Diagnosis

Ah, it's that time of year again for the annual Tirana International Film Festival (TIFF). One of the only film festivals where all programs are free.

I missed the first four days of the festival because I was in Rome for Thanksgiving. Yesterday my husband and I took our places in the eighth row of this year's upgraded venue--Teatri Kombetar-- Tirana's national theater.

TIFF is known for short films. Like short stories, short films frustrate, titillate, captivate and seldom satisfy film-goers, luring the audience into the story just as the credits begin to roll. The final film of a ten-film short program featured a Ukrainian film entitled Diagnosis directed by Myroslav Slaboshpytsky. A fifteen minute view into the lives of drug addicted squatters and pregnant Tatiana who learns she has just given birth to an HIV positive child. Tatiana, also diagnosed HIV positive asks her boyfriend to pull the plug from the baby's life support in fear the hospital will sell his tiny organs on the black market.

Tatiana's boyfriend smothers the baby with a pillow as he lies breathing on his own in Intensive Care. As the pillow makes contact with the baby's face, my husband screams, "bastard," slamming his fist into the red velvet theater seat in front of him. He stands to walk out of the theater. "I can't take it," he says. "It hurts my heart."
"Then it's a good film," I say. It's supposed to hurt, to shock, to make you think. But it's OK Zemer. That baby boy is just an actor. He isn't dead."
"I won't sleep tonight," says my husband."
"It's just a film. The world is made up of people who are so desperate they do shocking, vile, and contemptible things.

Fortunately the last film of the evening was a heartwarming Romanian documentary, Constantin and Elena by Andrei Dascalescu about the simple love of the director's grandparents--a couple married for 53 years.

On the first day of TIFF we traveled to Sarajevo, USA, Chile, UK, Iceland, Finland, Ukraine and Romania. Today I heard the Icelandic language for the first time; I learned Santa Claus used to be a fascist; I learned how many patients die unable to cross Israeli checkpoints to get to hospital. Today I am off to France, Italy, Bulgaria, Spain, Kosovo, and Hungary. The language of film is universal.

Back in The Saddle

Tirana welcomes the Dajti Diva home with gorgeous 70-80 degree weather, tress in full bloom, and sunny skies.

I missed my Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary and suffice it to say, I am MORE THAN MOTIVATED to get back to working out H-A-R-D.

To the left, you see a photo of my terrace gym. How can this be a gym? Well with a little bit of creativity, personal drive, and some help from Cross Fit, I am proud to say I am in the process of working off all of the cheese, chocolate, and bread I consumed in France. Watch out love handles and jiggly upper arms!

But I am proud of the extra weight I gained in the past three months. That weight symbolizes the completion of 230 pages of my book. I am now ready to dedicate my time to writing the query letters and proposal in order to get an agent and a publisher.

If that isn't reason enough to celebrate with cheese and chocolate in France, I don't know what is! And it's OK. I have the drive and the power to change my body. We only live once. We only have one body. Our bodies are our homes and our temples. They need to move, sweat, and be challenged. We ALL have the knowledge to create positive physical changes. As long as we cultivate the COURAGE to begin we can achieve anything we put our minds to--from marathons to weight loss.

Every time I experience an accidental exercise hiatus, I am surprised how great I feel when I get back on that horse. Every time I am shocked that I no longer want to eat cheese, chocolate, and pasta because I just worked out and those foods aren't conducive to muscle tone and fat burning. Good habits go hand in hand. Treating our bodies like trash cans doesn't feel as good as endorphins!

I just completed and laughed out loud at how slow and out of shape I was doing it, but thank God for muscle memory and the knowledge that next week at this time, I will do the same workout in half the time. Here is the Dajti Diva's workout of the day (WOD) for upper body:

Warm-up:
50 Jumping Jacks
4 laps of spider crawl (my terrace is 31 feet one way, so 124 feet)
50 Jump ropes

20 Bicep curls (using 10 lb band)
10 push-ups
20 triceps extensions (using 10 lb band)
20 front raises (using 10 lb band)
10 push-ups
10 dips (using my fridge see earlier blog post)

Rest two minutes. Repeat warm up. Repeat tricep, bicep, shoulder, and chest series two more times. Have fun. Play great music. Get dirty! Do it again and again and again until you look like Chastity from today's Cross Fit WOD.

Dajti Diva Goes Back to School

Since La Diva de Douai teaches English to French children, I was invited to speak to her students at four different elementary schools, one junior high school, and a very unique school catering to students whose parents work at traveling fairs and on canal boats.

The students of Ecole Bateliers et Forains live on school grounds during the week since their parents work on canal boats and carnivals. I have never heard of such a school in the USA. Pictures hanging on the walls of the school depict the circa 1910 canal boats that utilize lift locks, trapping the boat into a section where the water level rises allowing it to be pulled on land by horses or mules. Tourists in Washington D.C. can experience what life was like on these type of boat on the C & O Canal Boat Tour.

I spoke to one hundred French children ranging in age from seven to twelve years old in the cities of Loffre, Erchin, Auberchicourt, and Douai in the Nord Pas de Calais region of France.

I told them how lucky they are to be able to take foreign languages at such a young age, as most American children don't begin until high school.

We began with the children asking me basic questions in English: what is your name, how old are you, what is your favorite color, etc. Afterwards, since their level is elementary, their teachers let them ask me ANY question in French, about American culture, American stereotypes, and anything else their little brains imagine. Questions were asked about everything from Brussels sprouts to the stock market.

Overall French children believe Americans are richer, fatter, and personally know celebrities. They believe America is very violent as well, thanks to what they see on film and on television. Many believe Americans literally dine on burgers and fries all day long.

Elementary school age children have Wednesdays off and usually attend school from 0830 to 1630 every day with two hours for lunch. They were shocked to learn American kids attend school Monday through Friday from 0800 to 1500 with only two recesses and a quick 45 minute lunch.

La Diva de Douai and I did our best to open their eyes to the benefits of cultural exchange, traveling overseas, and developing fluency in foreign languages. Who knows, maybe several years from now, one of these children will study abroad because they got to meet a real live American when they were nine years old. I know my own international journey began when I was six and my father's friend had a French wife who gave me the story of Cinderella (Cendrillon) in French. Since then, I have lived in five countries, traveled to more than 25 countries, and speak five languages with various degrees of fluency. You never know. I hope I planted a similar seed for some of these adorable enfants de Douai.

