Holy Week, Cordoba

Arlene and her Spanish counterpart, Paqi, booked us rooms in the Hotel Boston, where the Hassler family stayed several years ago. This time Tom and Arlene would have the front room, overlooking the central plaza, where the parade routes converge and the city hot-shots sit to watch. The square was almost constantly full people, tourists and locals, drinking cappuccinos and people-watching; at night a few more thousand folks flooded in, perhaps because the rest of the parade route was already overflowing with families.


Morning cappuccinos in the square

An astonishing number of mothers with prams were present, which caught my attention because of the absurdity of bringing such a large and cumbersome device to an event this crowded (seriously? Would you walk around a football stadium with a hoola hoop around your waist? Freaking annoying). Also, I thought new parents switched to the baby backpack thing, which frees your hands and eliminates sidewalk hassles? I guess not. Prams: they’re back, make note of it.


Who wants to drag a stroller through this crowd??


Only room for Jesus on these streets

On the topic of Holy Week processions, I was kind of indifferent to seeing it. I thought, well ok it’s so famous it might be fun to see, but then they wear these KKK costumes and I absolutely abhor Catholicism, so…. However I kept myself happily entertained the entire time, taking photos and practicing with my new lens. [Yeah new lens! Sigma 70-200 Macro Zoom!!] It seems like local people are dedicated to keeping this tradition, but that in general there are fewer devotees rushing to the floats and prostrating/kissing the icons like they did even a few years ago. Also, most of the balconies were empty, a shame because they really have the best views.


Imagining the Inquisition....


Float bearers sizing each other up

Cordoba has several famous buildings, including the Alcazar and the Mezquita/Cathedral, both grandiose Moorish structures. Outside the Alcazar is a simple park packed full of palm trees, giving the allusion of an oasis, where one of the parade route starts and horse-drawn carriages await tourist to fork out 40 euro for a city loop.


Children collect balls of wax outside the Alcazar

Behind the Alcazar there are immaculately landscaped gardens, fountains and pools, where men snap pictures of their wives and children and families rest under the shade of nearby trees. By this point in the trip I had fallen in love with Moroccan/Spanish elegance—the tiles, flower-filled courtyards, paradisiacal gardens…


View of gardens from the Alcazar tower


That's me in the gardens!

I think I can appreciate Mexican architecture a bit more (certainly their food! Where’s the spice??), but I’d like to see more of the cultural chain upwind, to learn about what influenced Morocco (must trace back to the Umayyad Caliphate at least). Maybe we’ll swing through Damascus on our soon-to-depart bike voyage…?


Typical Spanish courtyard, I hope to someday return for the Cordoba Patios Festival when the courtyards become a public artwalk...!


By far the funniest picture of Team Hassler (inside the Alcazar)


About to tuck in to some delicious Andalusian soups, gazpacho (cold tomato) and ajoblanco (white almond), but enjoying mugs of sangria for now...

The enormous and uniquely designed Mezquita/Cathedral remains in the heart of the city, surrounded by a maze of narrow alleyways, restaurants and trinket-filled shops. Inside the Mezquita (The Great Mosque) is full of dizzying rows of red and white stripped arches, an entirely unique décor from the Islamic world.


Time-worn arches...


Juxtaposing Islamic and Christian decor

After the Umayyads fell from power in and around Cordoba (circa 11 century), the mosque was converted to a cathedral, so that both faiths can be seen to juxtapose against one another at every turn. Oddly enough, we arrived late in the afternoon and were barred entrance because of a “leetel problem” (as told by one of several police officers arriving suddenly); the next day we learned that a large group of Muslims organized a massive prayer group inside the mosque, but I don’t think they got to see it through.


The Mezquita/Cathedral is enormous... and apparently heavily guarded

One of the inspirations to visit Spain was to meet up with Arlene’s good friends, Enrique and Paqi, and their daughter, Maria. They have been friends for many years, but it’s been years since the Hasslers have gone to visit (maybe even since the last time they took the boys to celebrate Holy Week). They welcomed us to their home and served us delicious homemade Spanish foods like tortillas (actually a potato omelet) and sangria (sold in bottles, like Coke and Fanta!).


