So I've been walking a lot lately, when the weather's right. I have this favorite little coffee shop right off of the compound, where the coffee is good and cheap and the service is always with a smile. I guess it's the years I spent in the States buying $6 venti mochas at Starbucks, but I always pay $1 for my $.50 double espresso. The couple that run the coffee shop are always happy to see me and would probably give me the coffee for free if I asked. I look forward to my daily jaunts to that little coffee shop, and I'll usually stay long enough to read a chapter or so in whatever book I happen to be reading at the time. As far as I know, that little cafe has no name, but the lady who runs it is always horrified when I order my coffee without milk. Oftentimes, she'll put the coffee in front of me and say, "pak qumesht," meaning she put a "little milk" in it anyway. I tried to get mad since I'm counting calories, but I have to love the cultural aspect of her doing exactly what she thinks I should have. She's kind of like a mother hen, clucking at me that I need milk to help me grow big and strong. Anyway, that's usually how I begin my walks.
I started this new fitness app called "Noom" that I use almost religiously. It has a built-in pedometer that measures my steps (as long as I have my phone with me) and challenges me to walk so many steps each day. My walks usually consist of me walking from our neighborhood to the Embassy and around it and back again. I always wave to the guards, and they always wave back encouragingly. I can't help but wonder if they think I'm a little "touched" because I just walk around in a circle and then head back toward home.
Then there are the long walks, the ones that take me across town to the various markets. I have always had a friend or my husband with me for these walks, because (so far) I've been to chicken to go it alone. Now, I want to stress that Tirana is a very safe place. There's absolutely nothing to worry about when you're a woman alone here. I feel safer here than I would ever feel walking alone in NOLA or Baton Rouge, and that's the truth.
One interesting cultural observation to make though is that the Albanians STARE at everyone. They don't miss a thing and think nothing of it at all. When I say they "stare," what I really mean is they absolutely gawk at everything. It's the funniest thing, especially to the majority of us who grew up with our mothers whispering loudly in our ears to, "Stop staring; it's rude!!!" My littlest guy is always asking me, "Mommy, why do the Albanians always look at us???" That said, your culture is your culture. I can't take offense to it, because we are but guests here.
Yesterday, the Embassy was closed for MLK Day, but the schools in Albania were open. My husband I took the liberty of a day "date" and decided to walk to Madrese Market, which is probably a mile or so from our house. The walk takes a good hour due to the condition of the roads and sidewalks and the large gaggles of girls who walk side-by-side without a care in the world. Along the way, we stopped at a cafe for a coffee and a crepe. After six months here, it's still amazing to me that two crepes and two coffees came to $4.20.
Our trip to Madrese Market had a purpose this time: My husband is building me at ottoman for the living room, and we needed to find supplies! Now, Madrese Market (I think that's how you spell it!) is a place where you can find almost anything--if you know where to look. It consists of hundreds of stores both along the street and inside what Americans would call a giant, covered flea market. I say, "flea market," but everything there is new. You can get everything from underwear and socks to tuxedos to slingshots under one roof. There are knock off purses, ties for $5 each, and row upon row of suits and sweaters.
The first stop was the section that sells fabric. We looked far and long for the perfect upholstery fabric and finally found a sample of one that we both loved. The woman told us that we should follow her to her "bigger" shop down the road so that she could get it for us and quoted us $7 per meter. After following her there, we were told that they were out of that particular model. Of course. We continued on our way and looked in various and sundry stores for something similar, often meeting shop owners who were only to happy to have us there, speaking in broken English and Albanian. Finally, we found a shop (booth would be a more accurate description) that had the exact same fabric we'd seen initially. They quoted us $10 per meter, and we agreed to the price. But, of course, the fabric wasn't there in the shop; so the shop owner's husband went off to the wholesaler to pick it up for us.
