Berat

Alrica and I did an overnight trip to Berat. Alrica will share more about the transportation to and from the city. I will discuss some of the wonders we experienced in Berat.

Berat is an Albanian city on River Osum. (The Albanian name is Osumit.) The river has carved out a lovely flat valley and much of the modern city is there. But one prominent feature is the high cliffs on the right bank of the river. Because here, at the top, is Berat Castle. And coming down its sides is the magnificent Old Town. So magnificent it is designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Castle at Top Left, Old Town coming down the mountain

Old Town is a fabulous maze of staircases and stone walkways. You can call them streets if you like, but you won't want to bring anything with wheels here. There are houses and businesses at various levels, so the roof of one house could be below the door of its neighbor above.

Step through the door and down you go

We stayed at a lovely bed and breakfast in Old Town. It was challenging to find it that first time. Actually the second time too. But we did find it. It has a rooftop deck, where we had our breakfast, which looked out on the Medieval Center, part of the city in the flat valley. I will talk about the Medieval Center later.

Some streets are wide enough to walk two or three abreast. Some are narrow forcing you to walk single file. And some are almost entirely stairs. We ate at a restaurant on multiple levels. The waiters must be so fit, because they constantly have to run up and down stairs.

All the doors on the right at each level lead to the same restaurant

At a site called the Bachelors Mosque, which doesn't seem to be in present use, we found a gnome door. At least I can only assume it is for gnomes or other sufficiently small creatures who have a need for doors.

Who else is using a door that small?

From Old Town we walked up and up and up and up to reach Berat Castle. Let me be explicit. It was a lot of going up. The Castle has a long history. It was first built in the Fourth Century BCE by the Illyrian Parthini people. But that castle was burned down by the Romans somewhere around 200 BCE. Oh Romans, why do you have to burn down cool stuff?

We still some up to go

Not to fear. The Romans, realizing the strategic potential of a castle at this location, rebuilt it, though about 700 years after they had burned the first one. That was the fifth century CE, and then in the sixth century, the emporer Justinian I of Rome built it up further. Fast forward another 700 years and Michael I Komnenos Doukas of the Byzantine Empire added more. (Yes, the Byzantines now controlled the area. Bye Rome!)

Almost there, unless we want to go further up to reach that arch

Within it, churches and homes were built. Many of those homes exist still and people live within the castle. There are hotels there, restaurants, and shops. Many of the churches are empty now, in some state of decay, but some of them still hold services.

The Red Church is still functioning today

There was also one mosque built inside the castle. You might think, why were the Byzantines building mosques? Good question. They weren't. This was in the period in which the Ottoman Empire ruled the area. However, that mosque, called the White Mosque, is mostly destroyed. There are still a few walls and a piece of the base of the minaret still standing.

The base of the minaret of the White Mosque

Visiting Berat Castle you can still see several of the churches, the remnants of the White Mosque, an entrance to the cisterns, and places you can climb the gallery wall and look out over the lower city.

The Cistern, one wrong step and you tumble down into that water

When we left the castle, we went down and down and down (because you have to undo all that going up) and we reached a part of town called The Medieval Center. This part of town was built up during the Ottoman reign over the area. There are several large mosques and one large Byzantine Cathedral. In fact, the Lead Mosque (so named because it has lead in its dome) and the St. Demetrius Cathedral are across a central square from one another. We visited both. Note: If you want to visit the Lead Mosque, they are very welcoming. But everyone must have covered legs (no shorts) and women need a head covering. Alrica has a beautiful scarf which was a gift from our daughter that she used when we went in.

The Lead Mosque

Saint Demetrius Cathedral

We also had traditional Albanian food while in Berat. Alrica tried something totally new: pispili. Pispili is sort of half-sandwich and half-panini. But the bread is made with cornmeal rather than wheat flour. It has spinach, eggs, and feta cheese inside.

Pispili

I was going to try a new kind of tavë than I had tried before. But they were out. And that was lucky, because instead I decided to have fërgesë. I had enjoyed fërgesë in Tirana. But wow, this fërgesë was fantastic. I don't know how they seasoned it, but it was scrumptious. Here's how scrumptious. The main ingredient of fërgesë is bell peppers (or capsicums if you are an non-American English speaker.) Alrica is not particularly fond of bell peppers. But after she had a taste of my fërgesë, she was even angling to get me to trade dishes with her. (I declined the invitation. The fërgesë was too good to surrender.)

Old Town View from the Medieval Center

It was a whirlwind trip, there and back again in a day. But we were delighted. It was a feast for our eyes, a party for our tongues, and a workout for our calves. Totally worth the workout.

Don't Get Cocky. Get Kaki.

For those of you who know that I produced a podcast for two years called "Namely" in which each episode was about the name of something or a group of related somethings, a blog post in which I investigate names won't surprise you. For those who had no idea I had a podcast, it still might not surprise you.

The Albanian word "kaki" is pronounced like the English word "cocky" (which I brazenly say as an expert in the subject.) But unlike in English, it has naught to do with brash overconfidence. Rather kaki is a fruit, a persimmon, a variety of Oriental Persimmon to be exact. It is commonly grown in Albania—and many other places, though it's native to China and East Asia—and this time of year you find lots of them in the fruit and vegetable markets.

Oh yeah, that's right, I'm kaki!

The name kaki is very logical. It comes from the taxonomical name of the fruit, Diospyros kaki. (All persimmons are from the genus Diospyros. The species kaki is the most common worldwide.) This led me to wonder, where did we get the name persimmon in English? Most romance languages have some variation on kaki as the name. But German uses persimmon. So it must have come from German, right? No!

