Dita e Falenderimeve

One of the goals of Peace Corps is to share American Culture with the Host Nation. The greatest opportunity to do this is through American Thanksgiving. It is also the time of year that most volunteers get extraordinarily homesick. An interesting correlation between Albania and the USA is that Albanian independence is celebrated at the end of November, and for good measure Albania has two holidays to celebrate, Independence and Flag Day which is on the 28^th of November, and Liberation Day (celebrating the ousting of the Italians and Germans during World War II to be exact,) on the 29^th. With the official Albanian Holidays celebrated around Thanksgiving, it gives Peace Corps Albania Volunteers time off for what I would call an extended 14 day long progressive American feasting extravaganza throughout the country. Most volunteers have at least two T day meals if not more.

Last year I went to Permet to celebrate the weekend before the T Day, and then celebrated again in Berat with local volunteers at Antonio’s. He went off to another site afterwards and gorged there. With my newly earned position at the Culinary High School, I thought it would be fun to have a combined event with local Peace Corps Volunteers cooking with the students to make a traditional American Thanksgiving meal we could all share together. I based this event on an experience I had in Moscow in 1993 with Earthstewards and Peace Table, where all participants cooked their respective dishes together in one glorious chaotic kitchen to create a buffet of the world.

I had given the heads up to the local (and not so local) volunteers months in advance as I knew people mapped out their Thanksgiving gastro tours quite early in the season and wanted to make sure I had enough Americans to guide the experience. I also set about trying to forage ingredients, as things such as cranberries, yams and other traditional favorites were not exactly available at the local supermarkets. It actually took months of planning, creating recipes, translating into both metric and Albanian. The event also involved intense investigative work, especially in Tirana, where things such as fresh cranberries and pecans might make a one time appearance, but only to the pure of heart and opened of eyes to find. I am sure I snatched up the only two bags of fresh cranberries in the entire nation, of which I immediately froze in preparation for my fresh cranberry sauce recipe. 

Yams or sweet potatoes in Abania are more expensive than beef. I had to purchase one a week, for about two months, because the amount I needed would have blown my entire food budget for several cycles. I calculated that the candied sweet potatoes cost me about $20 in total, and since my entire months food budget was about $100 you can see this was quite an extravagance. The lone seller in Berat where I could purchase the yams always gave me some tips on how healthy they were, full of vitamin C and also high in fiber, whe would always say while weighing the yam and telling me how expensive it was. I am sure I was her only customer, and she was so enthusiastic when I kept buying them, I did not have the heart to tell her I heard her yam-spiel about 7 times already.

Negotiating the kitchen at the school and the students I feel prepared me to do nuclear arms treaties in the future. For those familiar with the culinary world, instructors and chefs are quite a bit like actors, and the kitchen is their stage. Egos and territories had to be navigated with the greatest of care. The concept of having students sign up for a “dish” was also way beyond the experience of organization that these lovely instructors were used to implementing. Numerous emails, conversations and basic American bluster was applied to create the actual experience. My last hurdle was the main event: the turkey.

I am not sure when this very American of birds was imported to Albania, but it has been a mainstay of major Albanian Holiday meals for at least a century. While November in the States features specials in terms of “buy x amount of groceries, get a free or discounted Turkey” here in Berat, I knew it was the holidays when the local turkey farmer herded his wares in front of the main mosque. In stead of coupons, the turkeys pranced about spreading their tail feathers like peacocks to anyone who looked their way. I mused that the turkey sale might be a fundraiser for this particular congregation. I asked the director of the culinary high school if he thought it was a good idea to have a live turkey brought to the school and have the students learn to slaughter and tress it as a skill building lesson. He immediately called Albana the head culinary teacher, to see if she liked this idea, she said yes, she would be happy to lead the kill. My next step was to figure out how to get a live turkey to the school. I asked one of my teachers at the High School if he knew any turkey farmers who would be willing to come to the school on a certain day and time and answer questions regarding his vocation. We secured the date, the teacher agreed to drive him to the event, agreed upon a ball park price, and Albana said she would take over the rest of the “lesson.”

I then produced sign up sheets for the students. I found it most interesting that the girls were the ones clamoring to slaughter the turkey. I also emailed all the Peace Corps volunteers asking them to sign up to lead the cooking for a “dish” and that they would be responsible for a large portion of the ingredients. I provided the cranberries, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie mix, mustard and pickles, the rest was provided by the other volunteers.

Getting permission for volunteers to come to Berat for this experience was mind numbingly complicated. For some reason, sector directors did not see the value in the project, even though I had announced it will full explanations, sent out proposals, detailed instructions, wrote letters on behalf of volunteers to be excused for work leave, and so on. There are mysteries of life, and why staff did not think this met Goal Two will always be one of mine. Numerous volunteers were not given permission to come. Some had already used up their leave days, so that was not an option. At one point, I honestly thought it would be just me an Antonio leading the charge, but enough of the Americans were able to muster up permission that it was a success.

The night before the event, the Americans started to arrive in Berat. I hosted a Slow Food Permet member as well as Laurelin Haas, the PCV from Permet. Laurelin is what one would call perfect in every positive sense of the word. Brilliant, capable, fluent in Albanian and one of the most cheerful people I have ever met, I was so happy she was able to bring the Permet lady with her. We met with the future president of Slow Food Berat, Alma from Castle Park and in the discussions, Alma made some excellent business contacts with the producers in Permet. 

In preparation for the Thanksgiving project, I had already baked the yams, Antonio baked up some corn bread for the stuffing, and we assembled everything needed for the meal. I had printed out the recipes, and had the sign up sheets ready. I confirmed the delivery of the turkey, and prayed that somehow this would all pull off without too much stomach lining erosion on my part. Remember, I do not have a car and everything had to be transported to the kitchen, ingredients and such, in a caravan of volunteer bags and backpacks. Also, the kitchen is relatively new, and for some reason, very few items such as utensils are available, so I felt it necessary to bring things like bowls, whisks, vegetable peelers, pie pans, and the ever elusive but important measuring cups and knives the classroom seemed to lack at that point.

