Gjeldeti

Albanian Turkey—A Model for American Thanksgiving

(A guest post by Thomas, visiting from Alaska)

Between Christmas and New Years, Susanne and I took an overnight trip to Berat, Albania’s oldest community. Berat is an inhabited citadel with terraced slopes, and narrow, cobblestone streets bordered by fifteen-foot-high walls. To walk these ancient streets, white-washed and maze-like, is transforming. Two thousand four-hundred years of history boggles this Alaskan’s mind, whose hometown has yet to celebrate its one-hundredth birthday. At the top of a 700 foot climb lies the main entrance to the fortified portion of Berat, which once protected a thriving urban center and 42 churches within its walls, but now lies in partial ruin from repeated attacks, including a German bombing during WWII. But this blog is not about Berat, or Balkan history. Susanne can blog on that later. This post is about turkey. Specifically, the turkey we ate in a tiny family run café within Berat’s massive stone walls.

Turkey, it turns out, is a New Year’s tradition in Albania. Although we may have missed our own traditional turkey feast at Christmas, we indulged ten-fold and a few days late in Berat.
Albanian turkey is oven roasted and served on a generous bed of dressing made from homemade bread, turkey drippings and giblets. Side dishes such as mixed salad, roasted vegetables, and traditional byrek, a cheese filled pastry, fight for space on the table. At times it’s hard to find a spot to wedge a glass of wine between all the platters. The volume of food is so generous, the flavors so robust, that the absence of central heating inside the ancient stone house goes nearly unnoticed. (The owner did remove the five gallon jug of home-pressed olive oil from atop a kerosene heater and moved the heater next to our table.)

Doomed....

Despite a wide variety of tasty foods, the turkey tantalized most. It was rich and moist and tasted like turkey, not like a frozen, leathery Butter Ball raised in a warehouse, slaughtered months earlier, and injected with saline to enhance weight and juiciness. How fresh is Albanian, free-range turkey? Well, as rich forkfuls of dark meat melted on our palates, the owner walked through the café to rinse his bloody knife.

We’d heard turkey gobbles in the background, as common as braying donkeys in Greece or angry car horns in Tirana. Upon seeing the knife, however, we recalled hearing one foreshortened gobble, which normally occur in threes.

This time of year, turkey transactions occur on nearly every street corner. Albanians carry their live purchases home, upside down by the legs, the same way American shoppers sling Fred Meyer bags of groceries to their cars.

Toting home dinner

Cash & Carry

In Berat, dark feathers cover white-washed streets, a negative of a fresh winter dusting. Dark pools of blood dry on stone stoops, and an occasional turkey head awaits a lucky dog or cat. While in America, the sight and sound of a turkey slaughter would draw the health inspector and a gaggle of animal rights activists, in Albania, signs of freshly killed turkey convinced me to reach for a third helping. This was real food, healthy food, grown locally and harvested minutes before being consumed. We were eating turkey, Albanian style, the same way it’s been raised and harvested and prepared for 2,400 years.

So why can’t Americans, who love turkey and make it the centerpiece of major holidays, figure out how to put real turkey on their tables? That’s for another blog.

Christmas in Albania

Although I missed family and friends at home, spending the Christmas season away from the US was interesting. I wondered how, or whether, a predominately Muslim country would acknowledge the day. The answer, in hindsight, was obvious.

Cathedral in Korca on Christmas Eve

Albanian Christians (mostly Greek Orthodox), mark the day as most Christian families do, with a special family meal. Those who are observant might also acknowledge the religious aspects of the holiday at church, many attending midnight mass.

St. Nick takes a break from his toils

The non-Christians pretty much ignore the religious part of the holiday and embrace the secular aspects. The shops and streets of Tirana are decked out in Santa Claus displays, scenes of winter wonderlands, and blinking colored lights. In the main square, next to the statute of Albania's national hero Skanderberg, sits a giant fake evergreen tree decorated with lights.

 In short, Christmas unfolded pretty much the way I would expect in a country known for its religious tolerance - everyone did as their beliefs dictated and no one begrudged the others. This live-and-let-live attitude concerning religious practice and belief is, I feel, one of the greatest things about the Albanian worldview.

After so many years of state-sponsored religious persecution, the Albanian people truly understand the importance of separating church and state. People are happy to practice their own religion privately and happy to let others do the same.















Over Christmas weekend, Thomas and I visited the town of Korca. Korca sits at some elevation, so is colder than Tirana. The week before we arrived, it had snowed. It was nice to see the white snow, although I did get cold. Only two months here and already I'm losing my cold tolerance!

14th century church

Typical Korca streetscape

Note bunkers in background

La Montagne restaurant

At one time, Korca was known as the Paris of Albania. We were charmed by its old stone buildings, including several churches. We also stopped by the brewery where they produce a couple of decent styles of of beer. We had a couple of exceptional meals, including lunch at La Montagne restaurant located outside of town at the top of a hairpin road in the direction of Mborja. In short, a lovely weekend and a white Christmas after all.

