Next Steps

I met my host family!

I snapped this photo by accident. If you look closely in the mob, you can see Genti pointing Emin toward me. He has white hair and is standing to Genti's left. Immediately after I took this photo, my heart sank with nervousness. Panic had set in, but I would not let it break me.

My Albanian family: Emin, age 75, retired Albanian language teacher. His wife Hanko, age 71. Their son Edvin, who goes by "Eddie," unmarried without children, lives in the house with us.

This picture is so funny to me. I am a gentle giant. You can't make this stuff up:

I was reluctant to take photographs for a bit after this one. I didn't know if it would be rude to do so, and it just felt wrong. Except for a tiny number of words that Emin knew, Emin and Hanko didn't speak English. I could pretty much only recall the Albanian words for "yes," "no," and "good." The next few hours were surreal and memorable. A bus dropped us off at the family home. Everything was cold. I took my shoes off to enter. I was presented with slippers, but the slippers were too small (I have big pancake feet) and my socks were sufficient. I was ushered into my room, which appeared to be a living room with a bed in the corner. It was spacious. I could see my breath when I exhaled--indoors. I was running on anxiety and adrenaline. 

Emin insisted on carrying one of my backpacks. I could sense in him an impulse to help me, if little other discernible information. He showed me into my room, and we started to unpack the PC-provided heater and water filter. My new baba used a knife to cut open my heater's box and quickly took it upon himself to briskly toss the instructions in the trash; then he set up the heater, plugged it in, and checked to see if it worked. So sweet. He also tried to put together my water filter, but he gave up after muttering "no understand" under his breath. I don't blame him one bit--I set up the filter later, and its assembly was not intuitive, even with the instructions. It now looks like this:

After a brief respite that allowed me to unpack only one of my 4 bags, Emin came to my door and motioned for me to come to the kitchen/dining area. I complied. I sat on a couch that wrapped around a corner in the dining area. We sat on the couch around a table. There were others there: Emin's brother and his wife. So the 5 of us had lunch. My first real Albanian meal. I couldn't communicate with anyone. As I recall, everything happened fast. Many plates of food were furiously thrust upon me and the table. It was as though they thought I were starving (definitely NOT the case), and that I would die if I didn't eat a full Thanksgiving-sized dinner immediately. A plate of rice with a chicken leg and breast on top. 3 large pieces of bread. A Greek yogurt dish. Celery and olives. A large plate of unfamiliar cheese. A giant bowl of soup that resembled hot and sour soup, a la American Chinese food. Oranges and freshly squeezed orange juice (unlike U.S. orange juice). Hot green peppers. Unfamiliar milk. A little coffee with a very stong taste (Turkish coffee, as I later learned). There may have been more things I'm forgetting. And then a bit later, a big bowl of fig preserves. 

I went all-in. The food was extraordinary. I guess being freaked out works up an appetite. Emin's brother was fond of the raki, and he served me generously. We had many toasts over our multiple frenzied failed attempts to communicate. "U ngopa": I am full. I got full quickly and retired to my room. Wow. Just... wow.

Ok, I wish there were more hours in the day, but there aren't, and I need to sleep. THERE IS SO MUCH MORE TO WRITE ABOUT! I will have to finish it later, as I can't pull an all-nighter for this.

Natën e mirë!