At 9 am we assembled at the kitchen, volunteers ready with their preassigned ingredients at hand. The faculty at the school completely ignored my sign up sheets and were busily assigning students to the stations while the Americans started setting up. I sent Connor and Kellen in search of the turkey farmer, mainly because it would be hard to miss someone wandering the streets of Berat with a live turkey, whose head would be peeking out of a box. They easily spotted him and brought farmer and turkey to the teaching kitchen. I will never get over how docile and resigned Albanian livestock is, the turkey seemed quite content to stand in the middle of the kitchen surrounded by humans with knives, while the farmer answered questions from the students. Then the moment of truth arrived, I was thankful that the slaughter took place outside on the playground, after which Albana and her gals efficiently plunked the headless bird in boiling water and proceeded to pluck the copious feathers away from the carcass.

Then the true chaos ensued. The students quickly spread to their stations, recipes in hand and looked to the bewildered volunteers for direction. Mind you, many of these brave volunteers had never cooked anything of substance in their lives, but I must say I was impressed with the effort. 

I had the from scratch mushroom casserole, where we had to make our own crunchy fried onions and cream of mushroom soup. I had also been gathering green beans for months as one can never count on availability of anything, blanching and freezing in preparation for this most traditional of American Thanksgiving side dishes (which by the way is my niece Olivia’s favorite, at least it was when I was allowed to celebrate the holiday with her years before the great family separation). 

Antonio corralled the stuffing station, making cornbread and sausage stuffing, as well as a traditional mushroom, celery and onion white bread stuffing. Please note that mushrooms and celery are not easy to find, and also the Albanians make their own version of cornbread stuffing sometimes called Pispilli (made of cornbread, leeks and other yummy things) 

 Connor was in charge of mashed potatoes, and it was his first ever attempt. 

Kellen the sweet potato casserole (he brought whole walnuts, but it was not a problem because the students expertly cracked them with various instruments so the walnut topping could go forward as planned sans shells)

Katie oversaw the creation of the most diligently produced cranberry and orange sauce ever made in the entire history of Albania.

Laurelin helped to create “stuffed eggs” since “deviled eggs” as a name for the dish would be a stretch for these conservative Orthodox Christian and Muslim students to own up to making. The students created their own relish from whole pickles, which also complicated the procedure, but they were delicious in the end.

Jenn labored with several teen girls over apple pie and pumpkin pie.

We invited an American expat, Jeff, who brought all the ingredients to make an Albanian fusion mac and cheese dish, using the famous fresh ricotta called Giz here in Berat, which usually is the stuffing for the buyrek pastry and roasted peppers. 

We left Albana to roast the turkey. She thought we had some sort of “American Way” of doing it, I told her no, not really, salt pepper and in the oven. It was the first turkey I had ever seen that had a waist line, but I guess that is what they actually look like when not pumped with hormones and salt water.

The event quickly became a cacophony of shouting of directions, sounds of chopping and stirring, peppered with “Stefania…” because of course I am the all knowing kitchen maven with all secrets to the mysterious making of American food. Most of what I did was try to guide the stirring and chopping, and watched from a distance the interactions between the students and the volunteers. Everything was humming, going along spectacularly well, kitchen fans whirring, pots boiling, ovens being opened and closed, and then, the inevitable Albanian experience happened: all the sudden the electricity went out and everything whizzed and hummed to a quick silent stop. At this point, I think if someone offered me raki, I would have gulped about a pint down with no hesitation. I thought, “oh, I forgot to ask if the electricity would be on……” it is always the thing you forget in Albania, to ask those questions and this particular one was not on my list……. My bad….

I simply took a deep breath, mainly because the turkey was already dead and everything was half cooked. What could you do? I wanted to start laughing hysterically, but felt it would not exactly set the tone for the event. Luckily after about 20 minutes of relative silence, the fans started whirring again, and the oven lights flicked on……. I said a prayer that the electricity would last till the pies were done……

The major impression I enjoyed was watching the slow transition of the cranky culinary instructors who were criticizing every move and food, yelling at the students that they were doing it “wrong.” into the immediate experts on turkey doneness and what to do with the drippings. I felt a respect from the teachers I had in essence been battling to make the event happen. I also thoroughly enjoyed watching the Permet Slow Food representative immerse herself in the experience, helping Laurelin’s team with the stuffed eggs, and talking with the students about Slow Food. The interactions between the volunteers and students through their respective dishes was simply priceless, Connor was completely ignorant of the entire process but his students took over and he simply sat back, grinned and watched everything unfold. It was similar with Kellan. Katie’s charges took to stirring the cranberry sauce with military precision, while she sported a felt turkey hat that later was raffled off as a prize. Antonio is a serious cook, and he was instructing more efficient ways to slice celery rather than stalk by stalk. Jenn’s oil pie pastry shells and pumpkin filling were probably the most difficult, considering the electricity failure, the resulting creation was quite good, although she later remarked that the crust was on the brink of disaster.

I had suggested that the director invite the press, as Peace Corps always strives for visibility. They arrived, and I decided if I was interviewed, we would be there all day with my language skills. I asked Laurelin to speak to the cameras. Laurelin is of Chinese descent and Albanians have a difficult time comprehending that Americans come from all heritages. Laurelin spoke with ease about the American holiday, our project and the purpose of Peace Corps. As she went on with the interview, the kitchen started to get silent as the Albanian students were shocked that a “Chinese” girl could command the Albanian language so well. At the end of the interview, she got a standing ovation from the students. 

We raffled off the felt turkey hat, all the students had to do was write their names on a piece of paper and we would choose winners. The boy that won the turkey hat is a rather sweet and shy teenager. I knew he was an orphan who was living at the dorm, and I was so happy he won. We also raffled off a cloth American Flag decoration (left over from the Fourth of July) 

When all was said and done, the meal came out to be quite amazing. The skinny turkey was DELICIOUS, and quite juicy. Antonio and I made the gravy, and the dishes were put on a counter. I had wanted to have the meal in the demonstration restaurant, but due to those mysterious Albanian event gods, this was not meant to be. We ended up eating in the kitchen, descending on the meal like a swarm of locusts. I found a stool to sit on, but most everyone else stood to eat. I guess this is actually how professional kitchen staff do it, the students and volunteers did not seem to care. 