Following this experience, I am very curious to compare what American ten year old children know about other countries, other languages, and what kinds of questions they would think to ask a French person who came to speak to their class.

Finally I would like to thank teachers all over the world. You have an extremely important and difficult job. Vive les enseignants!

France has changed a great deal since I was last here in 1998:

• All grocery stores in France outlawed plastic and paper bags in grocery stores. You must bring your own reusable bags, if you don't have any, you can purchase them for about one Euro.
• The image of the average French person purchasing bread at the Boulangerie, meat at the Boucherie, fruit & vegetables at the Farmer's Market, and cheese at the Fromagerie are sadly, a thing of the past.
• French grocery stores contain more packaged, microwavable, frozen, canned, and pop-in-the-oven food than American stores. Many families are spending less time cooking fresh food.
• Obesity is clearly rising in France, as are the presence of McDonald's and other fast food chains like Quick. Many French are adopting more American habits of eating in front of the television and eating on the run.
• Giant malls and chain stores like Wal-Mart, Big Five, and Costco are all over French suburbs, but they are called Decathalon, Auchan, and L'incroyable.
• Most French have an automatic espresso machines in their kitchens called Tassimo.
• Most French recycle paper, plastic, glass, cans, and receive government refunds for installing solar heating systems.
  
• On the negative side, you still have to pay to pee in public places.
• The French still love their pharmacies and their drugs and you can find a pill, syrup, and drops for anything that ails you. The syrups actually taste great, like caramel and lemon tart.
• Border crossings are also a thing of the past and entering Belgium, Germany, Switzerland and Luxembourg are no different than living in Washington D.C. and driving through Maryland and Virginia. No more collecting stamps in your passport!
  
• France copys American TV shows. American Idol is called Nouvelle Star, 60 Minutes is called 66 Minutes, Super Nanny is called Super Nanny, The Amazing Race is called Pekin Expres. French children are dangerously obsessed with American All Star wrestling, called Catch.
  
• No matter how often I am in France, I am stunned by how much better everyday products such as shampoo, shower gel, face creams, and home cleaning products smell. Vetiver. Ocean. Sandlewood. Vanilla. Savon de Marseille. Cedar.
  

May 8th Holiday in France

The Dajti Diva was fortunate enough to participate in France's annual celebration of le 8 Mai, a holiday commemorating the end of WWII. In every French city, town, and even the small village of Loffre from where we blog tonight, people gather to sing La Marsaillaise and have a little parade. The photo on the right shows an older Frenchman's war decorations from the French Algerian war (1954-1962). I marched from the Ecole Henri Matisse to the Monument aux Morts (about 5 minutes) where we listened to a short speech from Loffre's illustrious Mayor, Yves Brillon and listened to a lovely chorus of children singing France's national anthem. Of course le 8 Mai is a public holiday!

Nous autres les francais sommes et serons eternellement reconnaissants aux americains d'etre venus nous aider a gagner cette derniere guerre... Sans eux, nous parlerions tous allemand !
THANKS

La Diva de Douai would like to remind everyone the French are and will continue to be eternally grateful to the Americans who helped them win the war, otherwise she would be speaking GERMAN!! Merci beaucoup!

Dajti Diva Meets La Diva de Douai in FRANCE

The Dajti Diva left her Albanian Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary to spend a few weeks in a rather unknown region of France, le Nord near Lille and the Belgian border made famous in the French 2008 hit film, Bienvenue Chez Les Ch'tis directed by Danny Boon.

Will Smith recently purchased the rights to this film and is making an American version called Welcome to The Sticks, in the hopes of topping Titanic's box office success, as it did here in France.

The Dajti Diva met up with her French friend of 19 years, La Diva de Douai (a city 35 km south of Lille) to share some cultural observations of France: how much France has changed since I was last here in 1998; some silly tidbits about the Nord Pas de Calais region of France, and how so many things are, well, just BETTER in France.

For all of my Francophone readers and followers, please Netflix Bienvenue Chez Les Ch'tis. I promise you will laugh and develop a deep craving for a fricadelle, a fifteen centimeter sausage that people in the north flock to the baraques à frites which I suppose Americans would call a Fry Shack.


Lille is one of the largest cities in France and offers annual expositions with rather quirky themes. This year's theme is La Parade des Anges et Demons, The Parade of Angels and Devils, however it is actually twelve, six meter high GIANT black sculptures of babies made in Spain displayed on Lille's broad Rue Faidherbe. Lille's gastronomic delights reflect those typical of Belgium, such as Moule Frites, Waterzoi, potjevleesch, REALLY stinky cheeses such as Maroilles and the truly putrid Vieux Lille.

Shqiperia Ne NATO

Shume urime! Congratulations to Albania who became the 28th NATO country on April 4, 2009, happily joining Belgium, Bulgaria, Canada, Croatia, Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, France, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Iceland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, Turkey, United Kingdom, and the United States.
It only took 17 years of effort to satisfy the alliance's required reforms, overcoming a difficult period in history to become contributors to regional stability and international security.
Albania's successful entry into NATO is one giant step closer to the dream of becoming a part of the European Union. A giant poster hangs this weekend at the National Opera House in Tirana's Skenderbeg Square boasting, “This is the miracle of freedom.”
Tirana was aflame the entire week-end with free concerts by UB40 and local musicians. A twenty eight cannon salute erupted on Saturday celebrating Albania as the 28th NATO country.
NATO and Albanian flags hung from every traffic light as well as the enormous banner seen above left.
NATO forces have operated in the Balkans since the mid-1990s, when thousands of peacekeepers were sent to Bosnia in the aftermath of a four-year civil war between Serbs, Muslims and Croats in which nearly 100,000 people perished. Albania has had troops in Afghanistan since 2003.
Albania will now benefit from collective security the alliance offers, but will also bear the responsibility that collective security requires.
Sources: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/29995397/
http://balkaninsight.com/en/main/news/17860/
http://www.nato.int/cps/en/natolive/topics_48891.htm

