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.