after pointing out the main streets, so I put on my sunglasses and remove the flapping jacket, and the Principessa and I go briefly tourist-tastic in the elegant capital, which at this quiet hour of the morning seems so light and airy after the often gloomy Victorian gothic of Leeds.
Afterwards we drive around Tirana for a while before returning to Durres, where the man with the cow is still sitting on the roundabout.
Leaving Durres we stop to let an old man, leading a cow on a rope, cross to a traffic island, where he sits down on the grass and lets the cow graze. The morning is overcast, the sun an indistinct orange blur behind grey clouds, but still warm. As my visitor yesterday warned, the road is a bit rough in places, but not enough to cause real problems. Coming closer to Tirana I notice some huts and shelters made of wood and corrugated metal, and a crowd of people around. Dhendri begins trying to distract me, pointing out the road signs overhead which show how near we are... because in fact those poor people are living there, by the motorway, and so I shouldn't stare. Soon the traffic slows almost to a stop, so many cars and lorries going into the city. Up ahead police are stopping cars, every twenty or so - fines for speeding. There are beggars here as well, some of them women with babies, knocking on the car windows, but Dhendri says don't open the window. Before long we leave them behind and make our way into the centre of Tirana.
We queue outside the Embassy for a while and then sit in the reception area waiting for Dhendri's name to be called. He's really going for it by now, sitting with his head in his hands, moaning softly. Glared at when I try to cheer him up, I look around the waiting area, while the Principessa falls asleep. Everyone looks slightly bored, going up to the desk in turn where a clerk deals with queries and passes documents to the office behind him. When Dhendri's name is called he hands in our documents, I'm pointed out but not required to speak to anyone, and that's that - they'll be in touch.
Dhendri has some other business in town and leaves us for a while, after pointing out the main streets, so I put on my sunglasses and remove the flapping jacket, and the Principessa and I go briefly tourist-tastic in the elegant capital, which at this quiet hour of the morning seems so light and airy after the often gloomy Victorian gothic of Leeds.
Afterwards we drive around Tirana for a while before returning to Durres, where the man with the cow is still sitting on the roundabout.
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