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…