Magic Technology

As a sixteen year-old exchange student living in the quiet suburb of Liege, Belgium known as Vaux Sous Chevrement, a phone call or a package from America was about as rare as a solar eclipse. As a twenty something Fulbright fellow in Morocco cell phones, text messages, and instant messaging were just becoming popular and some of my family members even called me on a regular basis.
As an intern with the U.S. Department of State in lonesome Benin, I created an e-mail newsletter I called The Benin Post in the pre-blogger period.
As a Federal Flunky living in Washington D.C., I spent a few years speaking with international friends from Finland to Cambodia on a free Internet voice to voice software program called Skype.
Now in 2009 I keep in touch with family and friends in America using a device called Magic Jack, enabling me to have a U.S. phone number alleviating the aversion many Americans harbor when it comes to making international telephone calls. Magic Jack costs twenty dollars a year and comes with free voice mail, free directory assistance, free call waiting and functions with either a normal telephone handset, or by plugging it into the laptop via a USB as seen in the photograph above.
Skype is still the only way to speak voice to voice with international friends for free and when one or both parties turn on their webcams, it is usually, a mutually heartwarming experience.
We have come a long way from snail mail and choppy long distance to blogging and word of mouse. Tech-know-lo-gee!
This blog entry is affectionately dedicated to the most technologically savvy member of my family and you know who you are. Thank you for my Magic Jack!

www.magicjack.com

www.skype.com

Dita e Verës

Gezuar Dita e Verës! Happy Spring Day, a festival celebrated in Moldova, Bulgaria, Romania, and Albania welcoming Spring after a long, wet winter. For me Dita e Verës began helping my friend make bryek. Imagine making about fifty large crepes and then layering the crepes in a large, round pan. As you layer each crepe, you add a brushing of butter between each crepe and whatever filling you choose--leeks, onion, spinach, etc. and then the entire enormous concoction is baked to flaky, multi layered perfection.
While the bryek was bubbling in the oven, we put fresh flowers and potted plants all over the house, on the porch, and hung garlands of greens above the doors symbolizing the freshness and newness of Spring. Fine bracelets of red and white thread were braided into the traditional verore for all the girls to wear. Verore should be worn on the wrist from Dite E Verës until Nevruz--the Iranian and Zoroastrian holiday marking the New Year as well as the Vernal Equinox marking the first day of Spring. On Nevruz (March 22) women remove the verore and attach them to rose bushes until a bird comes to snatch the bracelet and grant the wearer's wish.
Very early in the morning, my friend Shqipe with her mane of straight blond hair approached each sleeping family member with scented Mimosa branches dipped in water. Like a little forest nymph, she misted each one of us with flower infused water. Then the children made packages for everyone containing a hard boiled egg, an apple, chocolate, and the traditional cookie for Dita e Verës the ballokume.
Meanwhile downtown Tirana exploded in activity as everyone put away their umbrellas to welcome Spring. Blessed with a sunny Dita E Veres, thousands of people cruised Tirana's boulevards listening to music, buying plants and flowers, and watching acrobatics sponsored by the embassies of Holland, Czech Republic, and Denmark. Many streets were closed to vehicular traffic and concerts filled the night with song until four o'clock in the morning. Many Albanians make bonfires on this night and tell stories. Dite E Veres is mostly celebrated in the city of Elbasan, but now it's a national holiday for all Albanians to bid farewell to winter and honor Spring. Gezuar!

Religion in Albania

Most Americans do not realize Albania is considered a Muslim country. Most Americans also couldn't explain the difference between Sunni, Shi'a, and Sufi sects of Islam. Most Americans still choose to fear Islam when they should remember Islamic extremism is to Islam what the Ku Klux Klan is to Christianity.
Today, Albania's 3,000,000 denizens break down into 70% Muslim, 20% Albanian Orthodox, and 10% Roman Catholic. Prior to World War II, there were also about 300 Jews who all survived because Enver Hoxha's repressive communist regime did not contain anti-Jewish measures and therefore Albanian Jews gained special protection from the extermination their European brethren faced. Hoxha also declared Albania officially atheist from 1967-1991, ordering most mosques and churches destroyed, imams and ministers executed and believers persecuted. Idiosyncratic religious teeter-tottering is the reason Albania seems such a deistic enigma today.
Following the rigidity of State imposed atheism, most Albanians today consider themselves agnostic, rather than adhering to strict Islamic and Catholic rites, yet all over the country are the most exquisite monasteries, ancient mosques such as the Gjin Aleks in the village of Rusan near Delvina, depicted above. Albanians are grateful for the luxury of religious freedom and choice, just as we are in America. Due to their aberrant religious past, Albanians are some of the most tolerant people in the world. With this refreshing expression of religious pluralism, it is no accident Mother Theresa (Nene Tereze) hails from Albania.
Most Albanian Muslims are moderate Sunnis or Bektashi--part of the mystical tradition of Sufi Islam. All Albanian cities represent Christians and Muslims living side by side with a predominance of Catholics dwelling in the North in Shkoder and the South in Saranda with a more visible Muslim presence in the country's center.
During my trip to Saranda last week, in one day, I visited the remains of a Saranda synagogue, lit a candle at one of the whimsical Greek Orthodox churches, and spent three hours exploring the five hundred year old Gjin Aleks mosque, including a daring climb up the narrow, slippery minaret. I wish I lived closer to a mosque because I miss the regular, lulling musical calls to prayer I heard everyday when I lived in Morocco. I love wandering through Tirana's neighborhoods and passing a mosque and a church within a few hundred yards of one another.
I end this post with a quote from Nene Tereze and I dedicate it to my father for reasons he will understand the minute he steps off the plane in Tirana.
"I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world. "

The Dordolec: Albanian and American Superstitions

When I first came to Albania, one of the first cultural differences I noted was the strange practice of hanging garlic, horns, old stuffed animals or dolls from homes and business--especially new homes and businesses in various stages of construction. This odd Albanian practice is called dordolec, pronounced door-da-letz which literally translates as scarecrow or doll in English. According to Kristin Peterson-Bidoshi, in the American Journal of Folklore, the recent development of a highly stratified class system and the introduction of individual property ownership helped to increase the dependence of Albanians on the dordolec for protection of their newfound wealth. Sound ridiculous?
When was the last time you knocked on wood? Refused to walk under a ladder? Didn't step on a crack? Held your breath as you passed a cemetery? Crossed your fingers? Got anxious on Friday the thirteenth? Thought about seven years of bad luck after breaking a mirror? Carried a rabbit's foot? Threw salt over your left shoulder? Declined to open your umbrella inside the house?
Every country, even America, contains fabulous and bizarre rituals and talismans to ward off bad luck or the evil eye. The French call it le mauvais oeil; the Italians call it malocchio; the Spanish call it malojo; it is ayin harsha in Arabic and ayin horeh in Hebrew; it is Сглаз in Russian and 邪眼 in Chinese, and onde øje in Danish.
Now I can't stop seeing dordolec; it is ubiquitous and endearing. I am considering which dordolec to choose to suspend from my terrace of the Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary: the russet ram's horns affixed to the entryway with a necklace of garlic around it, the cheesy red Valentine's day teddy bear holding a heart that says be mine swinging from a gas station's tall sign advertising gas prices, and the plastic baby doll sporting a wispy pink bubble dress swaying from side to side from the grey concrete roof of the half finished home.