Many English words come from a Germanic root. After all, the Angles and Saxons who settled on the island of Britain were Germanic peoples. There are a lot of French influences in English because the Normans (from Normandy, France) conquered Britain and brought their language with them. And there are Nordic influences from Viking conquests. English has a very muddied family tree. But persimmon isn't an example of any of these influences. The word persimmon goes the other way.

Often, a newly introduced item in a society, say a fruit or a form of livestock, comes with a name already attached. Take for example bananas. In almost all of Europe, the word for banana sounds almost exactly like banana. Some spell it banane, but you can tell it is a variation on the same word.

Think about water. Everyone had water, and they all needed their own word for water before they started interacting with other people who had a different language. It is "water" in English coming from "wasser" in German. But it is "eau" in French, "agua" in Spanish, and "ujë" in Albanian. We all had this word early in our languages.

But bananas didn't exist in Europe. People were already trading with each other, speaking to each other, before any European had ever seen a banana. When the banana was introduced to Europe by Portuguese sailors who found them in West Africa, they came with the name "banema". That's what the Guineans who introduced the fruit to the sailors called it. Yes, banema became a bit corrupted into banane, but everyone agreed that this weird new fruit went by the same weird new name.

Similarly, llamas and alpacas were native to South America. No European had ever heard of such a beast. So when they were eventually introduced to Europe, their names were introduced at the same time. Most European languages use some variation of lama or alpaka to describe them.

What's interesting is that pineapples don't follow this pattern. They almost do, but not quite. In most of Europe, the word for pineapple is anana or ananas. But in Spain, they say piña. And of course in English, we say pineapple. Why is that?

Pineapples had a duel introduction to Europe. Columbus brought some back from his trips to the New World. Because the shape of a pineapple reminded the Spanish so much of a pine cone, it got its pine related name. But this new fruit did not become widespread in European trade.

That again waited for the Portuguese. They brought back the fruit from Brazil and got the name "anana" from there. There is some debate about whether "anana" was the native name for that particular fruit or if it meant something like "excellent fruit." But the Portuguese sailors took it as the name of that particular fruit. And once again, the name was introduced along with the fruit, and much of Europe called these things ananas.

But what about English? Did we get the word as a corruption of Spanish? As it turns out, no. This is the period of exploration, English ships are sailing all over the world, discovering a lot of new plants. And it was incredibly common, when finding some fruit one had never seen before, to call it a name that ended in apple. There are custard apples, wood apples, star apples, horse apples, and more. John Smith (better known for hooking up with Pocahontas) described a tropical fruit he saw that looked like a giant pine cone as a Pine Apple. The name stuck, though the two words were smashed into one.

Not all Spanish speakers say piña, by the way. A lot of New World Spanish speakers also call the fruit ananás, but then again, their ancestors weren't introduced to the fruit through trans-Atlantic trade. They lived where it grew.

Okay, back to the persimmon. The kaki. The fruit, which grew natively in China, was introduced to the Japanese in the eighth century. They called it kaki. This Japanese name spread, as the fruit began to be traded, and it is also the source of the taxonomical name.

But there are other species of persimmons. In fact, there are two species which are native to North America. Diospyros texana is native to Northern Mexico and parts of the Southwest United States. And Diospyros virginiana is native to the eastern United States. In fact, its more common name is the American Persimmon. When European settlers came to the eastern United States, they were introduced to this new fruit, or at least new to them. And they took the Algonquin name for the fruit, something like pessamin or putchamin. Like most words that work their way into English, this one got anglicized and became persimmon.

This is an example of German taking a word for an item from English, rather than the more common opposite direction. Isn't it nice to know we're willing to give back to those who gave so much to us? But don't worry, Germany. While we may offer you persimmons, we won't get cocky.

A Couple Culinary Curiosities

One fun aspect of travel is trying new things. Sometimes, that is trying new foods. This week, I tried two, one a meal, and one an ingredient. That's not quite the word I want, but you'll decide on the right one.

We visited a restaurant in Vlorë Old Town called Gaia. Here you can get a variety of food inspired by various countries in the region. But I was particularly interested in an Albanian food: Tavë dheu. That "dh" in Albanian sounds like the voiced "th" in English, like the "th" in "this" or "that". (But not the "th" as is "thick" or "thin" which is unvoiced. Albanian has that sound, but that one they spell "th".)

Tavë dheu

Tavë dheu is a casserole cooked in a clay dish. Traditionally it has beef liver in it, though the one I had was just beef, like the muscle, not the liver. It also has a white cheese in it that translates as cottage cheese, but it is not exactly the same as what we would call cottage cheese in the USA. When served, it looks like it has a crust on top. And there is crusty layer, but it is so thin, you can't really call it a crust. Maybe a film (though that sounds unappetizing.)

What is in tavë dheu

Once you break through that top layer, you not only reach the chunks of meat, but you see the cheese and the various vegetables mixed in with it. I enjoyed it and I hope someday to maybe try to make it myself.

A look inside the tavë dheu

The other food I tried was not a meal, but a spread. See I am changing my word. You know what Nutella is, right? It's something you could spread on toast or a crepe. It's cocoa and hazelnut and a lot of sugar. It's originally a product of Italy. And yes, they have it here, it is quite popular. But that wasn't the new spread I tried as we have Nutella in the United States too.

The two "spreads" together

We tried another spread called Leona Cream. This is a product of North Macedonia. It looks to have two flavors together. Thinking this was similar to Nutella, we wanted to try it. But it isn't quite the consistency of Nutella and it seems to have no hazelnut. It is pretty much like cake frosting.

Not our favorite, but hey, sometimes you gotta try.

Whan that Hoketober

In The Canterbury Tales, Geoffrey Chaucer writes about a group on a pilgrimage. They are taking a long walk to a holy site. I can totally relate. Or partially relate.

