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 DelayAs 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 DjinnAs 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.
Fishes' Football Pitch, Gotts Park, Armley 18feb11
Ghostly face in a lightning-struck tree by the towpath 18feb11
Sudden wintry shower today - strayed onto the golf course behind Gotts Park, lost in mist and snow... 19feb11
...before finding our way down to the narrow strip of ancient woodland by the canal - first shoots of bluebells and wild garlic 19feb11
Leopard Piglets, MVUF 21feb11
Snowdrops in Sleet, Meanwood Valley Urban Farm 21feb11
Wet Yorkshire days reminding me of my grandfather, the air smelling of his Donegal tweed, vice-versa it must have been in those days 21feb11
Golden Ice Owl 25feb11