Mbajeni Shqiperine te Paster

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout would not take the garbage out! Remember Shel Silverstein's 1974 poem all American kids grew up with? Well when Americans take the garbage out, where do the 254 million tons of annually produced waste go? If you are an American reading this post, you are responsible for producing an average of 4.6 pounds of garbage every day. Americans are experts at using landfill to keep our trash out of sight and out of mind.
In Albania there is almost no organized solid waste management, no properly managed dumpsites or incinerators, waste reduction targets, or waste monitoring programs. For the past four months, I ruminate on the notion of garbage--what we produce and where it goes. As a recycling Californian, it breaks my heart to have to throw away plastic water bottles and glass products. As a citizen of the world, my stomach lurches every time I watch an Albanian litter.
I spent last week in Saranda, Albania's riviera along the Ionian and Adriatic coasts, in some of the most breathtaking mountain and ocean scenery I have ever seen. The physical attractiveness was always interrupted by unsightly pink and blue plastic bags, water bottles, and quotidian product packaging. But then I began to wonder. Maybe the Albanians are as immune to the garbage as Americans are to homeless people.
The first step to living a more green lifestlye is to be conscious of the problem. Engaging in small acts do create ripple effects and maybe leadership by example. Everytime I head to the vegetable market, I bring my bright red and white shopping bag from my favorite U.S. store, Lululemon Athletica. Inside the bag, I keep previous blue plastic bags and reuse them. Usually, I must repeat to Albanian vegetable sellers two or three times une nuk kam nevoje per qese, I don't need a bag. Perhaps it's futile. I am only one person in this country of three million who emerged from its post communist era in the early 1990s one of the poorest countries in Europe. While all Albanians are educated in schools, not to litter, I see them littering everyday. How do you get people to care? Each one of us is responsible for the well being of our planet. If I was back in the U.S. and I witnessed someone littering, I probably wouldn't say anything either.
When I travel here, I focus on the positive because once Albania develops its tourism industry, it will be a sportsman's paradise--hiking, white water rafting, paragliding, fishing, mountain climbing and swimming. Saranda appears to be the flagship city since it is Albania's most popular tourist destination and the streets were much cleaner than Tirana. The two photos accompanying this post are extreme to demonstrate areas with high concentration of garbage. I feel obligated to juxtapose these negative images with beautiful ones since, after all, my glass is always half full. How do we get people to care?

I Have to V-E-N-T! Stupid Albanian Water Heater, Power Outages and Landlady!

Today began as any typical work day in for me here in Tirana with the exception of a fresh blanket of snow covering Mount Dajti reminiscent of the recent rash of frigid weather. Waking up at 0630 hours, I elected to write directly from my bed rather than retreat to my living room office. Since the Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary is not insulated, when it's cold, it's cold like a tomb, cold like straddling an icicle. Today I could no longer stand the cold, so I stayed in bed under a sheet, a down comforter and an impenetrable acrylic blanket, which is the most common type of blanket in Albania. I am writing a book and my task is to complete a minimum of two thousand words immediately upon waking. If I am inspired to write more throughout the day, I do, but whatever happens, I must complete the two thousand word minimum.

I typed with gleeful purpose on my laptop in bed and around 0800 hours I could no longer ignore the espresso's siren call, even though I knew I would be able to see my breath in the glacial kitchen and that would infuriate me, but I really wanted the coffee. Returning to the warm bed turned writing desk with my steaming espresso, I finished two thousand two hundred and sixty five words by 0930. Happy I met the morning writing goal, I braved the cold and jumped out of bed to get dressed and wash last night's dishes. A few hours later, I returned to my laptop because today was a good writing day and I was on a roll until the power went out at 1130. Pissed that the power was out, even though it happens at least once a day; if you are in a bad mood, it can push you over the edge.

Suddenly remembering I told my dim witted landlady on Monday that my hot water hasn't been hot since last Thursday. She is twenty-eight year old mother of two who married at fourteen, owns the bakery over which I live and resembles a fashionable living Pillsbury Dough Girl. She told me it wasn't worth a technician's time to come all the way out to install a new thermometer. Furthermore, I had to pay for the new thermometer (800 leke or 8.00 USD); why couldn't they tell me this on Monday? Glowering because I had to leave my sanctuary, we go and buy the superior Italian made thermometer over the inferior Turkish made one. Soon after, an electrician materializes to replace the old one. By 1400 hours, the operation is a success and the little red light on the water heater is again illuminated, indicating in an hour or two I should have hot water.

Stealing into my bathroom every fifteen minutes to watch the temperature gauge inch out of the blue zone and into the red zone becomes an obsession until 1700 hours when the power goes out again. I am still in my bed and still on a roll, typing happily by candlelight and hoping the computer battery will prove a strong contender in the perpetual race between electric and battery power. The power returns at 1830 hours and I am relieved to see the little red light of the water heater return with the rest of the lights. At 1900 hours I am hungry and put some lenticchie piccole on the stove to cook. While they are on the stove I check the temperature gauge in the bathroom and to my shock and dismay the little red light is off again. Son. Of. A. Bitch. I return to my writing anyway.

At 1940 I return to the icy kitchen to check my lentils and the power goes off for the third goddamn time today. While the lentils were cooked, a bit al dente, I drained them in a colander and tossed them in a light coating of olive oil and feta using my cell phone as a flashlight. The power comes back on three minutes later and just because I am a masochist, I return to the bathroom just in time to watch the little red light flicker to life and then die.

As I vent, it is 2025 hours and I am going to venture into the bathroom, even though I am willing to bet the little red light is out. I am wrong! The devilish little red light is ON, but just to prove me wrong. I am still very disturbed by its erratic nature. I vented. I feel better and I wish I had a flute of champagne to celebrate writing one hundred pages of my book: 42,906 words down and 137,094 to go.