Today, I had a similar experience. I can't say it's identical. It was just me, no group of people. We weren't telling stories. My walk, while long, was probably shorter than theirs—from every shire's end of England all the way to Canterbury—given that they had time for each of them to tell two stories on the way to Canterbury and two on the way back, (or would have if Chaucer had lived long enough.) And while my destination was a holy site in the Eastern Orthodox religion, I'm not Eastern Orthodox, and I wasn't requesting the favor of a martyr. But if one ignores all those differences, then everything's the same!

Today I walked from our place in Vlorë to the Monastery of St. Mary. And back. The total walk took me about five hours. I walked a lot. I drank a lot of water. And I saw a lot.

The Narta Lagoon with the island and monastery visible

The monastery is on a small island in the Narta Lagoon. The Lagoon is not an offshoot of Vlorë Bay, but is a different offshoot of the Adriatic Sea. The lagoon and the bay are separated by a peninsula that holds the town of Zvërnec. The island on which the monastery sits is also called Zvërnec Island. It is a small island, almost entirely covered in pine trees. But the Monastery is in a cleared area on the shore of the island. It is connected to the mainland by a long curving wooden boardwalk.

The boardwalk. (I don't know who those women are, they weren't with me.)

The Monastery was built in the thirteenth century. It's full name is the Monastery of Dormition of Theotokos Mary. Dormition refers to the night before Mary was summoned up to heaven, basically her last night on Earth. And theotokos comes from Greek meaning "bearer of god", referring to Mary being the mother of Jesus.

The Monastery of St. Mary

One could buy yellow candles for 10 Leke (which is about $0.11) and burn them just outside the building. I saw several burning and I assume they were in memory of lost loved ones.

The paving stones that led from the boardwalk to the sanctuary are probably original, bumpy and uneven. And the stone of the monastery itself is beautiful.

The monastery and its paving stone path

The trip there and back gave me plenty of sites to see. I saw goats, horses, and chickens. I walked through a bird sanctuary. And there were lots of bunkers.

"Bunkers?" you say, "That's bonkers." Yes, there are bunkers everywhere in Albania, these concrete bunkers. Many are domes, but not all. And you don't have to go too far to find one. Why? The paranoia of a leader.

This house has a bunker in each corner of its yard

Enver Hoxha led Albania after World War II until his death in 1985. He was a hardline communist leader who closed off the country to everyone. Under Hoxha, Albania never declared peace with Greece, but kept the declaration of war going until 1987. Greece did have some desire to annex southern parts of Albania. Hoxha also hated Josef Broz Tito, the leader of Yugoslavia. He believed that Tito had plans to take over Albania and make it another piece of Yugoslavia.

A farm with four bunkers, one hidden behind the tree

So starting in 1967, due to Hoxha's paranoia, Albania built bunkers. Hundreds of thousands of bunkers. They built them in farm fields, in vineyards, in the lawns of hotels, in cemeteries, on beaches, in mountains, in villages and towns and cities. More than 750,000 bunkers were built for over 18 years. Sometime after Hoxha's death, the building of bunkers stopped. Some were used for other purposes, many were destroyed, but many more remain, empty and derelict throughout the country. It is estimated there are still 170,000 bunkers in Albania. The cost was enormous, a huge drain on Albania's economy. And the established Albanian Army thought they were impractical. How long could you realistically hold the enemy off firing from a small concrete bunker? How would you resupply the soldier inside?

Bunker as canvas? At least its good for something

Today, most of those that remain are empty. A few have been turned into museums or even bars. But that is a tiny fraction of them. They are something of a symbol of Albania though, and tourists looking to take a reminder of their Albanian vacation home with them can buy bunker shaped pencil holders. Because what better way to remember your trip to a warm and friendly country than a symbol of isolation and paranoia?

Bunker on a side street, good view of the shooting window

If you ever do want to see one, the good news is they are everywhere. So your pilgrimage need not be as long as mine was.

Fobulous

When Alrica and I go out here in Albania, one of us is generally fobulous. Usually it's Alrica. Now I am not saying Alrica is anyting less than fabulous all the time, but she's not always fobulous. (And I'm fabulous at spelling fabulous.)

One of the many differences we have found here in Albania is elevators. In residential buildings with many floors, they have elevators, as one might expect. But here, just pushing the buttons doesn't make the elevator go. You have to carry a fob with you and press the fob to the sensor. Otherwise all the button pushing in the world does nothing (except burn a few calories.) So when we are leaving our apartment I ask Alrica, "Are you fobulous?" Of course she is, because she's fabulous at being fobulous.

But I wonder why, what's the point of requiring the fob? Security seems like the obvious answer. And yes, that makes sense at first glance. But there's nothing that would stop burglars or murderers from taking the stairs. You don't need a fob to access those. So this "security" is just a mechanism to inconvenience the criminals. Do you think a burglar ever says the following? "I don't mind risking imprisonment, but damn those stairs are just too hard on my knees. I'll find a new line of work." How many hit men have been dedicated to their careers until they have a target who lives on the sixth floor so they return the money, go off the grid, and reinvent themselves as cellists? And the natural follow up question: What proportion of cellists are reformed assassins who didn't have the lung capacity for climbing stairs. (Clearly they don't become oboists with that lack of huff and puff power.)

Another difference of note, before we leave with the fob, involves switches. A lot of the switches are on the outside of the room in which you want light, especially bathrooms. That's not really a big deal, it just takes some getting used to. It would be more of a problem if I still had the mentality of seven-year-old Erich who thought it was hysterical to switch off the light and throw Alrica into darkness mid-shower. But having progressed to at least my eight-year-old self, she's pretty safe.

