Room to Worship

I met my friend Arj in the middle of Shkodër by the mosque and the beer festival. Arj and I met a few years ago at FSY, where she came as translator for Albanian youth, and I worked as photographer. I had immediate respect for the volunteer translators at FSY, as they worked hours to make sure the meetings were linguistically accessible to youth from over 20 different countries. Having been both translator and beneficiary of translation, I knew the work Arj did as translator was a true gift.

When she offered to taxi up and meet me in Shkodër on Saturday and let me crash at her Tirana apartment on Sunday, I double checked if she was serious first, and then gratefully accepted.

So there we stood, in the centre of the bustling lake city edging towards nightfall, nearly bursting with excitement and laughing at seeing each other in a place so out of context from FSY. We opted to take her new purchase to the hotel room, and then catch dinner and do some grocery shopping. I’d noticed the hotel toilet had no toilet paper (but it had a bidet!), and wanted some hand soap for the sink.

Incidentally, the hotel room’s idea of two separate beds wasn’t that separate, either. We laughed as we talked and walked over about that fact. When we entered the hotel room, she found it immediately too cold and I found it lovely with the air conditioning on. I told her she could have all of the blankets from the closet and I’d sleep later with a sheet. It was becoming obvious to us both that we’d been raised in different climates.

In my earlier walk, I’d passed a cheerful yellow restaurant on a side street that advertised slow cooked traditional Albanian dishes. It sounded perfect, and the sign inside the restaurant was cross-stitched like what my mother makes. So now that we wanted dinner, I recommended we try that restaurant out and I led Arj to it.

We were some of the first guests for the dinner hour, and settled in at a two person table outdoors in a walled garden bedecked with rugs and red roses. A cat climbed the building behind us and walked its roofline. Arj spoke to the waitress and we decided to share a sample platter because it was enough to feed the two of us, and if there was anything else we wanted, we could then order that individually. I ordered some of their homemade juice, which turned out to be acerola cherry juice.

The taste of it took me all the way back to the home on Wisconsin Avenue in Eugene, where my older sister and I used to fight over the cherry juice at the bottom of my mother and grandmother’s canning jars after we’d devoured the fruit. Again, home found in an unfamiliar place in the memories I’ve carried across the miles, years, and languages.

A small taste, a big moment. As we ate, we fell into conversation with the older couple seated next to us.They were Americans visiting for a number of days, and they had several questions for Arj. The night fell soft and the food was good, fresh, and comfort beyond measure. It was as if time stood still in the best way.

As Arj was talking with the couple, I started to read our placemats and realised that the restaurant, Arti Zavane, donates profits to support women and children affected by domestic violence, and helps people find employment. I’d chosen better than I’d realised.

After dinner, we did some shopping for groceries like wet toilet paper, fed some street cats, and found Arj an ATM. Albania is still largely a cash society, so there were several ATMs to find. After the ATM, we each bought a large bottle of water and then trundled through the darkened streets back to the hotel with our water bottles cradled in our arms.

Once back, we quickly fell into deep sleep. We had a Sabbath to prepare for.

I’d found the chapel the day before, tucked away on a narrow side street. Now we were checking out of the hotel well before 9:00am in an effort to reach the area before the neighbouring Catholic cathedral became too busy and our chance at finding parking completely disappeared. Well, we turned on to that side street and there was exactly no space to park in.

The next several minutes saw me driving my minivan down the narrow backroads of Shkodër. We passed an older woman beautifully dressed in traditional dress, and I met more than one dead end I carefully backed out of with care (shout out to my driver’s ed instructor in England who refined those skills for me!).

We finally made our way back out to the main street the church was near, and I said to Arj, ‘What if we try asking nicely at the Catholic church if we can park there?’ She agreed so we turned in by the barrier gate. Arj leaned out of the window of the car and told the man there that we belonged to a nearby congregation, and wanted to worship there but could find no parking. She asked whether it was possible if we could park temporarily in the Catholic cathedral parking.

The man thought for a moment, then opened the barrier. Arj turned to me excitedly and said he would let us in. We thanked him profusely, and he moved some cones from an area to give our car space. Once we left the car, Arj told him I was a photographer and I asked if I could photograph the interior of the cathedral. He was delighted and said of course! Then he told us a bit of history about the building. During the communist years, the cathedral was turned into a gym and everything was changed except the ceiling. The ceiling was still original.

We entered the sacred space, and I quietly photographed the quiet interior while bells rang outside.

Then we headed to our place of worship one street over, grateful for his faith being big enough to cover ours.