The Albanians did not like the cranberry sauce, and I had to fight to keep them from throwing away the unused sauce, (especially since it cost me about $16 to make.) They also did not like the sweet potatoes or white bread stuffing. The eggs, cornbread stuffing, mac and cheese and green beans were a hit, and of course, the turkey disappeared as everyone liked that dish the most. 

The students cleaned the kitchen and I assembled leftovers for Antonio, who was hosting an after lunch party at his flat. I went straight to bed after the ordeal, feeling like my life was complete and I could die that moment and be fully at peace. Since my brothers divorce, family gatherings have been all but impossible. This has been in stark contrast with how I was, we were raised. It was always a large family gathering to enjoy one anothers company, eating till bursting and laughing to the wee hours of the night. In the past years, I simply gave up trying to organize mainly because I got tired of being treated like I was a controlling bitch in need of being put in my place for wanting to spend time with my family around the table. Holidays since the divorce have been painful for me, as I have recently just spent them alone either on silent retreat or otherwise. This year was the first year I had experienced joy on Thanksgiving in a very long time. I felt the deep spirit of the holiday, of coming together to celebrate community, diversity and the abundant harvest around a collective table. I had come to Albania to heal my broken heart, and Thanksgiving 2018 was major reconstructive surgery that pretty much closed the gaping wound. I felt full of deep love, gratitude and joy at the delicious chaos of the day. I am not sure what next Thanksgiving will be, but this one I feel will last me to the end of my days.

Close of Service

The Lake at the City park of Tirana, Albania

Close of Service or COS as they call it in PC Lingo, "PC" which for those of us in Peace Corps, PC is not short for politically correct, COS simply means the letters for the series of events, forms to fill out and ceremony that ends service in Peace Corps. 

My last weeks in Berat were extremely hectic. We got a new volunteer at site, and Antonio and I were determined to help Logan integrate as much as possible. While our site mates were kind when we arrived, I must say, they were not exactly fountains of information, and were gone most of the time during our first months of service due to family obligations or vacation. Being the determined foodies that Antonio and I are, we forged out the best locations for specific condiments and bulk food items, where to get the best bread, and what sorts of vegetable stands would offer the most reasonable price. We were eager to share this hard won information with the new volunteer to ease his transition into everyday life in Berat. We also wanted Logan to have things to do after we left. One of the greatest challenges for volunteers is entering a new community. The lack of activities and isolation are fertile breeding grounds for depression and mischief, and I at least found that giving volunteers something to do improved their moods immensely. 

I spent much time with the new volunteer my last weeks in Berat, as well as with the new Health Volunteer in the neighboring town of Ura Vajgurore, handing off my projects of herbalism and Slow Food. I also was scrambling to finish my garden project, as I had a grant that needed forms to be filled out and receipts to account for spending. With all the tumult in the project, loosing our COD volunteer and the rupture in the PC community surrounding Berat, as well as my director terminating our relationship, I had to move all sorts of mountains to spend the money, get things built, planted and so forth in the warming weather that Spring offered. I was also frantically designing curriculum for a garden class for primary schools, and bribing a high school student with English books to do the translations. In the midst of this was Easter, Slow Food Events and closing down a household. 

Luckily I was living as an addition to a family residence, which meant I did not have to fuss with utilities or wifi or absent landlords. Peace Corps has fine tuned the entire process, with endless forms to fill out, which make sense in theory but adds an extra stress to complete in the midst of all the activities necessary to end a living situation in general. 

Because of the split in my relationship with my school assignment, I was not given any sort of goodbye celebration when I left Berat. It hit me that I also left the states without any sort of formal party, with few goodbyes there as well, so in a way, I was leaving as I had come, ignored and uncelebrated with no goodbye. I created somewhat of an event for myself on Orthodox Easter, inviting my Albanian friends to enjoy, along with some of the volunteers in the surrounding villages. This Spring has been quite capricious. One day it is 80 + degrees Fahrenheit and sunny, the next blustery winds and hail. We have had much rain, so my planned Easter Luncheon was a hopeful gesture, but Christ on his resurrection day created a stunning sunny warm afternoon and the event was a true joy to share with all the people I had journeyed with in this most unusual chapter of my life.

The joyful time drain in the midst of all the chaos was the much anticipated Game of Thrones final season premiere. One of the many things Antonio and I share is a great passion for Game of Thrones. We watched episodes together on pirated internet stations when we arrived a couple of years ago, and were both in agony awaiting the return of the series, and how the heck will it actually end.  To our absolute SHOCK, Logan had never seen an episode, luckily Antonio had the first four seasons on his external hard drive, so he was able to help Logan at least start the process. For the season 8 premiere, I baked Sansa Lemon Cakes. We had an afternoon showing because we absolutely could not STAND to wait any longer, and avoided social media and news entirely so as to not have any spoilers. The Battle for Winterfell happened on Easter Monday here in Albania, so we had a breakfast showing, complete with quiche and other goodies. Xose and other volunteers came over and we all hugged each other during the 90 minute saga, I burying my face in Xose’s back during the particularly bloody scenes. Poor Logan came for the food, but chose to not watch everything as he was only halfway into season two.

After spending hours with Logan in his first couple of weeks at site, unfortunately he had to return to the States due to health reasons. While obviously concerned for his well being, his departure could not have happened at a worse time for both Antonio and me. Had I known, I would not have spent as much work time with him, just basically because I was so busy in general. We both had planned to give him our kitchen stuff, with the uncertainly of his return, it did not make sense to simply drop stuff off at his host family. Antonio’s friend Xose and the culinary highschool got the bulk of our items, but added extra tasks to our overwhelming departure schedules. 