P.S. It is 2115 hours and I just brushed my teeth. When I began brushing my teeth the little red light was on; now it's off again; what in the hell is wrong? 2316 and it's still off.

Suckling From the Glass Teat in Macedonia

Greetings from the Sport Lodge Hotel in the Popava ski resort in Mavrovo, Macedonia where the local time is 2312 hours. Mavrovo is about a four and a half hour drive from Tirana through some of the most incredibly gorgeous mountain scenery I have ever seen in my thirty four years on the planet. Driving from Tirana to Elbasan (still in Albania) is one of those frightfully curvilinear roads where if you don't get carsick, it should be considered a personal victory. It's so beautiful that I can't wait until Sunday when we drive back to Albania and in a future blog, I will write about the hot springs located about twenty kilometers from Elbasan. Now back to Macedonia…

I never thought I would ever travel to Macedonia which certain countries (Greece) still refuse to recognize under any other name than, the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM). Macedonian is the language here and it is written with Cyrillic letters like Russian and Serbian. So far, ninety percent of the signs are also written in Roman letters. Coming from Albania, my first impressions of Macedonia are all positive; it's remarkably cleaner than Albania and the drivers appear to respect the rules of the road much more than their Albanian neighbors. I don't expect to learn much about Macedonian mores since this is a ski resort, but I will return to Skopje in the future for a more profound cultural experience.

Arriving at the hotel around 1900 hours we dined in the hotel since the astronomical price of the room includes dinner and breakfast. Dinner featured an appetizer of sautéed shrimp with lemon and fresh parsley, followed by a salad of shredded white cabbage, shredded carrots, and shredded beets. The entrée was bland curried chicken with peas, corn, and pureed potatoes. Dessert was a rich chocolate cake. The food was average and probably not traditionally Macedonian at all, but what do you expect in a ski resort? After dinner and a nightcap, we strolled around the ski lifts to scout the lifts, trails, and the cute little ski village at the base of the great mountain.

I am typing this from my bed in the hotel room which has the nicest white down comforter I have seen in a hotel since the Hilton in Abu Dhabi in 2007. I luxuriated in a shower because I haven't taken a shower where I could actually stand up and allow the water to fall over me as in all American showers. The Albanian bathroom in the Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary, while beautiful, contains a large bathtub with a shower head that isn't attached to the wall, so you must hold the shower head while you clean, rendering your shower a purely functional rather than pleasurable experience. I suppose the goal there is to conserve water which is a precious commodity in Albania. I also have a television in this hotel room and I am watching CNN while typing this; a real treat for me! I love not having a television because I accomplish so much. I just finished reading Stephen King's On Writing, where he referred to television as the glass teat. What a truthfully witty simile.

Dirty Doggie Porn

Seinfeld fans, remember the episode when Elaine is driven insane by a neighborhood dog barking incessantly in the middle of the night? Eventually she cranes her neck out her window screaming, "shuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup!" If Ms. Elaine Benes lived in Tirana, surely she would commit suicide after a couple of days because there are hundreds of yapping, howling, snarling stray dogs in Tirana. If only I could carry a loaded syringe in my purse with enough of whatever substance must be injected to spay and neuter them, I would. Don't misunderstand; I adore animals, especially dogs. Emma and Charlie, my brother's two regal King Charles Cavaliers are both lovable creatures, as is Ozzie, my mom's straw colored Cairn terrier and every other clean, trained American dog I have encountered. Unfortunately, animal lovers, while some Albanians spend a great deal of money for a purebred canine and allow said canine to reside with them in their homes, the vast majority of Albanian dogs are badass thugs kickin' it old school, livin' in da streets.

A pack of approximately twelve dogs make up my neighborhood's posse. Like any street gang, they loll about pompously, rummaging through and consuming fifteen percent of the garbage in and around the trash receptacles. Often they organize ferocious earsplitting street fights and bark-a-thons with rival posses. Hours of silence are often followed by spontaneous thunderous growling, woofing and baying. This constant barking diminishes the very sanctity of the Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary I am working so hard to cultivate. Especially in those serene hushed moments right before you slip into the blissful unconsciousness of sleep and then, out of the sacred stillness of the night, twelve barking dogs articulate their despair, or their haughtiness, or maybe their rage. I don't know. I don't speak D-O-G.

Walking to and from my apartment sanctuary, I have begun to actually recognize all twelve of them, including the gawky puppy with the reddish brown fur and slightly lopsided face who roams the Liqeni Artificiel promenade. Early last Saturday morning, crossing the lake promenade to cut through the park, I froze as six of my neighborhood hounds were engaged in a graphic public orgy. While four of the smaller ones watched, a gruff black mutt mounted a brunette bitch with about nine teats and went at it, doggie style of course. Mortified, I forced myself to keep walking and cursed myself for not immediately snapping a photograph to include with this blog entry. To my dismay, the uncouth image of doggie porn remained on my mind all day and even days later since I am writing about it now!

Maybe during the course of my stay in Tirana, I will think of something innovative and brilliant to help these helpless dogs. If I don't Bob Barker will stalk me for not taking action. But what can I do?

Refrigerator Turned Gym à la Cross Fit

It’s raining again in Tirana. Good for Tirana’s hydroelectric power; very bad for my body. In mid January I gave up a gym membership at Static Fitness, because it was far more expensive than what I would have paid in Washington DC, for far fewer and inferior classes and equipment. Strangely, Albanian gyms determine pricing by how many days a week one wants to attend, so I was paying 3,000 leke for the privilege of going only three times a week. Believe it or not, there was nothing inside Static Fitness to perform step-ups on because the owner didn’t want his orange leather weight benches sullied! However, gyms are unnecessary for the fitness savvy. All I need to do is deploy all the wonderful Cross Fit techniques I learned while attending numerous ass-kicking Boot Camp classes in Rosslyn, Virginia. Especially because I live right next to Liqeni Artificiel, Tirana’s Artificial Lake with a beautiful three mile path for running. For cardio, my plan includes running around the lake and sprinting the steep driveway next to my building. For strength training, the plan is to transform my enormous fourth floor terrace into a gym à la Cross Fit. Who cares about the rain! As they say in the Army, “if it ain’t rainin’ we ain’t trainin’!”

