Albania and Kosovo

"I told him you would give him something small, like ten euros. Nothing, really." On the map, the only Northeastern Albania feature of "note" is Valbona, which is a national park with a developing tourist infrastructure. When you're trying to develop on itinerary involving Kosovo, it looks pretty straightforward. A road leads from Valbona and into the Kosovar city of Gjakova. For some reason, however, when you ask a local if it's possible to get from Valbona to Gjakova, they will tell you it is not.  Puzzled by this, you will zoom in on the map and see that the road from Valbona to Gjakova passes through a town called Bajram Curry. Curry is pronounced like it has fringe on top and not like it would taste good with rice. This is where you are told it's possible to get to Gjakova. It seems to me that if there are three connected points on a line, the first will lead to the third, but to the Albanian mindset, only the second will.  In any case, nothing is s...

"All societies on the verge of death are masculine."   The Koman (sometimes Komani) ferry is the primary way most folks get to the trailhead of the Valbona/Theth hike. As discussed, I had tried to do it backwards and the difference was apparent by the number of folks in the van. And they were packed much more lightly, since you leave your bag in Shokder, since you'll be back there in a few days and donkeys are hard to come by. As a result, mine was the only backpack in the van's small rear storage area.  Having finished one of the volumes of the Balkan Trilogy, I switched to "Difficult Women: A Memoir of Three" by a fascinating creep named David Plante. It's a memoir about experiences and conversations her shared with three notable authors, and he writes about them with a mixture of cruelty and sentimental worship. A sneer and a tear.  At one point, he leaves the seat up, and a drunk Jean Rhys falls into the toilet. At best, he's trying to describe h...

  "There is plenty of wine on the balcony. You must join us." I have greatly enjoyed the hard, salty, white cheeses I've had the opportunity to eat here. One imagines them suspended in a handkerchief in the corner of a kitchen, dripping slightly until called upon and unwrapped. In Shkoder (which is pronounced Shkodra), I mostly ate yogurt and frozen peas, but here in the mountains, settled in with the mountain people, I had access to fresh fish, potatoes, and these cheeses.  I started this day, my last in Theth with the riddle of the Raki, then some of these cheeses, then a pleasant goodbye to Fatmire, who had successfully talked me out of the big hike, and I was bundled into a car and driven back to Shkoder. I was in the back seat with a hungover uncle who had, by the look and smell of him, been solving Raki riddles late into the evening.  We stopped a few times to take pictures underneath tall, plain crosses, as white and hard as a mountain cheese they were. I had been ...

  "There is no donkey. The idea of a donkey there is ridiculous." The heat was the main and omnipresent factor in Shkodra, made the whole town seem like an empty swimming pool. Siestas and tea in the Sahara. The shops opened at five in the morning, because it was too deadly to do any marketing after nine. To prepare for the journey to Theth, I had awakened early and bought byrek an a pair of soft shorts from vendors positioned right next to one another. There was even time for coffee. It felt like the section in EB White's "This is New York" when he describes the businessmen dropping off their dry cleaning, buying a scoop of coal, and picking up pork chops all on the same block.   My host was herself traveling but had promised "to keep me from loneliness" with the companionship of a Chilean musician, a neighbor and close friend of hers. We spoke briefly via WhatsApp, but he never quite materialized. Which was fine with me, but he was also going to give...

  "On the day of her jubilee, Paddington Bear offered the queen a sandwich." Albania was a trap door opening suddenly beneath Montenegro, and the heat of Shkoder covered me like a wet eiderdown. A heavy, flat heat. Sharp somehow as well. Kotor had been hot, but the high walls of the old town and the proximity of the bay brought a degree of shade and breeze. Shkoder, having nothing to hide, is open.  It's the gateway to the Accursed Mountains, the Albanian Alps, and there is a thriving trade in hostels here, dense chambers of bunked beds stacked high with gap-year Zoomers. Active and serious, the city was my first exposure to Albania and its people.  With long avenues of infinite cafes, it was fairly representative. I would come to find it similar to many of the Balkan countries I've visited, but the sheer number of cafes, side by side, continuing on for blocks left a distinct and unique impression.  The ride had been easy, notable mostly for the company of a British ...

 At the magic hour, the gangsters drank their morning cola. She descended the stones like confetti dribbling from a cracked pinata. Close-cut hair as red as a motel ashtray. I recognized her from the videos, but I would have seen her regardless. Her force l'entrepreneur seized focus. Because of where I stood and because she did not shy away, we made eye contact. I touched my hand to my heart and told her my name. "Your room is ready," she said. She asked me if I recognized her from the videos, and I told her I had. She asked me if she was as beautiful in person, and I said "More so. It is like comparing a packet of powdered grape drink to a living orchard." If this flattered her, she made no sign. I was taken upstairs, shown the codes, and given the key. "Yours," she said, "is the one with the anchor. No guests."  Later, I wore the t-shirt with the logo for The Monster, a Key West disco that no longer exists, and stood shoulder to sunhat with...