Lili's Traditional Albanian Restaurant in the Mangalem of Berat

My sweet site mate and I had a last supper of sorts a few days before we left at a very famous restaurant in the historical Mangalem neighborhood. Lili’s only seats a maximum of about 10 people and is nestled right on the side of the granite hills of the Castle Mount (as I call it) We had been hearing about this place for over a year, but could never seem to get reservations. It was one of the last on the list of must do things before leaving, and we were not disappointed. The food was fantastic, the ambiance of a twilight spring night in a lush mountainside garden was so lovely. Getting there was not exactly handicapped accessible, and I was grateful it was not raining.

Antonio left the next day. I waited with him for his ride to the bus station, marvelling at his collection of about seven very large bags, suitcases and totes. How he was going to get this all to Tirana was beyond my fatigued imagination. I had to leave to meet with Aisha, the new volunteer in Ura Vajgurore who is taking over the herb project, to hand over books, a flash drive with all relevant materials and half used kitchen condiments. When Antonio and I parted, it really did feel like “the end” in terms of my tenure in Berat. As I returned that night, while I only had one more day and night in Berat, it felt so odd to have him gone, there was this sort of empty space that he left in the ambient air, an imprint of sorts where he used to be, and at that point I knew I did not want to stay in this place I have called home for longer than one more day. 

The Mangalem at Night, my last evening in Berat

The evening was spent with the final edits of the garden curriculum, assembling for the last pack before departure, and figuring out what to give to whom. I also had not done my final volunteer reporting form or the dreaded VRF for the last six months of my service, so I was finishing that up into the wee hours of the morning. Antonio and I had gotten together in March to coordinate our numbers and such, and I had everything to go in terms of essays, stats and descriptions, but in true Peace Corps form, the software changed for the VRF and neither one of us was able to open it on either of our computers or on the Youth Council laptop. Antonio forwarded an activity template that I filled in with the help of Googledocs, I created a zip file and sent it off to my sector director, heard nothing back, so I am assuming it met all requirements.

I had to fill in my lease termination form, clean out the house one last time and say goodbye to my landlady. She is a very sweet individual, the polar opposite of my first Berat host “mom.” Marius called me a taxi and I arrived at the bus station for the trip into Tirana. I got a taxi in Tirana who left me off at someplace in the University Village. I am endlessly lost in Tirana. Even the Tiranans have no idea where anything is, addresses mean nothing to taxi drivers. On the verge of tears, I called Antonio, my rock and Tirana GPS system, but he had no idea where I was either, so it was time for the big guns: Safety and Security Officer! Genti Mano sent a car to pick me up after I corralled a pedestrian to explain where I was standing. Again, an interesting end to a beginning where I was lugging excess baggage through Elbasan not knowing how the heck I would get to training hub, and Genti was passing though and picked me and my luggage up for the transport.

We got to headquarters for an All Volunteer Conference (AVC for those who want some more PC code language to add to their repertoire) where all three classes of volunteers assembled for a BBQ, to meet the director of Peace Corps, Jody Oleson (who was in town fresh from signing papers to open Peace Corps in Montenegro,) and for the COS service. 

Director Oleson is the one and only good thing the current president has done; he appointed a truly qualified person to lead this extraordinary American institution instead of a party planner or a porn star. She herself is a RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer) and has led a life in service through various governmental and nonprofit organizations. She was warm, and came over to me to tell me that I was a remarkable person. This is not what one is used to hearing from anyone before any discussion has occurred, but thanks to my country director and sector leader prepping her, she had read my bio as well as been briefed on my projects.

I actually wanted to burst out crying when she said that to me, after the agony of being soundly rejected by my school and all the backpedaling and reorientation involved to circumvent the setback, in addition to being a bit more rotund than when I arrived and feeling not the prettiest I have ever felt. These things combined with the years leading up to Peace Corps with the heart crushing abandonment from my siblings, friends and colleagues,  collapse of a career due to circumstances beyond my control, I guess at least on paper I am impressive, even if so many reflect back to me I have little or no value as a human being. I almost felt like Sally Fields did when she got her Norma Rae Oscar “You like me, you really like me!” 

It was also fun to just sit and enjoy the BBQ and not be involved in the cooking, serving or cleaning. It was fun to sit and soak in on the beauty of the Peace Corps Garden and see so many people who have both dedicated their lives as well as those who have dedicated a few years of current service to this most unique institution. It was as if I was in some sort of slow motion time warp, sitting with everyone after these two years, knowing we would soon all scatter to the four corners of the world, never to be gathered in one place at the same time ever again. 

During our COS conference last February, the panel of RPCV’s mentioned over and over again that one of the most difficult aspects of PPCL (Post Peace Corps Life) is that the general population, no matter how much they love you, can only sustain interest in your PC stories for so long, they simply can’t relate to anything you have to talk about. I was thinking of this as I was watching people banter, discuss and chit chat about life in Albania as well as our plans for the future while munching on chips and hotdogs. This was a once in a lifetime moment, not very dramatic, but historic, rich and warm nonetheless.

It then came time for us to do the “walk of pride.” Each program director invited the group of volunteers they led to the front of the event. As the volunteers passed through the lines on either side of the walkway, we were given high fives from the crowd as we progressed through the crowd. Each sector leader introduced a volunteer and shared what they appreciated about the person at hand. After the tribute, each volunteer rang a bell hanging near the entrance. We then gathered as a group to raise our hands and take the oath of service to become a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. Director Oleson led our “Swearing Out” which made the event extra special, even amongst Peace Corps volunteers. 

My leader Darina, gave a moving tribute to my work. Again, while I did not serve for recognition, it still felt good after so much pain, to be recognized for giving something of value to the people of Albania. Years ago whilst complaining to my priest about my predicament, I lamented that I was a failure as a human being. My priest responded, “No, you are a very successful person, you just do not make money.”  It was healing for me to be recognized for my gifts, and to not have the backhanded slap I usually receive when sharing an accomplishment or activity with someone : “well, how much are you getting paid for that?” I think the reason I have  benefited during my tenure in Albania is that for the most part, I have been valued and recognized for what I offer, which does not have monetary value. The gift of volunteering in Peace Corps is they support your basic needs for food and shelter, so that you can bring those intangible gifts to others, that in the long run are actually the most valuable. The Albanians, especially the children know that I love them, and it is valued, instead of dismissed as useless in my own culture.