For those in the Blogosphere who remain unaware of Cross Fit, it is a fabulous fitness theory and practice designed by military, police for anyone who needs to be able to workout anywhere, anytime, with a minimum of equipment. Cross Fit’s theory revolves around the principal that body weight is the only weight necessary. Training all the major muscle groups is free and the workouts are sweaty exhaustathons.

One of my favorite Cross Fit exercises to work the legs is called the step-up. Usually, some sort of ledge is more than adequate, but the terrace contains only a flat tiled floor. Ingeniously, I decided to employ the used refrigerator I purchased for 7,000 leke that doesn’t work to do step-ups. This idea completely reversed the bitter resentment I felt toward the store that refused to take back the inoperable refrigerator. Compared to the boxes sold for use as step-ups in home gyms that retail for about three hundred dollars, I accidentally created one for only seventy dollars. Not only will it make a great story, but it will serve as an amusing creative project, as I intend to paint it scarlet, or at least scribble words to fuel workouts with a fat black marker. Cross Fit boasts some great slogans, such as mess you up, smoke you like cheap crack, and my favorite, infidel. Those would look great on the white fridge as I pound my feet on it, arduously working the vastus medialis, vastus lateralis and the rectus femoris muscles that formulate the mighty quadriceps.

Even though I have been recovering from a recent inflammation of an old lumbosacral injury, I was so excited to try the fridge as a step-up; I changed into the lustrous cornflower blue workout pants from my favorite store, Lululemon Athletica. I eagerly stepped out onto my terrace magically transformed into gym, carrying a mini black iPod docking station. No workout is successful or complete without appropriate music. Measuring twenty one inches, the fridge is a tad larger than most step-ups, but a little more work for the quadriceps never hurt anyone! The terrace is private, so there is no need for headphones and so with Metallica’s Seek and Destroy blaring in the background, I successfully employed my used refrigerator as a step-up! Start with the weaker leg (the left one in my case). Do twenty step-ups, and then do twenty more on the right side. The faster you go, the harder you sweat, the better the workout. While stepping up, two things occurred to me: the rain stopped and this second-hand fridge could also be used for dips, box jumps (I will have to work up to that) and elevated full sit-ups. Clearly this worn-out ice box proved to be one of the greatest and most positive purchases after all! This blog entry is playfully dedicated to a very special U.S. Army Green Beret who introduced me to Cross Fit.

Bad Albanian Day

Miredita from the windy and rainy Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary in Tirana. We all know what it means to have good and bad hair days, but today I would like to elucidate upon the concept of good and bad Albanian days.

On 12 January I experienced one of many bad Albanian days, days when nothing makes sense, when everything is complicated, and when I hear the Shqip (Albanian for Albanian) words coming out of my mouth, but judging from the confused look on their Albanian faces, they have no idea what I am saying. The morning began on a dire note, when I turned on my two burner stove to make espresso, when I noticed the power was out. Seeing no purpose in taking a cold shower, I got dressed and headed to my other office, also known as the Rogner Europapark Hotel—a five star hotel here in Tirana with free and fast wireless Internet. It takes me about 25 minutes to walk from the Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary to the Rogner since I don't have and do not want a car, excuse me, a vehicle here (car is the word for a prominent part of the male anatomy in Shqip, so with respect to my Albanian readers, I will say vehicle).

Arriving at the Rogner, I ensconce myself at a comfortable, round table inside the spacious bar and next to an outlet to plug in my laptop. Sipping a delectable Illy espresso while my lappie boots up, I observe the mosaic of business men, friends meeting for coffee, and lone artists such as myself isolated with their computers. When my computer finally finishes booting up it informs me it cannot connect to the available wireless network. No! I was here for four wonderful hours last Friday, happily typing away, while downloading dozens of edifying podcasts from Itunes and intermittingly checking my email! No! If the Internet doesn't work, I may as well go back to the Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary and work in my pajamas! Oh no, I can't… There is no power today and the battery in my laptop lasts a whopping fifteen minutes. Frustrated, I shut down my machine and leave the Rogner to the Bibliotheca Kombatare because I need English novels to read.

Bloggers, can you believe that, in Albania, in order to get a library card, you must furnish your passport, two small photographs, and some sort of permission or acknowledgement from the municipality where you live! For books? Furthermore, while they have computers for searching for books inside the library, they still depend on the antiquated card catalog system. I think I was in sixth grade the last time I used the Card Catalog! I don't have my Albanian residency yet; I am still working on that, so no library membership for me, and painfully, no books to read. And I must have books because after writing for hours, my brain hurts and since I don't have a television, reading is the most relaxing activity.

The bad Albanian days continues. After the power goes out, the Internet won't connect, and I can't penetrate the library, I walk home to have my landlady tell me to be careful about my neighbors because she thinks they may be involved in some nefarious activities like international pimping. Ok, I can't take this today. Thanking her for her advice, hoping the sarcasm in my voice doesn't show, I head upstairs to the fourth floor Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary. Standing outside on my enormous terrace, I stare at Mount Dajti and the splendor of the towering mountain against the motionless lake reminds me that everything will be ok. You have to exercise great patience when you are a foreigner in an adopted country. You have to adapt. You have to limit the tendency to criticize. Tomorrow is another day and every hour presents the ability to start over. After all, it's all mental. This isn't Albania being bad, it's just my seemingly superior American perception imposing it's negativity on Albania. Coming back inside the Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary, I flick the light switch, doubtful the power is back on. To my surprise, warm light from the curvilinear floral chandelier inundates the kitchen. Things are looking up already…

We Are What We Eat

Happy Martin Luther King Day from the Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary. Today I am blogging from bed because I am in the process of recovering from one of the worst cases of food poisoning EVER. While I will spare my readers the gory details of the bug, I will highlight two concepts this bout of food poisoning brought to light: You Are What You Eat and the need to express occasional gratitude for our health, or at least calm bellies.

Last Friday I traveled with my Albanian friend Zana and her husband and two children about one hundred kilometers north of Tirana to Shkoder, to take part in a family celebration. As evening fell over Shkoder, we arrived and were immediately led from the freezing cold front room (why aren't Albanian homes insulated?) into the room heated by the wood stove. Per Albanian custom, we were immediately served stout Turkish coffee and a shot glass of homemade Raki.