Universal symbols for on and off

Also, several of the outlets have a switch right alongside the outlet. Of course you know outlets are different in different parts of the world, but it isn't as clear the switch-controlled outlets would change where the switch controlling them is. In some ways, this is far more convenient. I always know which switch controls which outlet. But it does mean some switches are high, some low, rarely are they at optimal switch flipping height. This is different than in America where all the switches are at the same convenient height, but I don't know which outlets are controlled by switches and which ones aren't. And even once I realize an outlet is controlled by a switch, I have to figure out which switch controls it.

True story: There were three switches in a row in the front hall of our house in Reno. The one furthest from the family room controlled a single outlet in the family. The other two, I have no idea what they did. I lived in that house for five years, and I never knew what those switches were for. Aesthetics? They weren't that pretty.

After we leave the apartment, there are some differences in the city. Here in Vlorë I have not seen a single traffic light. We saw some in Tirana, which is a big city by any standards. But Vlorë, with 200,000 people, isn't small. And yet, there are no traffic lights, not even stop signs. There are some traffic circles at a few intersections along the two main north-south roads. It's amazing, because we see a lot of cars and yet, we don't see accidents. (Ironically, today for the first time we saw two cars pulling off and it might have been a post-accident incident, but I can't say that for sure.)

In America, you can't have a city of 200,000 people without traffic lights. It's true that in America if a city has 200,000 people then it has about 200,000 cars, and that's not the case in Albania. Lots of people work. You don't take a car everywhere you go. So there are a lot fewer cars on the road. But the major streets are still busy. And when big roads come together, everyone has to zipper merge or pass in front of each other, and somehow they do it without crashing.

Note: This absence of traffic lights also means there are no walk signals either. There are crosswalks, and when you want to cross, you just have to step out there. The cars have no intention of hitting you, but if you don't make the first move, they aren't going to stop and wait for you. You gotta Jersey it! (Any of you who have ever driven in New Jersey will understand what I mean by that verb.)

And let's say your final destination is a restaurant. Good call on your part. The food here is excellent, delicious, with friendly service, and a fantastic (dare I say fabulous but not fobulous) price. Just today Alrica and I had lunch that cost us a total of 650 lek (which is about 7 dollars.) That's total for both of us. You can't eat that cheaply at home unless you're at a membership big box store like Costco or Sam's Club. But one big difference is getting your check. You don't, not until you flag someone down, walk to someone to pay, or in some way use semaphore to get the attention of your server. They just don't bring it over. They want to let you enjoy yourself for as long as you want to enjoy yourself. And at those prices, what's not to enjoy?

And then it is home again with a contented belly and a smile. I just hope you remembered your fob. Or like those truly dedicated criminals, you're going to be climbing a lot of stairs. And that is less than fobulous.

Food and Water

Do you like mysteries? I like mysteries.

Let's start with the good news: I do not currently suffer from a waterborne illness. Bad news: I am troubled by some waterborne enigmas. In particular I have three questions about the water. We will get to food in a moment.

1. Where does the water supply for Vlorë come from?
2. Why is the water pressure so inconsistent?
3. So is it safe to drink the tap water or not?

Naturally, I've done some research on some of these topics, though not as much on the second question. The information isn't super easy to find.

I believe I've found the source of the water. (By this I mean I found it through research, I haven't been to it.) There are aquifers on the north side of Vlorë Bay, under the mountains near the Adriatic Sea. The quality of water in these aquifers is supposed to be very high, it's clean and good for people. And this aquifer is tapped for the city of Vlorë and a few of the surrounding smaller towns. There is a nature preserve in that area called the Vjosë-Nartë Delta Protected Area that looks lovely in pictures. There are wetlands which are popular with migratory birds, and a Byzantine monastery which is presumably popular with monks. It looks fun to visit but it would take me six hours to hike to it. So it might have to be a "by car in the future" trip.

The water pressure situation is a bit more perplexing. Alrica and I are staying in a second floor apartment. (This is what Americans would call the third floor, two floors up from the ground floor.) And frankly, the water pressure is neither strong nor consistent. Sometimes I will be showering in more-than-a-drizzle-less-than-a-spray pressure, then it will jump up to qualifies-as-a-spray-but-nobody-would-call-it-a-deluge territory, and sometimes jump back down. Obviously this must have to do with what other water usage is going on in the building. This hardly seems like a mystery.

But what is providing the water pressure? Well, I have some hints. The biggest of these is that when we lost power last week for 18 hours, we started to lose water. There was barely a trickle toward the end of our time without power. That evidence supports the idea of electric pumps directly pushing the water into the buildings. Possible, yes?

But there are much taller buildings than the one in which I am living. What happens there on high floors? Do they have electric pumps constantly pushing the water up? It could work, sure, but consistency would be a constant problem.

Here's what I find confounding: There are mountains very near Vlorë. You can see them easily throughout the city. Here are a couple of pictures.

That's Old Town Vlorë, but you can see the mountains in the background

 

The bay is striking, but you can't miss the mountains

Why do the mountains matter? It is an opportunity for the municipal utility authority to use gravity to provide the pressure. Sure, these mountains aren't very tall, but they are taller than the buildings in the city. So the utility authority could build tanks up in the mountains, use pumps to get the water into them, and then connect the city water system to the tanks. That way the weight of the water above the tallest buildings would push on the water in the system and keep pressure even at those top floors. You wouldn't need the electric pumps to run every time someone wanted to shower. You would just run them when the tank was running low.

Of course there is a cost to building this system and maybe that's why it doesn't exist yet. It would not be free to build pipes out to the mountains nor to build the tanks and the pumps. But it would solve the pressure problem and it would mean that during loss of electricity, the city wouldn't be without water (until the tanks ran dry.)

