This morning I spent time revisiting areas I had previously only seen in the dark- the beautiful Et'hem Bey mosque, the statue of Skanderberg, and generally tried to absorb the atmosphere of the place, which at first sight, appears to be throwing itself wholeheartedly into the new economic regime.
Where exactly all these Mercedes come from is a slight, well, niggling worry. Albanians, though seem friendly enough- one took my photo with the statue of Skanderberg, the national hero; old ladies looked confused as children played on mini electric cars- I went on a ferris wheel to watch the square revolve around me.
This being a national holdiday due to yesterday's beattification of Mother Theresa, the world's most famous Albanian/Kosovar, all the museums were shut, but an art gallery had a pungent message of its own (see top photo on the right), which I can only think is an ironic comment. There were a few Stalinist-type statues, including, I believe one of Enver Hoxha in a little garden next door, with a pilfered igloo-like bunker decorated with lace for effect. I was beginning to enjoy myself and found myself liking Albania very much.
Last night, I had gone to the Palace of Culture and found that part of it had been converted into a bingo hall, where bored middle-aged men were trying to make their fortune- Albanians have been victims of pyramid schemes, losing life savings in illusory savings schemes, so it's not surprising that something as relatively safe a bet as bingo should be popular. Nowadays, all the banks have guards in sentry boxes outside them. I suppose it's a new kind of bunker mentality,
After finding an Albanian flag to add to my collection, I went down to the former Enver Hoxha museum where a trade fair was taking place: the usual bits of tat, and some furniture sellers were plying their wares where once the life of the leader of the workers' paradise was extolled.
I walked down a colourful avenue named after another former leader, King Zog I, to the bus station and decided, in the absence of museums, to visit Durres, on the Adriatic coast, the port of embarkation for the thousands who left Albania as soon as the former regime collapsed. The town felt dusty and tired initially, but again, I warmed to it- the Byzantine city walls which, so Lonely Planet tells me were built after the visigoths paid a visit in AD 481, and there were remains of Roman baths and an ampitheatre to see.
I had a guide all to myself again, who spoke Italian, so I could vaguely follow her discourse about the history of the place. My Italian is really just a smatterazione but it has really helped in the same way that German did in Croatia and Bosnia- just to be able to communicate a little has been a blessing, and as I looked up at the grassed tiers of seats of the ampitheatre, we spoke about how apt it was that Albania and England had once formed part of the same empire. It will be a while before the two are part of the same union, but I hope it does happen; these people deserve any stability they can get, and if the EU can help with that, all to the good.
I decided to take the train back to Tirana, partly because it is the only continental rail service not to be linked to another country's services (although a goods line runs up to Podgorica), and also because I wanted to take some photos of the famous bunkers in situ that Enver Hoxha had peperred across the countryside should the country be invaded. As Tito had had aspirations to include Albania in Yugoslavia, perhaps he can be excused this paranoia.
I wasn't disappointed, and was also impressed by the number of houses being built in the countryside. There were no worries about the Green Belt here, and I ventured the thought that had South East England been similarly bunkered, they would probably now be on sale for �100k as starter homes. "Delightfully appointed igloo-style studio flat in the Albanian bunker style"- I can just see the estate agents' windows now.
The train journey ended at Tirana station which was unmarked and had cows wandering across the tracks. I don't suppose that any marking was really required- every Albanian would know where they are. "Tirana-nightlife!" my driver had said yesterday, his eyes aglow. "Tirana- sigura." And yes, I do feel oddly secure here. How strange.
a bunker in Durres now used as a plant pot