I'm amazed Americans can fit through Spanish doorways


Easter picnic with Enrique, Paqi, Maria, and Raul

We met them for several meals, including a picnic, dinner near the Alcazar, a seafood lunch, and for a trip to the archeological park outside of Cordoba, palace of the once-thriving Umayyad Caliphate. The remains are only ruins, but the museum is full of interactive digital TVs that illustrate maps of the history of the Islamic Empire in Spain, how the palace was built, and recreations of what it looked like centuries ago.


Once the setting for the Umayyad Caliphate of Cordoba, Medina Azahara


Tom and Chris among the moorish ruins of Medina Azahara, outside Corboda

Each night leading up to Easter Cordoba’s streets flood with people; families, tourists, float-bearers, band members, costumed marchers from the parish, etc. Maria’s boyfriend, Raul, told us that each neighborhood’s church is assigned a time slot where they can parade their float through the crowd, all ending up at the central square. Chris and I spent the evenings wandering, photographing and sketching, and sometimes indulging in mint chocolate ice cream cones while drinking in the scenes.


Night time view from Tom and Arlene's room

Viaje a España!

After 6 hours of sporadic bits of sleep, our bus rolled in to Sheshi Skanderbej at 4 in the morning, before the sun and people crept out of their slumber. Chris and I sat with our backpacks and boxes in a nearby café, nursing overpriced tea, to keep warm and try to pass the time before our 11 am departure flight. As I stood later in the Rines Airport I realized that the first and last time I had been inside there was when we landed in Albania, almost exactly 2 years to the day before. How much my view has changed! Albania is my home now, so comfortable and well-known to me; it strikes an emotion I could never have imagined as an incoming volunteer…

Our tiny jet plane touched down for a few hours layover in Munich which, awesomely, is well stocked with free tea and coffee kiosks alongside English newspapers. Thank you Lufthansa! To pass the time Chris indulged in a hearty German beer, braut, and salty pretzel— a mere sampling of staples from a country we could only see through the window.


Next time you're in Munich... look for these!


Take my picture so I can drink already!

Next stop—Madrid! Arlene and Tom were waiting, camera in tow, to meet us in the arrivals terminal late that night. Tom and Chris methodically stuffed our boxes into the rental car and took off for a 2 hour drive to Segovia, arriving at the dead of night, and checked into a hotel overlooking the ancient and enormous Roman aqueduct.


Midnight arrival= distinct atmosphere

We had swerved off the highway for a minor detour in La Mancha (memorialized in Don Quixote), where a row of now-motionless windmills hover silently on a hill, jutting out of a wide valley plane. There’s a castle nearby, but it paled in comparison to the giant white structures and the harvest moon rising above the horizon…


Don Quixote windmills of La Mancha


Windsurfing, literally


Moonrise over La Mancha

In the hotel, Tom and Arlene managed to score the honeymoon suite, and generously shared their complementary fruit platter (skewered in refined wooden sticks, packed on styrofoam, and wrapped in cellophane… ack! excuse the cynicism, I will try to refrain… ) as we excitedly chattered about our flights and caught up on the last few months of each other’s lives.


View from Arlene and Tom's hotelroom


Segovia's Roman Aqueduct, over 2000 years later and it still works!

In the morning we drew back our curtains for a front row view of the aqueduct over the plaza, already teeming with people. We spent the day exploring the town, mostly wandering the Old Quarter roads that lead up to the castle. Supposedly, Segovia’s castle is the inspiration for Disney’s Cinderella castle. It looks so much like the cartoon version that it’s almost comical to me; I subconsciously expected fairy dust to start sprinkling from the sky any moment…


Segovia's Disney castle


Looking back at Segovia from the castle towers

Thank goodness Arlene speaks Spanish. Tom, Chris, and I were handicapped as a bunch of foreign shmucks almost completely at the mercy of the intermittent server with whom we could relay our questions or desires. Arlene patiently translated every menu and conversation for us. After the castle excursion, we stopped for lunch at a popular restaurant offering special cuisine from the once-thriving Jewish community. Our first official Spanish meal practically punched us in the face with the truth of tapas portions and gourmet ingredients. Also that when you order suckling piglet (cochinillo asado), as Chris did, you will actually be served a baby pig chopped in half and roasted. I got lucky with the stuffed eggplant. :)


Team Hassler in front of the Aqueduct

That evening we moved to Jaen, a somewhat off-the-radar city in a good location between Granada and Cordoba. Next morning we drove to Granada, a bustling tourist destination and home of Al-Hambra, the famous palace of the Moorish royalty. The palace grounds are full of elaborately decorated buildings and gardens to wander, amazingly carved and tiled walls, fountains and pools.


Patio de los Arrayanes inside Al-Hambra


El Partal

After a full day of exploring, digitally capturing everything I possibly could, and occasionally basking in the sunshine, we piled into the car and headed back to Jaen for a midnight dinner at a bustling seafood restaurant, well known for their giant steamed shrimp (or were they miniature lobsters?). We would see a lot of seafood in Spain.


Al-Hambra's decor, teeming with intricate carvings and colorful tilework


Gardens inside the Palacio de Generalife, summer palace of the Emirate of Granada

After a morning stop at Jaen’s castle and drinks in the elaborately restored parador café, our troupe crossed Spain’s southern half to Cordoba, through an endless expanse of olive groves-- did you know more than 10% of the world’s olive oil is produced in Spain?? It’s a pretty remarkable landscape, however impossible to really capture from a moving car window. :)


Morning fuel at the parador


Inside Jaen's parador (state hotel)


Out on a ledge, peeking at Jaen and endless olive groves...

Fest i Vogel in Thane, and COS

On our way to COS, Chris and I stopped in Cerrik for a few nights with our host family, the Cepa’s. The timing happened to fall near Chris’ birthday, so they planned a little dinner party and once again we got treated to a delicious feast and endless “Gezuars!” with our gjyshja and babi. And our gjyshja’s sister too!


Cepa's + 2. We fit right in.

The first night was actually quite slow; we sat around with everyone except for Babi, who was on a late night trip back from korce, where he drives a furgon each day. He didn’t come home until 2:30 am. The only excitement came when our aunt and uncle rushed their son to the hospital, worried because he began throwing up. He had been hit in the stomach by a football earlier in the day, so they figured perhaps he ruptured an organ or something. Turns out he had gotten food poisoning from a hamburger. But that sudden fright spoiled the mood of the night, we decided to celebrate Chris’ b-day the following night, and ate a quiet dinner with Mami, the girls, and Serxhio.

Chris and I took a walk to our nearby training town of Cerrik the next day, literally strolling down Memory Lane. It’s still a muddy journey to a crumbling town, a little depressing to be honest. Although I think that had to do with the gloomy weather. Chris got a shave at his favorite barber, then we sat for a coffee at Friends and watched the townsfolk pass by. We tried in vain to find our old friend’s house, but his neighbors didn’t know who we were searching for. I think he took off for Greece…

Mami also re-taught me how to roll out the paper-thin layers of dough necessary to bake byrek. I’d judge her byrek as by far the best in Albania, but I’m probably a little biased. It’s quite labor-intensive (thank goodness we can simply *buy* phyllo dough!) and can range from pak vaj to very oily! My favorite is byrek with egg and tomato, or the tried-and-true spinach. (Think: spanikopita)



Learning from the best. Expect lots of byrek from me at future pot-lucks....!

So in the evening we stuffed ourselves with fshatar specialties, followed by a truly Albanian style birthday cake. I think this picture sums up the event:


Gezuar Ditelinja per Ti!


When we say Dig in! We really do mean it....


That's our gjyshja, Gezuar-ing to Chris with a glass of homemade raki

Next morning we packed up our bags and headed out toward the “highway”. We got stuck for awhile in the pouring rain and hail, eventually catching a north-bound bus to COS.


*C O S*

That’s Close of Service, our last Peace Corps sponsored conference for Albania’s G11 volunteers. The conference was held in Plepa, a small seaside town outside the larger city of Durres, and inside a hotel resort modeled after Club Med. High walls and low-key guards surround the compound, with manicured lawns full of creepy metal playground equipment, an enormous pool and gazebo, a nearby stretch of beach… February is not the time of year to be there—icy wind tossed the waves into an army of whiteheads—but it was a kind gesture on the part of PC staff to give us a pleasing and comfortable location.


Birthday boy! Can't say he's not loved...!

Unlike many volunteers, I really enjoy conferences—a chance to get together with friends I haven’t seen in months, free communal meals, comfortably warm rooms and showers—but this one was probably the best. The sessions were short and fun, mostly focusing on PC check-out logistics and sharing plans for what people will do once they leave. Lots of reminiscing: a slideshow of photos from throughout the service, a photo contest (I didn’t submit and was kicking myself afterward), one cribs video (from Becca in Peshkopi, link on her blog site), a comedic How-to-Readjust video from a former volunteer, and a debut of a Thanksgiving horror film we made in November. We’re very media-friendly.

Some volunteers also helped arranged fun activities, like the COS Olypic Games. Contests included Raki-Tasting, Fshatar Salad Assembling, Xhiro (as well as best Onlooking-Cuni Impersonators), Seed Spitting, Lighting-a-Candle-in-the-Dark Race, and Blind Texting.


Those with strong stomachs sampled various flavors of raki...


Amy showing off her refined salad-making skills


I failed miserably at Blind Texting...


Struggling to find AND light the candles.. while blindfolded


Chris competed in the Seed Spitting Competition


A crowd of rowdy onlookers waits for groups of xhiro-ing girls

It felt pretty surreal to say goodbye when we still have a few months of service left. Chris and I are staying through the end of July, so we can hardly think about leaving now, but some people take off as soon as mid May. I’m not looking forward to this silent emptying of volunteers. We’ll have a few more parties before then (birthdays, beach camping, perhaps even a train ride) but I know eventually my friends will one by one disappear from their sites, their phones no longer sending and receiving texts.


Sa bukur jemi! Two years in Shqiperi, look at us now!

I was having separation anxiety a few months ago—already nostalgic for life in Albania and missing some of the truly fabulous people I have met here. We’re like family! One night I dreamt that I was in a ginormous American grocery store and I felt compelled to make a persimmon pie, but couldn’t find fresh fruit anywhere. I suddenly, desperately needed to find a market—my market—but something was prohibiting me from returning to Albania. I kept yelling I want to go home! I have to go home! and someone was explaining that I could never go back. I woke up completely depressed and anxious.

I’ve since gotten over that.

It comes in waves—some days I’m totally nostalgic, trying to soak up as much as possible the commonplace scenes, oddities, people, and lifestyle of Shqiperia. Other times, I look at a situation and think, well whatever, I’m leaving this behind. I think I’ve jumped a wall where I no longer feel the need to acclimate and consciously accept things; I just do. That’s the way it is. I guess that’s how life as a PCV is…


Our final group dinner goodbye, pizza and wine at a beach-side restaurant. Gezuar G11!

GM Cleanse anyone?

The week, following doctor’s orders not to move, stretch, exercise, or sweat, lest the stitches will rip or infection could set in, Monica and I decided to try out the GM cleanse one of the MAC PCVs raved about. Supposedly, (pause, nod) supposedly GM commissioned the FDA in the 1970’s to research a diet to recommend to their employees in order to improve their quality of life and performance. Supposedly it’s based on some long-used Indian ideology. [That’s what I’m told, but it must be a lie because days 5 and 6 of the cleanse you are instructed to eat nothing but hamburgers and tomatoes, something I bet they would never dream up in India.]

I’ve never done a cleanse, or fasted before, though have heard from numerous people how good it is to clear out your body and start fresh, so I’m intrigued. I don’t think real fasting (or any of these wack lemon-juice-with-cayenne-pepper binges) would work with me—I get super grumpy when I’m hungry. But a cleanse that allows as many fruits and vegetables as I want doesn’t seem hard. And it wasn’t! The first few days are fruits or vegetables, or both, which I really enjoyed and wasn’t hungry. The only downside is that for the moment, our winter supply is limited, so the only fruits available are mandarins, oranges, kiwis, and hit-or-miss mealy apples. Which don’t really satiate. It got a little tough by days 5 and 6 (a vegetarian version of the fast calls for 1 cup rice with tomatoes, hardly the equivalent of 5 quarter-pounders), though I was really getting clever at baking fruits and broiling vegetables. [Try it! Pop some salted spinach or leeks into the oven on high and they are almost like chips!]