Two hours later, I was helping Zana make a salad of Greek yogurt, cucumbers, walnuts, and garlic. Staring into the pure white thickness of the yogurt, I thought about how marvelous it is that so many Albanians have their own cow. Thanks to a singular cow, the average family makes milk, yogurt, butter, and cheese for daily consumption. While most Western cultures devour great quantities of dairy products, as a former vegetarian, Californian, and someone who has always studied nutrition for fun, I only drank soy milk and limited my intake of cheese and yogurt. I have been in Tirana now for two months, and Albanians eat dairy products at every meal. Breakfast usually consists of bread with homemade butter and jam, a fried egg with homemade feta like cheese. Lunch is usually bread, meat, cheese, and some sort of salad of tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, and olives on the side. Dinner is usually more of the same but sometimes its spaghetti or beans instead of meat, but the cheese and bread are always on the plate. Needless to say, I got very, very sick in Shkoder.

Even though I live alone, I am very often eating in the homes of my adopted Albanian families, so naturally, I eat what they eat. Maybe I got sick because my system is not used to such quantities of dairy and meat. Maybe my body is simply adjusting to the different bacterium present in Albanian water, air, and soil or maybe it was the constant swirl of cigarette smoke hanging over everything we ate this week-end like a toxic fog. Why do Albanians still think it's so cool to smoke? In America, after a painful episode of food poisoning, we only eat bread, rice, bananas or potatoes. In Shkoder, Zana's adorable 83 year old aunt Darda, who incidentally resembles an apple doll, begged me to drink milk, eat yogurt, and lemon juice, per their tradition. Talk about cultural differences!

Anyway, since returning from Shkoder on Sunday evening, the fitful storm still brewing in my belly, I heard an inspirational podcast. It was an interview with Jessica Porter on her book, The Hip Chick's Guide to Macrobiotics. Porter refers to whole grains as, humanity's perfect food because they contain fiber and they bind with excess hormones in the body, helping to expel them. They are naturally low glycemic carbohydrates, and contain vast amounts of B vitamins. Whole grains essentially act as the all purpose cleanser for the body; they are live foods working full time inside your body.

This interview inspired me not only to immediately blog about what humans put into their bodies, but reminded the granola California girl in me, to immediately cease and desist the blind consumption of animal products, white sugar, rice, and pasta. Two months ago, before I came here, I was eating Bolivian red quinoa, wild salmon, Swiss chard, and countless apples. I knew it would be a challenge to eat in alliance with my beliefs and my commitment to health in a developmentally challenged country, but here's the thing: hundreds of years ago, early man didn't eat animals. He lived exclusively on whole grains, fruit, legumes, and vegetables. So all I must do now, resisting my natural urge to order my American whole grains from www.wholegrains.com, is find out where to buy the whole grains in Tirana. Albanian fruit and vegetables are beautiful, plentiful, organic, and cheap!

I am the only one who responsible for my health. I will not impose my beliefs and my California culture on my Albanian friends and families; however, I will no longer accept anything they put on my plate or in my glass. Not after this violent episode. I also encourage anyone reading my words with calm bellies to express gratitude for that calm we take for granted daily. Because we have all been where I was this week-end, in a miserable position praying to the porcelain god, as the humorous American euphemism for vomiting goes. So if we truly are what we eat, I choose to no longer be a cow. I want to be a blossoming peach. I want to be nature's toothbrush, the flawless apple. I want to be calcium rich broccoli and spinach. I want to be whichever whole grain I can find here in Albania and hopefully it will be as delicious as my red Bolivian quinoa.

Power Rituals

Power is a precious commodity here in Albania, one that, generally, Americans take for granted. A house may lose power in America once or twice a year as the result of a severe thunderstorm. Here in Tirana, I lose power approximately once a day, for periods ranging from five minutes to seven hours. I am continually astounded by what human beings can get used to when they must.

With Tirana's winter temperatures hovering in the neighborhood of thirty to forty degrees, and homes built with no insulation, one comes to depend on heating appliances. When home are purchased or rented in Albania, and most of Europe for that matter, they do not come with central heating, refrigerators, stoves, washing machines, or dishwashers. These items are far too costly to purchase, so settling on the one essential item, I purchased an oil heater for my bedroom. Given the lack of insulation, it is often colder inside my apartment then outside. The heater slowly heats my small bedroom and every night, I utter a silent prayer that the power will not go out until the bedroom is slightly warm.

After three weeks in this apartment, from hereon known as, the Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary, because my four floor to ceiling windows welcome gallons of sunlight during the day and the walls are washed in glowing candlelight at night. Lakeside because I live right next to Tirana's Liqeni Artificiel, or Artificial Lake, and sanctuary is the sacred space I cultivated in which to write my book and nurture body, mind, and spirit. Anyway, when the power goes off in the Luminous Lakeside Sanctuary, I immediately engage in a preservation ritual that goes something like this. When the power disappears at night, I instantly light the candle on my nightstand. Then I double my down comforter and I double the ultra thick Albanian rose embossed blanket to achieve maximum warmth once the room loses all heat from the oil heater and becomes a chilly mausoleum. Then I go to my mint green swirl patterned tile bathroom and wash my face before the last of the hot water vanishes with the rest of the heat. Gathering another set of candles from the kitchen drawer, I retreat back to my bedroom, burrow into my blanket quartet, and read by candlelight until I fall asleep. Even during the blissful unconsciousness of sleep, when I hear the comforting click of my heater, I know the power has returned.

But when I awake to no power, I am livid because this means I cannot engage in the morning espresso making ritual. So far, this has happened three times in three weeks and quite frankly, it ruins my day!

For all of my readers out there in the blogosphere, please take a moment to appreciate the things you usually take for granted, such as lights, hot water, and a less corrupted government that doesn't sell it's power to neighboring countries while not providing 24/7 power to its own populace. And like my fabulous mother conditioned me to turn off the lights and to unplug the appliances that are not in use, be cognizant about what you use, when you use it and how much you truly need. Electricity, or drite, an Albanian word I had to learn quickly, is precious, so use it sparingly and express gratitude when you have it.

Quantum of Solace

Once again it is 0330 and I can't sleep. Late November 2008

Not surprisingly, my American Foreign Service friends have never been to the movies here in Tirana. Last night we decided to check out Kinema Millenium and watch the latest James Bond Blockbuster, Quantam Of Solace. Impressive, since it JUST came out in the US a week ago! So we drive to where we believe the theater to be and immediately parked because you can park anywhere here, although US Diplomatic plates don't hurt either...