Besides the branch president, we were the first people there. The glass doors opened to a small foyer with three or four chairs. Arj and I sat down for her to finish her late breakfast. Presently, two elder missionaries arrived. They couldn’t believe we’d gotten to park at the Catholic church. Then a couple other people arrived, we greeted each other warmly, and we started the meeting. Arj and I had increased the branch size sizably by attending.

The branch president opened the meeting, and the missionaries ran the music from a phone and led the singing of the hymns. I was the only one singing in English, so I tried not to sing too loud to overpower the others around me, while supporting with my voice.

Then they prayed over the sacrament as well. After the sacrament, one of the elders sat next to me and a couple men, and softly translated the rest of the meeting for us. I hadn’t even asked. A brother arrived late, to the branch president’s relief. He was the speaker.

After sacrament meeting, we moved the chairs into a circle for sunday school and combined relief society and elders quorum meetings. By this point, we totaled four women and seven men. I’d heard enough Albanian to begin to pick out words here and there, so I was able to help one sister find the conference talk we were discussing on her phone. There’s something about living between languages that tunes the ear.

I looked at the missionaries’ shoes across the circle. They were the typical black Sunday shoes, and I noticed that the bone coloured limestone dust clung to the seams and creases.

We were some of the last to leave the building, and I left feeling fulfilled. The truth was, I was in Shkodër precisely to attend this branch on this Sabbath day.

We thanked our Catholic friend at the parking, drove back out after he opened the barrier, and headed out on the road to Tirana.

And what a road it was! Arj shut the airco vents by her in hopes that she could be warm and I could get all of the cool air. We made our careful way out of Shkodër through a market day atmosphere. Once on the open road, I could relax to a degree. Or, so I thought.

I kept seeing a small yellow flap of paper in the lower left windshield. It worried me. Did a resident of the side street leave me a note for parking by their house overnight? Would I get a parking ticket sent to my rental company after I left? We saw a gas station in the distance and decided to stop and grab the paper, and maybe some groceries as well.

Upon parking, we pulled out a post-it note that had seen some rain and contained some numbers, including the license plate number of my rental. It was the hand written system of tracking parking at that parking spot I’d paid for in Shkodër. I was equal parts impressed with the effective system and relieved that it was no nasty surprise.

The only surprise we did get was that the place advertising groceries at the gas station had been completely remodeled to a nice dine-in restaurant. This is not what we wanted, so we continued on our way south.

Presently, though, Arj confessed she was hungry for lunch. She said friends knew of a place near where we were that she wanted to try. I agreed it would be best to eat, so we started looking for Aroma Patokut. The satnav led us around for a while until we figured out which road off the highway to take, and then we drove west into increasingly reedy grounds until we came to a peninsula covered in restaurants.

I said it looked like the water had a tide. Arj laughed and said ‘Of course. It’s the Adriatic Sea!’

We found our restaurant and ate sea food on the sea. I ordered a shrimp risotto and messaged the family to try to find me on the app on the phone. Lavinia found me first, with exact location. I knew she’d excel at that. Now to get home to them.

We drove on from the restaurant, satiated, until Google Maps took us off the new highway and put us onto the old highway into Tirana. This was decidedly the slower way to travel, but importantly it led us to the gas station I needed.

Then we began our slow crawl through the city. My friend lived in the heart of Tirana, and Tirana’s driving requires a certain alertness and patience I usually reserve for driving in downtown Brussels. Fortunately I also brought a wide eyed wonder to the capital and the rental company was more than happy to pick up my car from the city instead of having to cross Tirana to get it at the airport.

We crept through convoluted exchanges and even drove up the main street before the evening protests started. At the time of my visit, Albanians had spent more than 100 days peacefully protesting corruption in the government.

When we parked the car, the sounds of Tirana that greeted me were a virtuoso pianist practising in his apartment mingled with the Muslim call to prayer, coupled with golden hour sunlight across the vibrant city.

We messaged the rental company, put my suitcases in Arj’s apartment, and went out for a few more groceries and ice cream. Though Tirana had less lighting than other cities I have known, the night was alive. Children played around apartment buildings, people lined up at ATMs, and vendors sold fresh fruits and vegetables from massive stands bursting with colour.

Arj insisted on sending me home with a sandwich. She bought the supplies, and then we walked to an ice cream stand while she called a taxi for my 3:00 am ride to the airport. I ordered a red velvet ice cream cone. It was less sweet than the ice cream I’m used to and usually find overwhelming. This ice cream had great globs of cherry jam on it, and it was the best ice cream I’d had that I ate walking through a half dark city being taken in and cared for by a friend.