Gazuar!

Small chapel at La Montagne

Fish from nearby Lake Ohrid

Birra Korca delivery truck

Guest Post

Here is a guest post from Thomas, who has been visiting over his winter break. - Susanne

 

Body Language—When No Really Does Mean Yes

Not possessing the gift for languages Susanne does, I devise my own communication methods when traveling abroad. The easiest and most effective means is to use Susanne as my guide. As we interact with Albanian farmers and shopkeepers, I grin stupidly while Susanne threads phrases and sentences together like fine Balkan lace. But with Susanne working as a consultant to the Albanian court system, I’m on my own during the day. I must develop other techniques to straddle the language barrier.

Locals give Susanne directions

Most often, pointing works. Or holding up fingers. Sometimes, I rely on my bilingual talent and take my rusted-out high school French for a test drive on the off chance an Albanian will  recognize it. Sometimes a strange, guttural sound emerges from deep within that means nothing to anyone in the conversation, but it somehow produces the desired result. Strangely, while ordering a kafe macchiato, I was flattered to be identified as Italiano. It must have been my accent. To purchase roasted chestnuts or oranges from sidewalk vendors, I simply hold out a handful of change and have them pick out the proper amount. (Such trust is one of the many beautiful aspects of Albanian culture, where no one negotiates price, and where honesty prevails in retail transactions.) To catch the correct furgon or minibus, I memorize the town we’ve planned all week to visit, then panic when I reverse letters and the driver gives me an amused look. To find my way back to familiar territory, I call Susanne at work.

But in defense of my linguistic lameness, Albanian is a challenging Indo-European language unique to the Balkans and on par with Finnish, Mongolian and Hungarian in its difficulty to learn. So I’m told, anyway. I am told that Albanian has nine “moods” for a single verb, including “admirative” and “operative,” which don’t exist in English. But never mind verbs. Just tackling please and thank you involves wrapping the tongue around four- and five-syllable words, with dipthongs that tumble like gravel in the throat. Not only does Albanian have northern and southern dialects, it also contains smatterings of Greek, Latin, Turkish and Slavik borrowed from its neighbors and occupiers throughout history. No wonder I struggle more than usual with basic greetings and numbers.

One aspect of the language that adds to the confusion is that, in Albania, yes means no and no means yes. Sort of. For starters, Po, which sounds like no, means yes, and Yo, which resembles the affirmative, means no. Difficult at first, but after a couple of days and more than a couple of missteps, even I learned yes and no in Albanian. And there was always the universal head nod to fall back on to clarify any misunderstanding. Easy enough, Po? Or rather, Yo!

Just when I felt I’d made tangible progress, I discovered nonverbal cues are not to be relied upon. Head movements that accompany yes and no in most other languages mean the opposite in Albanian. Albanian people shake their head side-to-side to mean yes, and nod their head up and down to mean no.  That explains why, after I confirmed my capuccino order with an attentive barrista, I received an espresso instead. Why a second carafe of raki and shot glasses appeared when I was already pleasantly intoxicated and ready to pay the bill. It also explains why the produce vendor indicated he had no cabbage as I admired a half dozen, dense, shiny heads that I could only conclude were reserved for some future customer.

I never realized how inherent head gestures are to communication until I tried to reverse my own. Shaking my head back and forth as I say yes feels as awkward as signing my name, left-handed, with a crayon. At times, my  attempts at Albanian head motions are so subtle, they go undetected. Other times, I overcompensate, with my head movements vigorous and circular, like a wet dog shaking itself. Finally, I resolve to hold my head neutral and stationary. I find this equally clumsy, even impossible, and as unnatural as running with my arms plastered to my sides.

Until now, I’ve relied on gestures and facial expressions (and Susanne) to overcome my language deficiencies. Not so in Albania, where nonverbal language is a duplicitous friend who purchases twice the number of persimmons requested, who waves off the summoned taxi, and who transforms a pleasant buzz into whirling intoxication. Fortunately, Albanian people are patient, good-natured and forgiving. Still, before pursuing business or romance in Albania, it’s best to practice some neck exercises in front of the mirror. And remember, no means yes.

The (In)famous Albanian Bunkers

One of the first things any newcomer to Albania notices is the weird concrete domes sticking up like grey mushrooms all over the landscape. They are defensive bunkers built of concrete and steel, buried half underground to withstand tank assaults. And they are literally everywhere.

Bunker at Mt. Dajti

Where did they come from and why were they built? They were Enver Hozha's paranoid project, and he forced his people to build over 700,000 of them.

In daily life, the bunkers are so ubiquitous that their novelty wears off within a week or two. Now, every time I come across one I have to remind myself that they are indeed bizarre structures.