Shivering in the 45 degree weather, we turn onto a side street just of of Skanderbeg Square and find the Kinema Millenium. Nestled in front of two lovely, circular cafes, is the box office. Since I don't start Albanian language lessons until Monday, my friend asked for three tickets for the 1730 showing. I hear her say the word for "three" and then the woman in the box office who is actually wearing a chic red uniform pulls out a seating chart and asks where we would like to sit. We choose the middle, row six, seats seven, eight, and nine.

We enter the theater lobby to find the concession stand, boasting the ususal candy and popcorn AND espresso, beer and wine! We order two diet cokes and a fizzy water for me. Taking our beverages we enter the theater and another woman in a chic red uniform tears are tickets and directs us to our seat, just like an usher at a Broadway show. By the way we paid 500 LEKE per ticket (about $5.00).

The theater is large and all the seats are red, embossed with the Vodafone logo and jingle, Është momenti yt. Është Vodafone. The lights go down and we see two previews (Nights in Rodanthe and Body of Lies). Quantum of Solace begins in English with Shqip (Albanian for Albanian) subtitles. The sound and quality are great and the screen is enormous. As a big movie buff, I was VERY impressed and will be going quite often to the movies. Did I mention the Tirana International Film Festival begins on 1 December? Finally, I thought Quantum of Solace sucked!!

Tirana's Central Park (Parku i Rinise)

As Americans we are taught never to walk in unlit areas, especially parks, because if we do, we will certainly get raped, mugged, or scared by homeless people. Crime is high in the United States, but how much of our cultural paranoia is a simple fear of the unknown and fear of the dark?

Here in Tirana, it gets dark around 4:15 pm. Here in Tirana there is a large and beautiful park that begins right near my house (I live at the far south east side of the city) and runs several miles along Rruga Luigj Gurakuqi through downtown Tirana, much like New York's Central Park. So because I run with my Army buddies, we run in the park because you can cover several miles without dealing with cars, pedestrians, and narrow sidewalks. Because we run in the afternoon, it's DARK.

For me, it's crazy because it's DARK, and as an American I am programmed to believe this is unsafe. When you arrive in a new country, however, you must approach the world around you with new eyes and learn if the Albanians think it's unsafe.

So, as we run in the dark, we pass dozens and dozens of other runners. We pass elderly couples walking arm in arm IN THE DARK. We pass packs of stray dogs. We pass Tirana University students hanging out in the park, IN THE DARK. It's just what you would see in Central Park, but they don't have lights here for some reason. Is it infrastructure? Economics? Priorities? Who knows. In Monterey, I used to run along the Monterey Bay from Fisherman's Wharf to Lover's Point. In Benin, I went running once but it was far too hot and humid and dusty. In Washington DC, I ran among the monuments on the National Mall and now I run through Tirana's Central Park, in the dark, and in a few more days it will become normal for me and I won't think about the dark because here, there are no homeless people, rape and mugging are practically unheard of and the stray dogs are well fed, so even they don't bother anyone.

The Dajti Diva 8 January 2009

It is 1831 here in Tirana, and I haven’t left my apartment all day. Waking up at 0700, excited about another day, I commenced my morning ritual of making espresso in my Italian mocha pot and steaming milk in my little metal Turkish coffee maker, both on my recently purchased, two burner electric stove. As the coffee was brewing and the milk frothing, I decide to bring my laptop into the living room and organize the book I just started writing. I am still in that “fear of beginning” phase, but I think today, I nipped it directly in the bud! I poured my freshly brewed espresso and milk into my red coffee mug embossed with the two-headed eagle that is Albania’s striking flag, and begin typing.

Suddenly, I glance at my cell phone, shocked to see it is 1315 in the afternoon and I have been writing my book the entire time, stopping only to make more espresso and consume a plain banana and apple snack.

I am utterly astounded by the creative being I have allowed myself to become in the seven weeks since I moved to Albania. Even though this book has been inside me, screaming to be written for the past ten years, I couldn’t write a word of it living in Washington DC, even had I tried. Not just because I wasn’t being authentic and true to myself, working for the Department of Defense (DoD), but because of television. I have always loved and loathed television. As a veritable escapist, I am so easily sucked in by the latest reality drama on the Bravo Network—Jackie Warner’s catty and sassy Workout; the Queen of the Aussie Bitches, Tabitha’s Salon Takeover; and my favorite, the delectable Top Chef.

So after writing this morning for four hours straight, my brain began to hurt, because I don’t remember writing that much since graduate school. I took a long break by preparing a simple lunch of cucumber yogurt salad with fresh tomato and a quarter of a chicken breast I roasted last night in my tiny, portable oven. Retreating to my bedroom because it’s too cold in the living room, I extended my break to listen to about five Hip Tranquil Chick podcasts which are quite inspirational. I also learned I need music on while writing, so I created a 362 song playlist on my IPod to listen to while writing. I am listening to it right now; Enya’s Only Time is currently playing.

After creating and uploading the eclectic playlist, I take my first luxurious bath in this new apartment, feeling a little bit guilty about it though since hot water and power are quite limited commodities in Albania. But it was SO worth it.

Getting out of the bath at 1730, I wash the dishes using only cold water because I do not have hot water in the kitchen. Craving nothing but vegetables, I roast organic broccoli, carrot, red pepper, and zucchini with a dusting of Italian olive oil, salt, and pepper. Still listening to Hip Tranquil Chick podcasts in the kitchen, I eat the vegetables one at a time, savoring each bite. After peeling and eating two sweet and juicy mandarins for dessert, I go back into my bedroom, push play on the IPod and decide to begin this blog as a warm-up for, hopefully, another four hours of writing. What was I afraid of before? Why are any of us afraid to begin projects so near and dear to us? It’s that wicked fear of success and today, while I didn’t go to the gym, I conquered my fear of beginning.

Thank you Kimberly Wilson, designer of the Hip Tranquil Chick podcast. I bet you never thought your audience would extend as far as Tirana, Albania and the ironic thing is that for five years, I too lived within walking distance of your Pink Palace in Washington DC, in Logan Circle! I used to be a government flunky in DC, and like you, I gave up my steady paycheck to live a life of authenticity, nurture my inner hip tranquil chick, and to write. I christen my blog, the Dajti Diva, for the majestic Dajti Mountain under which the colorfully enigmatic city of Tirana is nestled.