Okay, not really. As in, I don't really have the flu. But I have been on a blogging hiatus lately because I have been a bit "under the weather," as they say. I first noticed cold symptoms last Wednesday. On Thursday I went to PST (pre-service training), but I was certain that I had a significant cold. On Friday I showed up for PST sounding like James Earl Jones. The PC associate at my site said I should call the PCMO (Peace Corps Medical Office). So I did. The doctor on duty told me to go home. So I did. And then I slept for about 8 more hours.
When I awoke, my dear host father was ready with his proposed remedy: raki. (Usually with a moutain tea chaser.)
Raki is the strong home-brewed liquor common in these parts. I'd say it tastes and smells somewhere between vodka and tequila. "Now you'll feel better," said my host brother when my first shot was poured. But I wasn't merely supposed to drink it. No! At the behest of my host father, I gargled with it. And I rubbed it on a palm and sniffed it vigorously. Then I drank it, and after that I was poured another glass. But then following my second shot, I turned the glass over and firmly declined a third dosage. I'm not sure how many raki shots were going to be recommended to me, as I refused any further treatment after two shots.
As I recall, everything I just described happened Friday night, and then again on Saturday morning, and then Saturday night for the final time.
Saturday morning, however, I did press on through my coughing, hacking, and sniffling to join the rest of the group for another hub day in Elbasan. Some people grumble about hub days. I still enjoy them very much. I mean, there's a castle there, c'mon.
The agenda this time was to set up bank accounts and tour 3 different religious institutions. The banking stuff was arduous. But the touring stuff was great.
(I'm doing my best to recount the facts contained herein without consulting Wikipedia--if you see any mistakes I've made, please let me know.)
First, my group (20ish folks) went to a Bektashi center of worship. The Bektashi faith is an offshoot of Islam, and it combines elements of various Islamic traditions. Bektashi practices are linked with Sufism. Its followers were described to me as Muslims but with fewer restrictions and rules.
The Bektashi place we visited was called a Teqe (pronounced "TEH-chuh," I think).
The teqe, as I recall, was a small, darkly lit building with couches. You had to take off your shoes to enter. At one point, we were invited to participate in a ceremony where we walked backwards down a hall.
Outside there were graves next to the building, and there was a worship shrine where you could light candles and pray. Also there was a giant turkey.
Next up was the mosque. I think this was the first time I'd been in one. We were told this particular mosque had been built in 1492.
During religious services, men stay on the ground floor and women go up to the second floor. During our tour, both floors were open to everyone. There was a lone woman upstairs praying. We did our best not to disturb her.
Lastly we went to a Christian church. It was described to me as an Albanian orthodox church that has been open since the 15th century.
We were asked to sit in these unusual chairs attached to the walls. I tried to take a selfie. I failed.
The gentleman sitting to the left of the table was either the pastor of the church or some kind of official. He spoke to our group in Albanian while the interpreter behind the table translated. We heard how the church was built hundreds of years ago and is one of the most important historical sites in the country. It once sheltered Jews during the holocaust. We listened intently as the gentleman repeatedly praised the sacrifice we were all making as PC volunteers and how God will reward us for our generosity. It was a solemn, dignified affair. Then he asked, "Do you want to hear a funny story?" and proceeded to tell a version of the following joke:
An airplane was flying and about to crash. There were 4 passengers on board: the pilot, a priest, a politician, and a student. There were only 3 parachutes. The pilot ejected with the first parachute. The priest ejected with the second. The student was about to offer the last parachute when the politician said, "We'll both survive--the priest took your backpack instead of a parachute."
I loved that guy.
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