After the ceremony, we all settled to our respective hotels for the evening. I could barely keep my eyes open until sunset and relished in my single room with a closed shower stall, not even stopping for supper. I woke the next morning to a glorious spring day in Tirana. We shared breakfast at the hotel and then went off to a Peace Corps Service Project at the main park in Tirana. We had worked there for my other two All Volunteer Conferences, the first year in blazing heat helping to plant trees and clear brush, the second year we painted some steps leading up to the lake area of the park. This year we painted the steps again, but also painted some gazebo’s throughout the park, and one group participated in a trash clean up. 

Servie Project!

What I enjoyed about this year’s service project was spending time with volunteers I had not had the pleasure of being with much through my service. We also paired up with Peace Corps staff and a group of school children from a school for Roma and a school for the visually impaired. The volunteers and staff carried supplies to the remote gazebo, which was like wandering through a lush green forest filled with spring flowers. I thanked my DNA gods that I was not allergic to the rag weed floating about in the air, mainly because it added an ethereal touch to the vista and I was spared the sneezing my counterparts were experiencing. We set up shop at a stone gazebo with some cement benches and started to paint away. About an hour into the project, the children arrived and eagerly took all of our brushes and made a glorious mess of the entire task. Sandwiches arrived, and we sat with the children admiring our completed project, albeit with lots of splatters on the stone floor of the gazebo the park janitors insisted they could clean up with lake water and dried reed brooms.

Slow Food Tirana Food Truck

One of the gifts of the re-arranged COS timing was that Peace Corps offered to house the volunteers in Tirana who had originally planned to leave on the weekend. This meant leaving the centrally located hotel and moving to the unofficial Peace Corps dorm of Adriano’s which is across from the office. I had to go back to the hotel to get my bags and wander through the maze of Tirana to try to find the Peace Corps office and Adriano’s. As I leisurely took my time crossing newly refurbished Skanderbeg Square, I came upon a Slow Food Tirana Food Truck. The goal of the truck was to raise funds for Slow Food Tirana, but also to educate the city folk on the quality of rural Albanian food as a counter to the fast food that is feeding most of the city to the detriment of their blood sugar levels. I was offered a pasta dish with vegetables in a compostable cup with wooden spoon. I also ordered a freshly squeezed fruit juice, and bought some homemade Albanian Apple Butter to give my grant advisor who patiently helped me finish my grant application in the final weeks of my service. I made my way to Adrianos, climbed the four flights of stairs to my room where my fellow “old gal” volunteer Karen was already in bed. We raided leftovers from the BBQ at the Peace Corps volunteer lounge, eating pickled vegetables and potato salad, marveling at the cost of our “last supper” and how good day old corn chips actually taste.

The next day, my last technical day of being a PCV was in true fashion, a typical day in the life of a Peace Corps Volunteer. What this means to those who know, is that nothing happens as planned and involves reams of paperwork and signature gathering. I had been told I had my exit interview with one of the program staff directors at 9 am which would be followed by a final meeting with the grant director at 10. I planned to withdraw some wired cash at an exchange office and leisurely make my way back to Berat to drop off a lap top I had forgotten to give to Marius when he came with the taxi on Tuesday. 

I showed up to attend my exit interview and am told that all volunteers must attend a meeting in the conference room where we each receive a folder with a stack of forms to fill out, schedule six consecutive appointments with various staff members and attend a final medical clearance appointment. And by the way, you need to fill out an online survey about safety and security, turn in your equipment and go to the cashier three separate times to collect travel reimbursements, repay over paid stipends, and something else I never quite understood what we were supposed to do. To say this sent me over the edge is an understatement. There was something about this one last “surprise” schedule alteration and marathon form filling that simply overwhelmed me to the point of lowering my IQ by at least 30 points. It also completely upended my plans, and the thought of not getting to Roshnik and spending one more night at Adriano’s that has little or no water to wash ones self, as well as share a room with mate (whom I enjoy but just not into sharing a room with considering my morning insomnia and bathroom schedule,) I was completely undone. Every stupid question set me into dramatic eye rolls and deep sighs, just not today folks, go with the flow so we can get this over and please quibble over verb declension later, not on my time. 

 It was also very emotional to keep on saying goodbye to people. I had written Antonio a note, that I kept forgetting to give to him. He had one for me that included some really sweet pictures of us, our summer camp children and me with a proud certificate holding little boy. As I read his note, I started to cry, and then to laugh because it really was verbatim the letter I wrote to him. He read mine and agreed, we wrote the same letter to one another. I gave a big hug to my Albanian “son” since everywhere people commented to me that I had such a good son, and he was always being prompted to help his mother (as I just move slow) Geeze I will miss him!

By some miracle we all finished by 2:45 for our last gathering, where we were given one more form for travel reimbursement. I decided to forgo this exercise and the money it offered to get the heck out of Tirana. By some miracle a Taxi was near the hotel (this area is one maze with no main road offering little traffic and exposure for customers) I lugged my bags, and presented to the driver a map with an address of the place I needed to go first to get money, and then explained to him that the second place I needed to go was the Shiponja bus station. He got on the phone and I could understand him telling the dispatcher our journey, and of course proceeded to  ignored completely the address and map and was cheerfully telling me we were going to the bus station. I said no, FIRST we go here, and I pointed that we had to go around the ring to the opposite side, and pointed to where we needed to go, mind you it is 3 pm and the bus leaves at 4, and Tirana traffic rivals LA rush hour traffic, but on this particular day there was protests which further flooded the streets with drivers seeking alternative routes. I could feel my blood pressure rising and the stomach lining eroding by the second.

I got into the exchange office and the staff person seemed not to understand the receipt for the transfer. Eventually she did, and it took forever for her to type in all the information, my birth city and ID number and she needed a local telephone number and where am I staying and and and and and and and. Of course the printer was not working, which meant repeated giggling and turning off and on of all the office equipment, the cash counter was not working which meant I had to count out a very large amount of money by hand, which I felt very uncomfortable doing it where anyone could see, but finally we signed the papers and I was off to the bus station with the taxi driver who was waiting for me on the street. He helped me with my bags, as I asked him to please not drop me off in the middle of the road as most taxis do in this area, I hopped on the last bus to Berat and almost peed myself I was so relieved I actually made it out before the last bus left. 

I arrived in Berat two hours later, exhausted and got the lone taxi to take me to Roshnik. I had the address all printed out, but apparently this is not something that matters in Albania. Luckily I had the number of the guesthouse where I had made reservations, and the driver called and was able to take me to the destination. It was a beautiful warm and cloudy twilight in the endless green foothills of Mt Tomor. The drive to Roshnik melted away all my stress and frustrations, and I could feel my respiration rate decrease dramatically as we drove through the green olive groves and vineyards. 

The place I stayed is a guesthouse in a winery and distillery, which makes wine and raki from a regional grape, (which by the way I am working with the local Slow Food Berat Community to list on the Ark of Taste.) The house was silent except for the constant sounds of birds and various insects, and the views from the porch rivals anything I have ever seen in Napa or Italy. 

A Peace Corps volunteer is staying with the family that owns the property, so he and I had a great conversation when I arrived. He is a repeat volunteer who served in Peace Corps in the early 1970’s in Jap, Indonesia. What a different experience it was for him between then and now, I so enjoyed listening to his stories. There were no phones, no internet, and he was basically dropped off on the Island and received mail every six months when the ships came in (which was only every six months.) He had a calendar and when two years past, he had to wait for the boat to come and get him, take him to a larger Island and call Peace Corps collect, who would book him a ticket back to the States. 

I slept soundly that night. The next day we shared breakfast and we marvelled at how different Peace Corps is from his first assignment, and how some of the younger volunteers really do not know how easy they have it compared to the early days. I was so exhausted I stayed in bed most of the day, rising to eat lunch, but just sleeping and reading. I planned to go to Korca and then Ohrid for more rest and then off on new adventures before I return home.

The RPCV’s tell us that we need to relax before we re-enter the mundane world of everyday life. The current country director from Kosovo remarked that she had a hard time relating to the dramas of her home communities, such as who was broken up or divorcing from whom and so forth. I wonder what I will be doing, I have many options, but face the reality of being an older female in a work environment that disqualifies me precisly because of my age and experience, even though I have so much to offer. When I reflect on these past two years, my activities were varied, but not exactly resume material.

From helping people with job applications, re-writing tour company descriptions in English to providing materials for an Easter Egg Hunt or helping people understand the complex process of applying for college or US travel VISA’s, my service had many aspects to it way beyond the outlined job description and do not have a paygrade associated with the occupation. But I think listening to people’s stories, telling a young girl that she is important, a mentally challenged bullied boy that he has a beautiful face, arguin wiht  a teen Roma girl’s that her voice and what she thinks is important, these are intagible things that no one really gets paid for, but are invaluable. Being a counter representative in an age of televised American irresponsibility has also been an intangible gift to Americans as well as the global population.

 Will any of these things I have done actually help me in the long run with paying rent? I am not sure, but at least when I lie in my deathbed, in my heart I will know I gave from what I had. My only real regret is that I did not do this when I was younger. But for me, it was the perfect time as I had been stripped of everything that ties one down to a place. I am so grateful that I was accepted, that my angel whispered in my ear that cold February morning in Reno when my prayer was simply “HELP” To be recognized, to be able to give when everyone and every avenue rejected my gifts has been the experience of a lifetime. I hope to continue in other venues. Time as always, will tell.

90 Days and Counting....

The Pendinale in Shkoder, Albania

One of the things I have been most impressed with concerning the logistical aspects of Peace Corps is how every detail is covered, from beginning to end. In an age when US government policies and procedures are being decried and dismantled, and living in a country for two years where there are neither infrastructure, enforced laws or planning, I will forever embrace red tape. 

Part of a 50+ year institution, particularly in America, provides ample time to reflect on best practices. The Peace Corps Close of Service Conference is part of this experience. This year, we had the option to choose from several locations, and my group, A 20, chose to go to Shkoder, one of Albania’s largest cities in the North West aspect of the nation.

I was expecting Shkoder to me in a mountainous region, and was very surprised it was in flatlands. The Albanians call the region the “Mbishkodra Plains,” and the city lies between the lake of the same name and the Albanian Alps. It was founded by ancient tribes of the elusive Illyrian people (elusive to me at least, as I try to find out more regarding these ancient people, I am told, pre-date the Greeks) and was made into an Archdiocese by the Macedonian Byzantine Emperor Justinian in the 6^th Century. Shkoder has a definite Italian feel, and boasts an ancient castle.

Getting anywhere in Albania without a car is not for the faint of heart, lack of a formal transportation network, schedules and poor roads make what should be short journeys into large detours to get to most destinations. Peace Corps Volunteers have been on a daily “protest” safety and security alert since December 2018. Days before our conference, we were told to beware of scheduled protests in the capitol Tirana. Antonio my site mate, and I were trying to figure out how to get to Shkoder and bypass Tirana, which is actually the hub for all transportation networks in the nation. Luckily, Antonio’s counterpart was traveling to Tirana early on the day we were supposed to go to our conference, so we could hitch a ride, save a bit on transportation and skip the protest danger.

It was a beautiful dawn excursion through the newly improved back roads to Tirana, traversing through olive and tangerine groves, herds of turkeys and sheep and really pretty homes dotted throughout the farmland. While we are cautioned to not talk politics with the locals, I was curious what our driver thought of the protests. For over an hour, he told me his perspective, and it seems that the people actually have good cause to be upset. I was glad we would be arriving hours before the scheduled unrest. (Which is ironic actually, since schedules are really not what I would call an Albanian forte or cultural value, but they seem to really shine when it comes to scheduling protests.)  As I rarely get to Tirana, mainly because I truly hate the entire travel thing here in Albania and I really like my site, I am endlessly confused and lost in the capitol. I depended totally on Antonio to get us to the “North” bus stop, and we arrived just as the 9 am Shkoder bus was starting to rev up it’s engines.

Antonio slept on the bus, while I reviewed vocabulary for my last language proficiency interview. When we arrived, I actually could not believe this sprawling metropolis was our destination. Luckily the bus dropped us off across the street from our hotel. We checked in and I was so happy to learn that my roommate was a fellow “older” volunteer from Napa, California. We had to check in with our medical officer who was performing TB tests that day and passing out stool testing kits, and then I went off to my language interview, which I think should have been relabeled for my performance.

I have struggled with the language here the entire time I have been in Albania. My older brain seems not to have many open synapses for new things, and living in Berat where most everyone speaks English, I have not had the opportunity to really practice. If there is one failure I will cop to, it is not mastering the language, and it is one great regret of my service, as I feel many doors to the nature and wonder of this culture and history have been closed because of it. My roommate Karen and I were part of the “low level” group at our language refresher the year before. We marveled at the youngins' who were teaching language classes on verb declensions and the elusive clitics. I was getting a bit more able to converse last Summer, but still no one seemed to understand my simplest of sentences. 

Once while communicating with a group of teachers, one of my students who speaks fluent English remarked with true astonishment, “You speak Albanian? You sound like a Serb!” I finally understood why no one understands me when I order a vegetarian suflatch sandwich at local fast food restaurants. Apparently my Macedonian heritage and Bulgarian language studies have given me a Slavic accent. What also escapes me completely, is verbs, I want to put Bulgarian and German endings on Albanian roots, and darn if it doesn’t pass muster.

I completely failed my last language interview, I could not recall the words I was just reviewing for my interview, I simply could not sustain any sort of meaningful conversation. I am not sure what happened really, but if I drank, I would have started right after that interview, feeling like a complete failure at life in general because of it. I felt badly that all the effort that was put into our training resulted in my not really being able to convey any interesting information with the proper verb tense of “to be.” Karen, being much more brave and self assured than I, simply refused to do the interview during her appointment. I am glad the young volunteers were able to give coherent conversations so the language staff can know their work actually had positive results.

What followed in the next few days were series of sector meetings and group instructions. Everything, I mean EVERYTHING was covered, from how to inform landlords of lease terminations, to closing down bank accounts and internet contracts, and how to successfully gather stool samples so we could prove we were parasite free when we went back to the USA. We were given an entire workshop on health insurance, and how to write a resume and cover letter. We were given extensive information on how to write resumes, cover letters and create our “elevator pitch.” One of the more interesting aspects of this conference was how to take advantage of applying for Federal jobs, as Peace Corps Volunteers get preference in the first year after service. I must say, I honestly never knew how vast the Federal Government was in terms of service providers before entering Peace Corps, and for me at least, it has been quite an education on what our tax dollars actually do, which I find impressive and gratifying.

For me, the most useful presentation was a panel discussion of RPCV’s, “Returned Peace Corps Volunteers.” Both our Country Director and Program Director in Albania are RPCV’s, we were joined by the Country Director of Kosovo, who is a RPCV from Cambodia, and one gentleman who is with USAID, he was a PCV from Albania and another who was a PCV from Macedonia. It was a lengthy discussion on what exactly to expect after service. I was most interested in the Kosovo Director, as she was 50 when she entered service. All the other panelists were fresh out of college when they served. All of the panelists talked about how difficult it was to transition back into “normal life.” Last year, when I attended the Close of Service celebrations for the previous class, then American Ambassador, who was also a Peace Corps Volunteer in West Africa after his college graduation, told the crowd that they needed to understand that life went on while volunteers were serving, that the country changes while we are away, and that friends and family after the first few days, are not interested in your Peace Corps stories. What struck me as I was listening to the panel, was how all of them continued on in foreign development and service of some kind after their Peace Corps. As someone who has traveled and lived out of the US on numerous occasions, I have told others that once you do this, you actually never feel “at home” anywhere, there are things about every place that you miss. It seems in many ways that Serving in Peace Corps ruins you forever in terms of being satisfied with living a normal life. I often wonder what I will miss about Albania, what I will consider “normal living,” I am about to learn that in 90 days.

Each one of the panelists reported, not being able to relate to their old friends and family when they returned. The Kosovo Director was quite blunt about it, in that she felt most of what people were concerned with in her American circles was just not that interesting, she flat out told friends and family that she did not care about their (fill in the blank with mundane experiences.) The people who were young when they served reported feeling anxious about finding work, and how couch surfing and mundane temp jobs were their first experiences until gainful employment could be achieved. All said they wished they could have eased into their re-entry with more time for decompressing and reflection. As someone who has been on a roller coaster for the last seven years of my life, I wondered if I would either not be phased by the insecurity or it would be REALLY depressing since I have been this way for years before entering Peace Corps. I felt more dedicated to my desire to walk the Camino after service as a result of listening to this panel. I also wondered if there was any sort of foreign job I could fit into as a nearly 60 year old woman, it seemed all of these sorts of jobs were career tracks one had to jump on in one’s 20’s.

We learned about health insurance, and how our medical check ups would ensue in the last months of service. I thought it was a really nice touch that we were eligible for three counseling appointments after returning to the States. For me this was a deep recognition that it will be VERY stressful, and that Peace Corps would support this transition. The support network for returning volunteers is actually quite vast, with conferences, communications, job assistance and so on. Again, I had no idea this all was available and the thought that there is an entire government agency ready to help out really impressed me.