The next stop was the notions store, where one can find pretty much any kind of sewing supply imaginable EXCEPT for fabric. The hubby and I looked at literally hundreds of different kinds of upholstery buttons until we found the ones I couldn't live without. The prices are not to be believed; it's almost like getting something for free. I had my hubby look up the word for "needle;" and between that word, lots of hand gestures and the phrase "for making a chair," we were able to get a huge upholstery needle that he needs to do the tufting on the ottoman. Since I toy with bookbinding, I already have the thick, waxed linen thread that he needs to do the sewing. We did, however, come up empty-handed when I asked if the store carried staple guns, which are apparently called, "pistolettes." The shop keeper gave us jumbled instructions to a hardware and paint store a street over.
The paint store was great fun. I'm a huge fan of the "distressed" look on furniture, and I am not to be deterred when looking for something I want (not even by my husband, who hates asking questions). One big part of living overseas is not being afraid to ask questions, no matter how stupid you end up looking. The man working in the paint store found us the perfect shade of black paint for the wooden part of the ottoman, but his face took on a befuddled look when I asked if they had crackle paint. Ever resourceful, I used my smart phone to show him a picture of what I wanted; and his face lit up in recognition. "Oh, crakele paint! Yes, I have!" I immediately turned to my husband and did the "I told you so" dance. When I showed the shop keeper a picture of a staple gun, he said he didn't have it but that he could show us a place that did; so we took our fabric, buttons, and "crakele" paint and followed him out. Of course, he took us right back to the sewing store where we'd just been; so we explained that they didn't have one either and thanked him for his time.
The next stop was for the padding (the cushion stuffing). My goodness, how funny! The man with the padding was simply a man on the street corner with stacks of what looked like foam mattresses; so we asked him for the thickest one. He charged us $13 for it and tied it up with a piece of fabric. He seemed so pleased to get the money, as they all did. You never know if you're the only customer someone's gotten all day because they're all so darned appreciative of your business!
What we thought would be our final stop was another man on the side of the street selling sewing batting. He had it stacked up (or so we thought) about two meters high. We picked out the thickest one, and he told us that it was $4 per meter and then explained something else that we didn't understand. My husband stated that he needed five meters of the stuff, and off they went to unroll this endless amount of batting. Of course, he didn't have three separate stacks of batting tied up on top of each other; he'd been trying to tell us that the batting is two meters tall. When my husband realized his mistake, he changed the amount to two meters rather than five. That old man was so happy to have the business, and it must have taken the poor thing 15 minutes to unroll and cut our paltry two meters off. He tipped his hat and sent us on our way.
Now, obviously, by this time we were absolutely loaded down to the gills and still on foot. Thankfully, the temperature had dropped about 10 degrees; however, the sky was looking quite ominous. See, the winters here are the rainy season; but this winter hasn't been very "rainy" so far. For a country whose electricity comes from hydro power, the lack of rain has been a grave concern. We started the long trek home but happened by a hardware store. I dug out my trusty smartphone and showed the shop keeper the picture I had of a staple gun. He jumped up and handed us one and then began looking for staples. The total came to $16, and we started scrambling for change. We got to about $14.50; and he waved us off, just thrilled to have the business. I kept trying to explain that I knew I had enough coins in the bottom of my purse, but he was adamant: we had paid enough!
We ended up having to go the ATM anyway, though, because we decided to cab it home. The cabbie was also thrilled for the fare and helped us put our many bags into the trunk. He drove us all across town and charged us $5. I know it adds up, but this country is cheap!
After dropping our packages at home, we realized we needed to eat lunch; so we went to our favorite little restaurant that's right across the street from the compound and feasted on octopus and arugula, fish soup, and seafood risotto. Not ready for our day date to be over, we headed back into town to check out the Coin Building, a store that I'd never been in. Now, there, the prices are anything but cheap. All of the clothes are Armani and Guess and marked up exponentially; so all I left with was my pride. We did, however, get to finish off our day with two pints of beer for $3 total. Yes, I'd say our little walkabout was a great success!!!
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