Here is a link to an excellent 5 minute movie trailer about the bunkers:  http://blog.concrete-mushrooms.com/?page_id=130.  Created as a master's project by two Albanian graduate students studying landscape design in Italy, it's worth a watch. The archival video from one of Enver Hoxha's nationalistic speeches is quite chilling.

A bit creepy....

For myself, I find it easy to laugh at the little domes sticking up out of the open fields or parks. On the other hand, suddenly coming across a pod of them secreted in the woods is a bit creepy.

What must it have been like to live in a society where your leader repeatedly warned you that foreign attack was likely and imminent? Did people believe it or were they skeptical? I'd like to imagine that I would have been skeptical (as I was when our leader repeatedly warned us about weapons of mass destruction). But to be honest I don't know that the two situations are comparable. In the US, we have a free press and opposing political parties, which the Albanian people did not have at that time. Also we can travel freely and therefore often can see for ourselves whether what we've been told comports to reality on the ground.

Right in the middle of Tirana

In any event, it's clear that these bunkers aren't going away. They stand as a reminder - welcome or not - of a strange historical era.

Coffee Culture

Thomas Cook's travel guide to Albania explains that "[c]offee is the fuel that Albania really runs on, and you'll see people drinking it at all times of day." I would suggest that this description is actually an understatement. Tirane may have more coffee shops per block than Seattle (although Starbucks has not made inroads here).

"Let's have a coffee" is the most basic form of social interaction, right after "pleased to meet you." All throughout the day and well into the evening I see people in groups of two and four sipping espresso, smoking and chatting in the cafe-bars. Interestingly, I haven't seen people standing at the counter to down a quick cup as one often sees in Italy. Somehow I think that would be too perfunctory for Albanians.

And just to be clear, the ubiquity of the coffee bar is not limited to the big city of Tirane. Elsewhere in the country, a traveler must venture well off the beaten track to find a cafe-bar that doesn't have a large, well-used espresso machine proudly perched on the counter.

Okay, so the quantity is there - but what about the quality? Yes!  Most places serve the Italian coffee varieties, with Illy being a popular offering. And the people who run the machines are uniformly skilled in how to turn out a proper espresso.

Well, what about variety? Yes to that as well. Although most Albanians go with the standard espresso, all the usual formats are available, from Cappucino to plain-Jane "kafee filter." A special preparation is the "kafee turke" (Turkish style) which involves pouring hot water directly onto the ground coffee in the cup. Provided you wait for the grounds to settle before sipping, it's quite good. The resulting brew is thick enough that you almost could chew it.

Oh, and by the way, the concept of coffee "to go" is virtually unknown here. The closest thing I've seen to that is someone walking down the sidewalk carefully carrying two small porcelain cups containing espresso. Maybe that's why Starbucks hasn't bothered to move in - it's not set up to wash all those cups every day.  (It sounds as though I'm picking on Starbucks - actually I'm not - it's just that can't figure out why such a big company hasn't  tried to capitalize on this big market. Especially given the Albanians penchant for American culture).

One interesting consequence of the Albanian coffee culture is that few stores actually stock many coffee products for home consumption. I've found only one place that sells drip filters, and even the fancy Italian-import store in my neighborhood offers only one variety of ground coffee (a jumbo can of Illy espresso).

Note this bar is called "Cheers in Tirana"

Well, why bother brewing your own when in the time it would take to boil the water you can pop next door and get your caffeine at the same time you are catching up with neighborhood gossip? I think most people get their coffee from the local cafe-bar more often than they brew at home, and this seems like a neat tradition. It's so much more social than the way most Americans drink their coffee in the morning - either silently while reading the paper at home or in a paper cup in the car. Also, you don't see Albanians camped out at a coffee shop all afternoon peering intently into their laptops.

So here's to the good life, where people take a little time every day to sit with a friend, a loved one, or even alone, to enjoy a nice cup of coffee.

The Albanian Consumer

One of the interesting things about Tirana is the number of high-end fashion and housewares shops. There are dozens in my neighborhood, and they all have tasteful and ever-changing window displays. I'm not much of a fashionista, but even I recognize many of the designers' names. There are also many perfume and fancy make-up shops filled with expensive potions imported from Italy, France and beyond. Truthfully, the shopping here is orders of magnitude more cosmopolitan than in Anchorage. But as I follow my daily route from home to the park (for my run), from home to office, then office to store, and to gym, and home again I wonder - who buys this stuff? I seldom see anyone go inside these places. To me, they seem so chic and sterile.

But there's another kind of retail here that I find much more interesting. I don't know how to describe it - it's kind of like copyright infringement but with a twist. I think these pictures will give you the idea.

Fast food the American way

It's actually a bar...

This one's a little more subtle. The business is called "AFC" which stands for "Albanian Fried Chicken." The motto is "Albania's Best Chicken."

Not sure why the menu doesn't include fried chicken...

And for all you military buffs out there: