…many things, but never boring.

I always say that Albania is many things, but never boring. I’m in a constant state of learning and observing, and still in many ways feel like I’m a child again, having to learn a way of living from the start. Even the simplest of dialogues is a lesson for me: what are people saying? How are they saying it? What gestures are they using, and what do they mean? Is the conversation formal or informal? Everything from the start. It should go without saying that a lot of things are confusing or amusing in their originality as I continue to learn.

My friend visited a couple weeks ago and we decided to spend the day on the beach. As we sat in our chairs and opened up our impossibly heavy umbrella, I saw an animal being led on a leash. I have worn my sunglasses most of the summer and it’s no secret that I can’t see anything without them. But even my sorry, glassessless eyes could make the creature out: “Is that a be…,” I started, before cutting myself off to say: “Yeah, that’s definitely a bear on a chain.” It struck us as the oddest thing, largely because people are afraid of dogs here, and the ones that have dogs often don’t leash them. So what is this bear doing, walking up the beachside? Later, my host sister told us it was completely normal. “You can get you picture taken with it,” she said. “There’s a snake, too.” I don’t even want to think about the insurance issues that would present if one of those walked up and down Wildwood.

Later that night is when the real fun began. We walked down the beachfront to one of my favorite restaurants, only to find out the only food they had was spaghetti or tortellini with frutti di mare. We asked for just plain spaghetti with sauce. Didn’t have it. Pizzas? No, they didn’t have them either. Exasperated, the wheels began turning. “Wait,” I said. “Are we supposed to believe that they put seafood sauce on all the pasta they cooked? Why not just leave some of the pasta plain? I don’t understand!” At this point, though, we should know better. It’s late in the tourist season and menus are never what they seem, so I guess we shouldn’t have been so surprised. Instead of eating chopped up seafood, we left for another restaurant.

Mid-way through our meal, an adjacent table of middle to late middle aged men sent us a round of beers. At this point, I jokingly remarked that I liked “the one in the yellow shirt.” A few minutes later, they sent us over a round of ice creams, after which my host sister had to walk over to the table and thank them personally. Things got kicked up a notch when Yellow Shirt got up and walked over to the table. Kate told me that my chance had arrived. Yellow Shirt asked me for a dance, and when I rejected him several times even though he continued persisting and saying please, he said he’d be offended if I didn’t dance with him. So there I am, Peace Corps Volunteer, breaking out moves that I learned at my eighth grade dance on some Albanian that easily could have been on a Centrum Silver ad. As we turned in circle after circle, it became harder to see Kate and my host sister, largely because they had their backs to me and their faces buried in their hands with laughter. My exclamation telling them that Yellow Shirt had stepped on my toes twice only made them bury their faces deeper.

And I repeat: Albania is many things, but never, ever boring.