As for drinking, Alrica and I follow this general rule: If bottled water is cheap and everywhere, then you buy bottled water. It's cheap and everywhere because everyone is drinking it. Whereas, if bottled water is harder to find (not in big containers right in the front of all the markets) and expensive, then the locals aren't drinking it, and we should drink the tap water. Here in Vlorë, the bottled water is everywhere and it is cheap. We are buying ten liter containers, trying to use up less plastic. Though we go through one of those about every five days or so.

I am using tap water to brush my teeth, so it's not that I am super afraid of bacteria in the water. And when I search online about whether or not the tap water is safe to drink, there are three camps (and you expected only two): There is the "yes, but it might not taste great" camp, the "no, you will be exposed to germs" camp, and the "no, it's not germs, the water is treated to kill the germs, but nobody is really removing the heavy metals" camp. I wonder how much cadmium and thallium I'm adding to my body when I rinse my toothbrush in tap water. My toothbrush doesn't feel any heavier.

Leaving the happy topic of heavy metals behind, (now that's an award winning transition,) it's always fun to visit grocery stores, to see what is similar and what is different. Today we went to Spar. Spar is a grocery chain that is throughout many parts of Europe. In fact, we were in one in Vienna just a few weeks ago. And being a multinational European chain, that means it is also a multilingual European chain.

Visual Aid 1 for the following paragraph

 

Visual Aid 2 for the following paragraph

Check out these sauces: Mexico sauce and American dressing. On the front we see Mexico and American both spelled as we might expect. But on the back, where all the details must be listed in Albanian, we see different spellings: Mexiko and Amerikane. In Albanian, the letter "c" is pronounced like the "ch" in chocolate. So they would use a "k" to get our English "c" sound in Mexico or American.

Visual Aid 3 for the following paragraph

 

Visual Aid 4 for the following paragraph

Here is another interesting label. The product is ceci and from the picture I can glean that this must mean chickpeas. But the Albanian word for chickpeas is "qiqrat". So why is this product labeled "ceci"? Turning the can so you can see the back of the label answers that question. Ceci is the word for chickpeas in Italian. In fact, the label provides two languages, designated by an oval with letters in it. The first, the oval with I, is Italian. The second, the oval with HR, is Croatian. That might seem weird, expecting "Croatian" to start with a "C". But the Croatians call their country Hrvatska and call their language Hrvatski. That's why it's HR. But what you don't see is any label in Albanian, even though we are in Albania. I guess to stay profitable you can only make so many different labels for the same product.

It does bring up another mystery. Take a look at this label from a jar of Nutella. It has lots of languages on the back. And you see when something is labeled in Albanian, the abbreviation is AL. That seems to make sense until you remember that Albanians call their language Shqip and they call their country Shqipëria. I don't have the answer to why it is AL and not SH or SHQ.

Visual Aid 5 for the preceding paragraph (mixing it up a bit)

I realize that discussion of everyday things like food and water doesn't rise to the rarity of a boat trip or visiting a Byzantine monastery (which is an everyday thing if you are a Byzantine monk.) But I enjoy the adventure in the non-monk everyday things too, as is most strongly evidenced by my obsession with hydrant pictures. Why am I this way? I don't know, that's a mystery for you to unravel.

Voting from Afar

I'm kind of like Elastigirl: cool under pressure, look good in a mask, and voiced by Holly Hunter. Wait, none of those are true. But my one similarity: I have a long reach, very long. You see, even though I am 6340 miles away from Reno, I get to influence the leadership of my state, city, and country. I just voted.

People often ask if we just have to give up our right to vote when we travel. No, we do not. In fact, in today's world it is easier than ever to vote from abroad.

I'm sure most of you at home are getting lots of political ads everyday. Well, the ads I get are all about telling me that U.S. citizen abroad may still vote, and then explaining how I would go about it. I'm an absentee ballot voter.

You can fill out an absentee ballot and turn it in at any U.S. Embassy or Consulate. That's not how I voted, but I could have. (I am 161 km away from the nearest embassy, which is almost exactly 100 miles. Yes, much closer that 6340 miles, but I didn't even have to put in that amount of effort.)

In America, elections are run by the state, but they are also governed by federal laws. There is a federal law that states that Americans who are abroad and don't have a permanent residence can still vote as if they still lived in their last legal residence. That means Alrica and I (and, it turns out, Syarra) can vote as Nevada residents, choosing who will represent our district as if we still lived at the Reno house we left in July 2023.

That's already great, I don't lose my vote even for local and county offices. But I'm luckier than that, because the state of Nevada has a wonderful system for collecting ballots of those who couldn't possibly submit their ballot in person. If you are serving in the military, living abroad, disabled in Nevada, or living on tribal land, there is a program called NVEASE which allows you to see your ballot online and submit it online.

I registered for this in Nevada while we were there. And today when I went to vote, I did have to do a couple things to verify my identity as well as agreeing to statements that I wasn't registered anywhere else and I wouldn't try to vote in the Nevada election though a second means. Don't worry. I agreed. I'm not planning to cheat the system. I am just thrilled I get to be a part of it.

And then the rest was easy. I clicked on ovals for which candidates I wanted, or my vote on public questions. Then I submitted it online.

So I have a superpower, influence from afar. It's not quite the same as super stretchy powers. I can't reach to America with my long arm and pluck out an I Voted sticker. But thanks to the internet, I can vote. (And download an I Voted sticker image.)

I Voted!

Note to future producers and casting directors: If, one day in the future, a movie ever is made about me, I think Holly Hunter would be a great choice to voice my character. Just putting it out there.