Our Health Sector met for one last time to discuss achievements as well as suggestions for future volunteers. I personally have felt that the school based model is not a useful one, mainly because it is so limiting and the teachers do not want the “co-teaching” model, but it seems this sector focus is here to stay, and I am leaving, with a history of working successfully outside of the school setting. My stats (meaning teaching health lessons) are poor, but I have been quite effective in general through various other avenues.

Then it was time to officially say goodbye. Our Country Director gave an emotional speech expressing her gratitude for our service. Our group is the first one she had seen from beginning to end. We each received a personalized note from staff on what they enjoyed and admired about our service. The last part of the conference goodbye was put on by volunteers and was really fun. One presentation was an award ceremony for each volunteer “most likely to….” I was awarded with “most likely to stick needles into people.” Antonio was awarded “most likely to cook his way around the world.” After much laughter, we were treated to a game of Jeopardy Peace Corps  Albania A 20 edition. We played in six groups answering various subjects on Albanian history, language and volunteer information. My group was the lowest scoring until Double Jeopardy, where we rolled the dice, put up most of our points, and local Warden in the North, Minju Kim (also a Health Volunteer,) was able to accurately name all 12 regions in Albania, putting us over the top in terms of points. I found it amusing and upsetting that Antonio, my local Warden, forgot Berat in his list. (Wardens are safety and security contacts for all volunteers in their regions.) My group won the glory, as there was no other prize.

The conference ended on this note, of pure amusement and laughter, with hugs, pictures, gift giving, and staff frantically pulling down materials so they could leave and get back to Tirana before dark. It felt odd, the knowledge that group gatherings were now over, and that in essence, we were free to roam about the city and country for the next couple of days, before diving into all the duties we had to finish before leaving. My personal list was long; purging possessions, finishing projects, writing programs in addition to all the stuff that goes into closing down a life in a place where one has been living for the past two years. Preparing for the next stage is also quite time consuming, figuring out flights, filling out job applications, and scouring job sites is our new topic of conversation amongst volunteers as we are in this stage of service. 

The logistics of ending is a bit daunting. We have to notify landlords, close out bank accounts, terminate utilities and say goodbye to everyone we have been encountering these past years. I personally hate saying goodbye, and will work with Antonio to see if we can combine our efforts as for the most part he and I have worked with the same people, students and groups since we arrived. All the sectors went out for supper that night as a last gathering. Karen and I could barely keep awake in the hours leading up to the events. I put in an appearance until my eyes started to demand to stay shut, excusing myself to avoid collapsing in front of my colleagues. I was happy to have some quality time at supper with Derek, a fellow So Cal volunteer who informed me that Peace Corps Volunteers can apply for California Teaching credentials without having to go through all the education and hours to do so, hmmmmmm, something to consider actually, who knows what might come in handy in the years to come.

It was bitter sweet this gathering, I have reflected on how I was feeling and all of the events during Staging, training and my service. It seems really almost a lifetime ago that I stepped on that plane to Miami, terrified and enraged at American Airlines for their stealing my property and damaging my luggage. I knew then, I saw it as a sign,  and I was right, that the entire Peace Corps experience would be a roller coaster whirlwind, and I was not disappointed. All of the people who were complete strangers in the beginning, are now my new family. It is truly remarkable on many levels. We all share a truly unique experience that only we will ever be able to actually share with one another.

As I face my last few months in Berat, I have to , in spite of great planning to avoid this, really rush to get everything done before I leave. I wanted to enjoy my last few months, but now I will not really “enjoy” the time as I will be working my newly large butt off as the days are warmer. My resentment to the volunteers who made the extra work and rush happen, who blew up my site and created enmity amongst the community I depended on to get my projects done through petty gossip and the removal of my site mate, is something I just can not shake. I honestly hope I never encounter these women again. 

I made gift bags with notes and home made cookies for my sector, and also for those who would be leaving through the first two COS dates. The final chapter will be going through medical exams, signing papers and submitting forms as well as equipment. As I have said for many a posts, Peace Corps has this all down to a fine tuned machine through lots of practice and reflection. It may be jarring to get back to the real world where we all seem to be winging it all the time.  

I was quite nostalgic during the COS conference, and yet restless. Parts of me wish this could go on forever, and maybe then I could master this difficult language, and parts of me wants it all to be over with. I was fully exhausted and could barely stay awake in the evenings. While others went out partying, I wanted to be in bed. It seemed odd to want to hole up in my very nice hotel room and sleep, but that is really all I wanted to do, especially because of the nice bed, hot showers in shower stalls and indoor heating. Trying to warm these days is my main occupation, and the hotel made it easy.

 This entire experience has been a lot like graduate school in many ways. The responsibility and grind is so tedious, and yet the structure and camaraderie are experiences I am not so anxious to let go. It has been interesting to watch the younger volunteers grow up, which sounds so condescending, but  true. To witness the maturation of amazing young men and women, it really gives me great hope and peace for our collective future to know these individuals will be “in charge” some day. I have also enjoyed watching the older volunteers blossom, as they were able to take stock of their lives and challenge themselves after a life time of professional and family obligations. We old and young volunteers are in similar places, starting new phases of life our age requires. I hope to stay in contact with them, as our panel suggested, since it will be important to have that support as we re-integrate into society. 

I have never felt integrated anywhere, so I am curious how this will feel, this re-entry into adulthood. This may be my reluctance to go back to civilization. Now I have status and a community, and I will be re-entering a life of insignificant marginalization. I can not dwell on these feelings, as so much must be done in these remaining weeks. I must finish my gardens, get curriculum written, finish out my grant process, establish a fully functioning Slow Food Youth Network and Slow Food Community in Berat, fill out endless forms, write up my description of service document which will be part of the permanent record in the US Archives, create summer camps I will not be in charge of, do entire month of Women’s Health education, and of course, figure out how to get four separate stool specimens for my last medical clearance. All this will be done in the midst of purging possessions, applying for jobs and finishing my own writing projects. 

I know the time will fly by, and I am not sure exactly how I will feel about this, but for now, I am just praying that I can fit it all in, and not focus my anger on those who created this very unpleasant situation for which I tried very hard to prevent.