Meghan and Alexi just after the candles

The last days were especially rough because I went to Delvine for the weekend to celebrate Alexi and Meghan’s birthdays. Monica threw a proper party, cooking up delicious cheese enchiladas, Alexi made a chocolate rocky road cake, Lauren baked cookies, and afterward Mon made a cheesecake. Torture! We couldn’t have anything but some of the rice and beans, and everything looked and smelled so enticing. We still had a great time, though the rainy weather crashed our plans to play games outdoors and smash a piñata. We mostly sat around talking, then walked around town [not far-- “town” in Albania means perhaps 3 streets] and watched some movies. Alexi performed minor surgery on Monica’s back by removing her stitches, but couldn’t take mine out because as it turned out the skin had grown over them. :) Alexi is really our jack-of-all trades. She studied graphic arts but surprises me all the time with her random medical knowledge and wide range of skills.


Group walk in the park--- working off all that chocolate cake!

Allan and I headed back over the mountain pass to Gjirokastёr on Sunday afternoon, caught off guard by the overnight snowfall. Up in the mountains it’s understandable, but I was startled when the snowing didn’t let up, even as we pulled into the lower city. I hiked up the slippery streets as medium-sized chunks of ice drifted down overhead, and hurried indoors to find Chris working next to the heater. We spent the afternoon there together, Valentine’s Day!, reading and writing, just staying cozy. In the evening we decided to bear the cold for a night out to dinner, our favorite pizza place just down the hill. Actually, we shared this ‘romantic’ evening with our sitemate, Greg, followed by a failed attempt to find dessert (the entire town and all the shops it seemed were closed, undoubtedly people were taking cover at home) after which we instead found ourselves at a quiet café.


Group shot 'downtown Delvine'
Left to right: Courtney, Meghan, Monica, Allan, Alexi, Lauren, and Ben

So all in all, a funny and unconventional week. Oh yes I forgot to mention that we had two separate couchsurfers come stay with us—one biker from France and Greek university student from Corfu. They had to put up with our silly, cold house and my insistence on this strange cleanse. I did learn two productive things from the GM experience though; one, that after a week of super fibrous foods and little to no fat, refined carbs, dairy, or protein, my body didn’t feel any “cleaner”, more like “weaker”. And two, I feel really crappy when I don’t eat protein, without energy and depressed. As a vegetarian I am skilled at creating protein-rich meals, with vegetables as an essential ingredient, so I’ll stick with that, thank you.

Medevac to Macedonia

Two weeks ago I hopped on a furgon heading up to Elbasan, glad to escape my chilly, dreary town. OK, now I love Gjirokastёr—such a charming, historic place with erratic cobblestoned streets, aging stone houses (hoping to be restored, but alas so many have crumbled from neglect and harsh winters already), and steep hills offering majestic views of the valley below. And of course the castle! Ours is the second largest in the Balkans, built sometime in the 14th and 15th centuries (on top of more ancient foundations) and expanded by the local oligarch, Ali Pasha, in the 1800’s. It serves as a towering backdrop to the city, all at once overbearing and yet sometimes I’m surprised that it can become invisible to me. Well, in the summer of course the town is flourishing; grape vines dripping globules of black sugar across front yards and side streets, tourists meandering the Pazar and museums of the Old Town, sporadic folk concerts blaring through the night…

However, in the winter, frigid wind and pouring rain (and snow! Valentine’s Day brought large chunks of falling ice!) dominate every moment of my thoughts. My house is like a refrigerator, I spend torturous moments crawling into frosty clothes and waiting for my body to adjust to the inner temperature of my sleeping bag. Work is also very slow in the midst of such weather. No one (including me) really wants to get out and tackle projects, and anyways on very cold or rainy days the schools close early due to lack of heating, so our lessons seem forever postponed. My coworkers and I huddle near the heaters, our minds numb, and count down the minutes until they can rush home to their wooden stoves and I trudge wearily home. For several days a week I began going to my neighbor (Athina)’s house under the pretense that I would help her daughter practice English. 95% of the time we simply sit around talking in Shqip, always with a feast of fruits and figs and walnuts (our favorite, dubbed “Viagra” because they give you energy) laid out, and I often bring a book or work on my computer.

In this lull, I took the opportunity to schedule a doctor’s appointment in Skopje, to get a mole removed from my back. I’ve had it years, without any problems so far, but I know some day I will have to get it removed. [I’ll preface this with an apology for exploiting the government health care I’m covered under, stressing the system with my petty procedure.] I’d seen a dermatologist in Tiranё about it, but apparently there are no surgeons qualified to take it off, thus PC sent me to Macedonia’s nearby capital.