Packing Light

Yep, that is us leaving with everything we own! During our previous travels, we checked two bags and each carried a backpack (including the kids). Now that it is just Erich and I, we have scaled back. I know that some people are going to think this is crazy because, "What if you need something else?" Well, to be honest, everything is purchaseable and people all over the world have the same kinds of needs. We approach packing more from a MacGuyver approach (find a way to use what you have) vs. a boy scout approach (be prepared). By doing this, we can take advantage of really cheap flights (it cost us $24 total for both of us to fly from Vienna to Tirana) and we never lose our luggage or worry about long delays at the airport. Plus, we follow warm weather so we aren't packing heavy winter stuff.

And we get asked pretty often: "What are we packing?" So in case it helps anyone, here is our list:

Clothing:

• 1 hat - Erich gets sunburned easily and likes to shade his face and the back of his neck, I don't like hats and won't wear one
• 1 swimsuit each - mine is a two piece so I have something to wear on laundry day if needed.
• 1 pair of shoes each that we are wearing - mine is a pair of black river sandals that look normalish but I can wear them into lakes, beaches, whatever and they slip off easily when needed
• 1 bra
• 1 fleece jacket each
• 1 nightgown
• 1 winter hat each - fingers crossed that we don't need this!
• 1 scarf - Syarra got me a beautiful one in Bosnia that is really great for visiting mosques but will also work as a light blanket
• 4ish Bottoms - I have two shorts and two pants, all with good pockets; Erich has one of each and a pair that zips off to convert. So jealous of some of the things that are just more available to men. We always wear our thickest pair on travel days as they take up the most space.
• 4 shirts each - including the one we are wearing and Erich has one that is long sleeve but the rest are short sleeve.
• 5 pairs of socks each - Worth buying the quick dry ones!
• 6 underwear each
• packing cubes
• 2 face masks - just in case 

Toiletries:

• deodorant - yes, you can get this anywhere, but I like my brand. Be sure it is a solid, not gel or spray to make TSA happy.
• lip balm - this is harder to find and more expensive that you would guess in other places
• hair brush/comb
• nail file
• clippers
• tweezers
• Tums - Our stomachs aren't always fans of eating new foods even if our taste buds are!
• toothbrush each
  
• floss - hard to find in some places
• eyeglass cleaning cloth
• razors - choose a main brand like Gillette Mach 3 which is worldwide
• feminine supplies - for tampon users, lots of countries just don't offer the same choices and even pads are a different quality
• laundry sheets - We have used several and our favorite is TruEarth. It works great in cold water, cleans well, is lightly scented, and always dissolves fully.
• small bottle of pain relievers - we have a mix of Tylenol, Advil, and Aleve but every country has pharmacies (who almost always speak English) if you are truly sick. Ask for advice, some countries have better stuff than we do, like Sudafed!
• small bottle of allergy meds - I really missed these in Paris one spring and now include that along with a few Benadryl tablets in case of unexpected issues.

 

Liquids Bag:

• small shampoo - shampoo is easy to get and certain brands like Head and Shoulders and Pantene are everywhere, but it is nice to have the one you prefer occasionally
• small lotion - really nice to have on long airplane trips where you feel dehydrated, plus you need to be cautious in places like Thailand where they put bleach in their lotions to lighten you skin. Eek!
  
• hydrocortisone
• travel toothpaste - We use this sparingly until we can purchase a full size - but lots of places don't sell travel size
• antibiotic Ointment - We love Melagel in case you know a melaleuca vendor.
• face lotion with sunscreen
• MIO - water enhancer that we can't find anywhere else yet but helps me stay better hydrated than just drinking plain water.

 

Equipment/extras:

• flashlight
• 2 mini umbrellas
• Passport carrier
• jewelry - I don't carry much but it is nice to dress up a bit sometimes
• playing cards/backgammon/Between Two Cities
• D&D Dice/maps/paper
• 1 pillow - Erich really sleeps better on his but may have to give it up if an airline challenges him on it.
• knife sharpener - you would be amazed at how often airbnbs come with dull knives! We are grateful to a cousin for getting us one as a gift since we can't pack sharp instruments!
• Eddie Bauer 20L stowaway backpack- this goes grocery shopping with us and carries water on hikes. It isn't the most comfortable, but invaluable
• small whiteboard
• Pen/Sharpie/dry-erase markers
• two power adapters - these cover just about every country in the world!
• Extension cord - outlets aren't always where you want them to be
• headphones - Erich carries a set with built in microphone, I like my Beats. In addition, we each have wireless earbuds and I have a wired pair for airplanes.
• Ipad
• Macbook Pro
• 2 cell phones - make sure they are unlocked if you want to buy sim cards in country or check if they take esims (ours don't!)
• Lenovo Thinkpad
• Wacom tablet
• associated power cords
• two mice with extra batteries and mouse pad
• Flashdrives
• video cable - TVs can be used as an extra monitor when needed

Most of what we carry isn't brand specific but in a few cases, I have links to things we really like and we would earn a commission if you choose to purchase through it.

Hope this helps! What else do you consider necessary?

Powerless

Sometimes you are powerless figuratively speaking. And sometimes you are powerless literally. And sometimes, both, because you are powerless to do anything about the fact that you are powerless. I've just gone through one of those times.

Vlorë flooded yesterday afternoon. We had a heavy storm roll in. It wasn't a surprise, the forecasters had said the storm was coming. But the amount of rain in the amount of time, that was a surprise.

About 7 inches of rain fell in three hours. That's a lot of water for the storm drain systems to handle. Maybe they could have made it, but for another problem: The rain fell in the mountains before it reached the city. What happens to water in the mountains? It flows downhill, toward the city.

Albania planned for such events. There are several canals built to take the runoff from the mountains and safely let it flow to Vlorë Bay. But this was so much water so fast, the canals weren't deep enough to contain it all. So the water overflowed the canals into the low-lying streets of Vlorë. Combine that with the rain now reaching the city itself and you have a major flood.

