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.
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