Actually, I didn’t go alone. Two volunteers joined me for the journey, just 3 nights there with 2 days traveling on each end. Monica and I traveled up through Elbasan because the Gjiro-Korce road was blocked by snow, so we stayed in Librazhe, with Amanda and my former semi-sitemate, Seth. He recently relocated sites and is missed dearly in the south, so it was nice to see his new pad. The next morning, Mon and I took a furgon to the border, the road winding up in the mountains and vastness of white blankets sparkling like a winter wonderland. Snow piled 2 feet high; we giddily and very carefully waddled our way between ‘no man’s land’ sections to get our passports stamped. From there, a taxi to Struga, the Albanian town some kilometers away, then the national bus up to Skopje.


Crossing the Qafe Thane border

Eventually our bus pulled in to Skopje, unexpectedly warm and sunny. We found our hotel and headed to the Macedonian Peace Corps office to meet their staff and to check in with the plans they had arranged. It’s so interesting to compare and contrast offices, the life and ‘home base’ we could have had if the dice rolled astray. Their staff is also incredibly friendly, maybe it’s a Balkan thing? From there we met with Will, our third operatee, and some MAC PCVs that arranged a large group dinner with us at a local Chinese restaurant. [I detest Chinese food from the States, and from China and Asia for that matter, but somehow LOVE it Balkan style, weird.]


Eating Chinese food with MAC PCVs

I’d visited Skopje last summer, with Chris, but didn’t really appreciate it. I felt it was an ugly capital city with only shopping in mind (there are dozens and dozens of malls) and a sadly discarded Turkish Quarter. However, this trip the city grew on me. Will, Monica, and I explored the fortress, perused the Turkish Quarter, and hit it off with a man restoring archaeological pieces displayed in the han. Next door at the National Ethnographic Museum we were wowed by an impressively curated series of displays, very well preserved and organized. The similarities between Albanian and Macedonian ways of life and culture are not surprisingly alike, both having originated in pastoral societies with comparable climates. My favorite thing about the museum was the large black and white photographic prints, depicting life through the early 20th century. Having lived in Albania two years now, and visited some still-traditional villages, I can imagine their lives so clearly.


Will and me outside Skpoje's fortress entrance

We also took in the Mother Teresa memorial building. [there is a small placard in the middle of the central square denoting where her house once stood; the neighborhood was later razed to make way for the malls] MT was “Albanian by blood, but a citizen of the world”, though she was born in Macedonia. Both countries want to claim her, and while I am conditioned to believe people are of the nation they were born/raised in, I’ve learned that family blood is stronger than invisible and shifting borders in this region, so I guess I will accept her Albanian-ness. Despite the fact that she never stepped foot inside Albania.


Mon and me with Mother T!


Hanging inside the Mother Teresa House. "I have always kept close to my heart the Albanian people..."

The actual procedure at the doctor’s office went fairly smooth. Monica went before me, with assurances that it was quick and painless. It was indeed painless; they numbed my back and I couldn’t feel any real sting. But despite my best efforts to stop from visualizing the doctor slicing and cutting away at me, my inner wimp took over and I couldn’t help it. And then when the stitches began I tried so hard to NOT envision myself as a ragdoll, en par with Coraline, and with waves of nausea I became dangerously close to throwing up all over the table. I’m no good with medical stuff, fare!

The next day we took off, back across the border. It was a bit tricky because we wanted to take the Korce-Gjiro road, allowing us to stay with a friend in Erseke, a small town tucked away in the mountains. She’s pretty isolated there, especially with the roads closed and very few nearby PCVs to visit, so we took the chance that we’d get lucky and the bus would run. Arriving very late in the night (we had to pay a kid from town to put chains on his tires and take us out there, but what choice do we have at that point?) our friend, Marie, or MAH-ree a la Françoise, welcomed us with homemade onion soup and freshly baked sugar cookies. We snuggled up to her wooden stove and caught up on the latest, then all passed out early in her living room.

In the morning Monica and I, very adventurously I must admit, braved the long, isolated journey into the high mountains toward home. It’s a long, tiring journey. Absolutely breathtaking in the spring and summer, but I think a little frightening at this time, with dead and barren landscapes. We did eventually make it home safely; I hiked up the hill to my house and spent the evening with Chris, curled up on the floor next to the kalorifer.