The Morning After

Alrica and I had known the rain was coming, so we were indoors. We didn't see the flooded streets until we went out today. Our apartment is on the second floor (which is two up from the bottom, because here there is a ground floor or a zeroth floor.) So we were in no danger.

But what did affect us was the loss of electricity. Power went out in a huge portion of Vlorë, including the part of town where we live. We went about 18 hours without power. It makes you appreciate our ancestors inventing fire, because there was little to do and no good way to see once the sun went down.

We are actually pretty lucky. It wasn't so hot that we needed air conditioning, it wasn't so cold that we needed heat. Most anything we had in the refrigerator could get warm and then cold again without much concern. (Except the milk, but one can buy new milk.) I did have to cancel a meeting with a student, and Alrica had to cancel one meeting too. But all in all, it could have been a lot worse timing.

So we were powerless, literally. And part of the frustration was that we had no way of checking on anything. When would the power be on? What was happening in Vlorë? When you are cut off from information (and much of it isn't in a language you know anyway) you feel a bit like you're hung out to dry (like many things were today, trying to recover from yesterday.)

This morning, still without power, and not knowing when we would have it again, Alrica and I set out to find what was going on, what was open, and where we might at least recharge some devices. The area near the bay seemed the worst, power out and flooded roads. But as we moved away from the water we found much of Vlorë had power, businesses were open and busy, and a lot of cleanup was going on. Those poor business owners also felt pretty powerless.

I saw this van with garlic in the dashboard.
Maybe the driver doesn't want to be powerless against vampires.

We learned that about 55 families had to be evacuated in the city. The Albanian Army sent powerboats and pump trucks to work on clearing the streets. And there is mud everywhere. So it was pretty serious and if all I suffered was a night without lights, entertainment, or information, I didn't really suffer at all. And that was just luck, not because of any actions I took. Nothing of my doing.

I guess in the face of nature's fury, we're all a little bit powerless.

Kings and Little Men

When I lived in the New York Metropolitan Area, I used to participate in a weekly poker game at the home of my friend, Brian. We took turns dealing, and when you dealt you got to call the game. There was some straight up five-card draw or seven-card stud. There were classics like Follow the Queen. There were weird ones like Lowball Chicago or Baseball with Rainouts and the Possibility of a Dome. But Brian liked to call Kings and Little Men.

I don't remember all the rules, but it was a game where unless certain things happened, the game didn't end, the pot wasn't divided, and you dealt again. So the pot could get very large and you had the potential to gain a lot of money. You could lose a lot of money too. This game really delved into the question, "how much risk are you willing to take?"

Forward to a different decade and a different continent: On Wednesday, Alrica and I went for a stroll in Lungomare. To set the stage, we are living in the city of Vlorë, Albania. And our apartment building is very near Vlorë Bay, which is a bay off the Adriatic Sea. We have a lovely view from our balcony.

The mountains, the bay, the other buildings. Ah!

But the part of Vlorë in which we find ourselves is a part of the city dedicated to living, not just enjoying the beach. You can get to the beach, just go down a block and turn down a road and you get right there. But our apartment building isn't mostly for holiday makers, it is a place where people live. I hear our upstairs neighbor practice piano each day. Sometimes the neighbors across the wall from us get into fights. I don't know what the fights are about, not because they try to be quiet, but because of my lack of Albanian language comprehension. On the ground floor (which is different than the first floor), there are businesses: a mini-market, a tobacconist, a bakery, and more like that. This is a normal building in a part of town that is meant for Albanian life. That's what Alrica and I enjoy, so it is a great place for us.

Lungomare is a section of Vlorë to the east of us. It is a broad promenade that runs along the bay. There are several beaches along it. On the other side of the promenade are hotels and tall buildings full of rental units for summer tourists. And at the ground level are restaurants and bars where you can buy meals for the price of American meals instead for the much lower prices which are typical of Albania and appear in the non-Lungomare parts of town.

Lovely woman, lovely bay

Lungomare is a lovely area, no doubt about it. The beaches are nice with plenty of lounge chairs. There are sculptures decorating the plazas. It is a delightful place to walk and enjoy the bay. But its existence suggests a different vision for what Vlorë could be.

What I love about this Coke sculpture...

...the back side are actually the nutrition lables

After World War II, Albania was led by Enver Hoxha for over forty years. He was the head of the Communist Party. Some would argue he was a Soviet puppet. But in truth, Albania went beyond that. It was more a North Korea style dictatorship. Hoxha was a big fan of Stalinism. Albania was closed to every non-Albanian. Political opponents were routinely killed. The press was run by the government. And there was an enforced public policy of atheism. You weren't allowed to be religious.

Hoxha died in 1985, and his successor continued the isolationism. But this too shall pass, and it did. Now Albania allows the free practice of religion, doesn't kill people just because they disparage the government, and is open to foreigners. It welcomes tourists. The Albanians are genuinely friendly. And the government sees tourism as an economic opportunity. After all, the Italian beaches across the Adriatic Sea do well, and Croatia, just a bit further north on the Adriatic, is Europe's new tourism darling. Albania could benefit as do its neighbors.

But at what cost? Should all of Vlorë become a longer version of Lungomare? What would be lost? I'll give you an example. Right next to the building where Alrica and I are living is a car wash. This is not exactly like the car washes in the States. This is a little bay made by a tarp overhead where men with sprayers and sponges clean cars. In fact, these car washes are very common. We saw several in Tirana as well.

Yeah, brushless, but not in the same way.

This is land right by the beach. In America, when you want to make a tourism paradise, you don't allow a couple guys to own land right by the beach where they use sponges to clean cars. And you don't see any of these popular car washes in Lungomare either.

