Dita e Verës (Summer Day)

Plum tree in bloom

Last Wednesday, roughly a week before the vernal equinox, Albania celebrated a national holiday called "summer day." All government offices and many shops were closed.

I was a little surprised on my run that morning to see crowds of people walking in and towards the city park. Normally at that time of day (6:30 am) the city streets are quiet and empty, and  only a handful walkers or joggers are seen in the park. But on this day, dozens of vendors already were laying out their wares on the main avenue in the park. Others were firing up grills to cook savory snacks for sale. I saw several park visitors happily yanking flower-laden branches off the park's mimosa trees (which about a week ago had burst into fragrant yellow blooms).

The municipality of Tirana marked the day by stringing colorful plastic flowers above the main avenue. (On Tuesday, I noticed that one of the bouquets was dangling precariously from one leaf, threatening to fall on cars passing below).

Happily, the city closed off the main street to vehicular traffic on Wednesday. By mid-morning pedestrians had flooded the avenue, walking back and forth and enjoying the fine weather.

There were so many walkers that even motorbikes could not squeeze in. (Motorbikes are not exactly considered vehicular traffic here. They frequently drive on the sidewalks and in the park, so they're more like a  hybrid between a pedestrian and a vehicle).
 

That day marked a turning point in peoples' minds. Even though temperatures are still dipping into the high 30s at night, I notice far more people walking and running in the park than the day before the holiday. All the cafes and coffee shops that offer outdoor seating have dragged out their tables and chairs. Everyone seems just a little bit more cheerful now that winter is gone.

Albanian Alpinists

This past weekend our friend Niko of High Albania organized a group to climb Mali i Gramozit, the fourth-highest peak in Albania (it's about 2500 meters, but the elevation gain is only about 1400 meters because the starting point is in the

Gramozit from Erseke (J. Carver photo)

foothills). Nevertheless, Gramozit is considered a fairly important peak to bag, so Niku invited other members of the Balkan mountaineering community to hike with us. Thus it came to pass that about 20 alpinists from all over Albania rolled into the small town of Erseke on Saturday night. Among those in attendance were representatives from the Berati club, and even a member of the club in Pristina, Kosovo.

It was an interesting group - even more interesting than usual. On the one hand we had people from Tirana who were brand-new to hiking. On the other hand we had guys who'd been fooling around in the mountains for years. As a person who herself has spent a fair amount of time fooling around in the mountains in Alaska, I was interested to compare notes with these guys (and the first thing I noticed is that they were all guys).

I learned that mountaineering clubs in Albania, while small, are quite dedicated. They even have members that they refer to as "coaches" or "trainers" who advise the less experienced ones. I noticed that many of the alpinists had technical clothing and mountaineering equipment such as ice axes and crampons. These are things that few Albanians own, even Albanian hikers.

One thing they didn't have was a map. A few had checked out the route on Google Earth. Although it's possible to get reasonably accurate GPS-downloadable maps of Albania, the guys in these clubs pretty much eschew that technology. As my new friend Blerim explained to me "We go by experience."

Ready for anything (J. Carver photo)

But I think the most interesting contrast for me was not about gear but or maps but about climbing style. All of the alpinists on this outing practiced what I would refer to as "expedition style" mountaineering, where you carry a very big, very heavy pack and trudge slowly and methodically to the summit.

I associate this style of mountaineering with multi-day treks to very high and remote peaks such as those found in the Himalayas. In the Alps and elsewhere in Europe, fast and light is the mantra. If you're fit enough, you can be up and down in a day or two, so why go heavy? Myself, I stand firmly in the fast and light camp, if for no other reason than because the joy drains out of me when I'm carrying a 50 pound pack. But more on that later.

Whiteout

The actual hiking was the usual Balkan muddle. The hotel owner overslept so we had to start our hike at 5:30 am without breakfast or coffee. Up on the mountain it was cold and really windy. Some of the footing was tricky due to wind slab and freeze-thaw. Then, it turned out that no one had actually ever climbed this peak before - or at least not within recent memory - so routefinding was an issue (no maps).

(J. Carver photo)

It was whiteout near the top. Most of the non-climbers turned back, although several hardy civilians from the High Albania group soldiered on to the summit.

Berati Mountain Club + 1 (J. Carver photo)

Back at the hotel after everyone was safely down, my fast-and-light style (and my gender) was a topic of discussion among the alpinists. I don't think they quite knew what to make of me, so I told them I'm from Alaska. That seemed to do the trick.

Relationships

I've struck up a relationship with a butcher near my apartment. He speaks to me in rapid-fire Albanian while I smile and gawp at the display case containing big trays of unlabeled meat cuts and whole lambs. Unlike other retail clerks in Tirana, he does not know a single word of English.  Plus, I think he speaks with some kind of accent, because even words I know sound different when he says them. About 90% of the time I have no idea what he's talking about. Truly it is a miracle that we are able to complete any type of retail transaction at all. I feel like an idiot every time I go there.

Why, then, would I continue to patronize this shop? Well, at this point I feel like we've both invested so much energy in our efforts to communicate that we would be losing all that if I switched butchers now. Plus, he is always so cheerful, and he doesn't display any hint of impatience with my incomprehension and slowness. And in a funny way, his refusal to slow down or speak more clearly is like a testament to his belief that I am indeed capable of communicating in Albanian. It's like a vote of confidence in my language skills. How can I walk away from that?


So the other day I upped the ante. My one and only kitchen knife had gotten so dull that I had to do something. I slipped it into my backpack and took it to his shop. He was happy to sharpen it for me on the spot, for free. After an awkward exchange about where the knife came from (at least I think that's what he was asking me), I smiled and thanked him. We didn't need words to appreciate the beauty of a perfectly sharpened kitchen knife.