How does a government balance the opportunity for a tourist boost to the economy with protecting what makes it uniquely itself? Does Albania's coast become a carbon copy of every other Adriatic coastal city? Or does it remain Albanian? Vlorëan?

I don't know what the right answer is. I'm glad to be seeing Vlorë now, when it has so much of its own character. But ultimately should this land on the water be for the kings or for the little men? I guess, just like poker at Brian's, the Albanian government has to decide how much it's willing to gamble.

Unpreconcieving

It took me five days. You're wondering, is that long or short? Five days to cross Europe on pogo stick seems pretty fast. Five days to butter your toast, you need professional help. What did it take you five days to do, Erich?

It took me five days to have a shower epiphany. Okay, at this point you're thinking, whoa! I am not comfortable with where this is going! But no, don't worry. I promise this post is rated for general audiences.

We arrived in Vlorë on Saturday afternoon, and it is now Thursday morning and I just had my epiphany. Note: I didn't shower until Sunday morning, so I am counting this as five days.

The shower here has two knobs to control the water, one on the left and one on the right. I've seen similar showers before. That means the left knob controls the amount of hot water and the right knob controls the amount of cold water. And at first glance, that seems to be the case here. There is a red dot on the left knob which seems to confirm its hot water status. On the right knob there is a silver circle, so, like the CIA, that neither confirms nor denies its control of the cold water.

The weird thing though is if you just turn the left knob, the one with the red dot, nothing happens. No water flows at all. If you just turn the right knob with its silver dot, you get water. But that water never gets warm. But if you turn the right knob, get water, and then after this, you mess around with the left knob, eventually (without knowing how you did it) you have a warm shower.

This puzzled me for days. What was the point of having the left knob not do anything if you turned it first? Why did you have to have the cold water on first before you could even request hot water? Until this morning, while showering, when I had my aforementioned, G-rated, epiphany.

The two knobs are not hot and cold. The left knob, with the red dot, is entirely about temperature control and has nothing to do with the volume of water coming out of the shower. The right knob, which now it was clear why it didn't have a blue dot, is entirely about volume control and has nothing to do with what temperature that water will be. You can only get water when you turn the right knob because that's the only knob that controls how much water you get. The right knob is quantity, the left knob is quality.

I was so stuck in my former experiences that even with the evidence of previous Vlorë showers, I couldn't figure this simple idea out. To me, a knob on the left and a knob on the right means hot and cold. But I have to open my mind to other possibilities. And it isn't as though I've never seen controls which handle the volume separate from temperature. I've been in showers where the amount you pull the lever away from the wall determines the volume and the angle of the lever around a circle determines the temperature. It just wasn't ever arranged as a left knob and a right knob.

So look at me! I just had to learn to get out of my own way and suddenly I've mastered esoteric Albanian plumbing. (Except next is laundry and the washing machine is labeled in German. Oh joy!)

Side note: As long as we are discussing Albanian plumbing, look at how skinny their hydrants are!

Hey, no hydrant body shaming!

 

The Age of Relative Age

I went out for a little ramble, a little explore today, through Vlorë. And among other things, I found a wall. Well, pieces of a wall. I'll get to that. The point is it's an old wall.

The Wall in Question

Or is it? What is "old"? I suppose it depends on whether we are discussing goldfish, or people, or walls. But it depends on other things too, like where you are.

I'll explain. In the United States the oldest continuously inhabited city is generally agreed to be Saint Augustine, Florida, coming up on its 460th birthday. (I know there is some argument about Jamestown, Virginia and St. Augustine having a little gap. But I don't want to wade into that controversy. Because 460 years old isn't old.) That may seem old by American standards, but is it?

First, we can wade into the contentious argument of when a city becomes a city. There were Native American villages in the land that is now the United States that predate that. But were they continuously occupied? Were they cities?

And even wadeless (meaning we won't wade into the contentious argument), St. Augustine is a baby compared with other cities in North America. Already San Juan, Puerto Rico is older by a few decades, and shouldn't that count? But even San Juan is a baby compared to North America's oldest city: Tepoztlán, Mexico which was founded somewhere around 1500 BCE. Yeah, 3500 years kicks the four-hundreds in their, well, let's just say its greater than.

The wall I saw today was from around the sixth century CE. That's pretty old, around 14 to 15 centuries old. But Vlorë is even older. It was originally founded as a Greek colony called Aulon in the sixth century BCE! That's 26 centuries of continuous occupation, baby! (Still not as much as Tepoztlán.) But here I am looking at something ancient, but then realizing that it is only a little more than half as old as the city I'm standing in as I look at it.

For a species that lives only 100 years if we're incredibly rare, something that is 2600 years old is staggering. And that's just a fraction of the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world, thought to be Damascus, Syria. Here we don't have an exact founding date, but archaeology has evidence that the city started somewhere between 10,000 and 8,000 BCE. This city is 11,000 years old, give or take a century. All of a sudden, Vlorë looks like its barely in its adolescence.

People say that everything is relative, though wouldn't that means that even relativity is relative and so we can't conclude everything falls into the category? It's kind of like saying there's an exception to every rule. Isn't there an exception to the rule that says there's an exception? Which means there isn't an exception to every rule, though maybe every rule but one. (Incidentally, I was once described as being the exception to every rule. I know it was meant to be insulting, but I still take a certain pride in it. But I'm straying from the point.)

My point is this: One thing I love about travel is not only how it broadens my understanding of where things are, but also when things are. Yes, the spatial dimension seems so much more real and expansive, but so does the temporal one. I lived most of my life in a country where a 400 year old structure is ancient, the oldest there is. But as I see more, I realize that is only the surface of what history has left behind for us to see today. And I'm looking forward to (or backward to) seeing it.