Later, on that border between night and early morning, I passed through the darkened streets of Tirana one last time, in the back seat of a Clean Taxi on my way to the airport. I’d never travelled so early or late, but sat wide eyed staring and the capital flashed before my eyes, my taxi often alone on the streets and always slowing for police patrols pulling over less suspecting taxis.

He asked me what I thought of Albania. I told him it was a beautiful country full of good chances.

We arrived at a bustling airport with a neon wall of colour in the night at the drop off zone. It was striking in comparison to my arrival just a few days earlier, when everything had a beige coloured dust to it. I thanked my driver, and then headed into a full airport. I had not expected so many passengers at this time of day, but I was also no longer surprised and took my place in the lines.

The crowd of humanity surged from check-in to boarding pass scanner to security, and then to the gates to wait as the sun rose over the mountains in front of us.

Just before security, I pulled my one last water bottle out of my backpack and drank the last of the Theth spring water.

Clear, warm, and with no personal space, I boarded, with my newfound respect for the country of my 5th grade European Country Report, among several other sleepy Dutch passengers. We kicked back at some point for take off, but that was lost on the most of us who fell asleep like so many bobble-head dolls on a dashboard.

Upon landing, I walked out of the plane and was greeted at home by flat, grey skies and puddles. The man behind me let out a low whistle and said ‘It was better in Albania!’ and for once, my cold loving self had to agree. I especially felt his sentiment when I walked through puddles in my sandals, lifting my jeans daintily to keep the hems dry.

But Tom met me at the gate, swept my luggage up in his strong arms, and took me to our waiting car where a beautiful bouquet and a bag of my favourite snacks sat waiting. Home, yes, and I could not wait to share my adventures.

New here? begin the journey at Blue Eyes

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Know before you go:

• Albania is a cash market. You can easily find ATMs in many cities and the airport, and you’ll get the best rate in the cities. Do not convert to euros as it’s just as easy to carry LEK. If you have a Revolut card, you can also pay at some locations.

• Not all water is safe to drink. Use good judgement and, if necessary, buy water at the grocery stores.

• Not all diesel is created equal, and fuel quality varies a lot by station. Fill up at large, reputable stations in the cities or on main highways, not small rural ones, and top up before heading into the mountains. My rental company advised asking for the best quality 'Greek' or 'Shell' diesel and keeping receipts. Shell is new to Albania (arriving through the Kastrati network), and its stations carry premium fuel, so a Shell or Kastrati station is a safe bet.

• Stay in Albania when travelling with a rental auto, as accidentally travelling outside Albania can incur extra costs. Always read your rental contract.

• Before travelling, download the Google Map of the area you’ll be going to your phone.

• Google Maps is not always reliable so keep your eyes open and trust your instincts

• Also consider downloading any Spotify playlists to your phone.

• Charge and carry power banks.

• Albania is outside the EU, so plan for a local SIM or extra coverage from your own provider. I bought extra coverage through my provider, KPN, before I went on vacation.

• Carry reliable food for the mountains and long drives, supplement with dinners you trust. For managing my gastroparesis, I carried shelf stable snacks and foods with me like protein powder, squeezie applesauces, tuna salads, and Clif bars.

• Bring hand sanitiser and a pack of toilet paper. You can buy wet toilet paper at the stores. When in the mountains, paper napkins might be placed outside of toilets so check before you go.

The Details

Auto Rental: Auto Rent Bala, Rruga Kastriotët, Tirana 1050, Albania

Theth Accommodation: Villa Molla, Rruga Gjecaj, Theth 4027, Albania

Blue Eye Parking: Franc’s Bar, 9Q39+W7 Nderlysa, Albania

Mesi Bridge: 4H7F+RX Boks, Albania

Shkodër Accommodation: SANTO Hotel, Rruga Marin Bicikemi, Shkodër, Albania

Shkodër Souvenir Shop: Souvenir Albania, Rruga Kolë Idromeno, Shkodër, Albania

Catholic Church: Metropolitan Archdiocese of Shkodër - Cathedral of Saint Stephen: Sheshi “Gjon Pali II”, Shkodër 4000, Albania

My church: Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints: Rruga Gerej 19, Shkodër 4001, Albania

Shkodër Restaurant: Arti Zavane, Rruga Berdicej 4001, Shkodër, Albania

Patokut Restaurant: Aroma Patokut, Patok Patok, Laç 4706, Albania

Fuel Stations: ESP Oil, Bolv Oil, Coral, Elda, Kastrati

Taxi: Clean Taxi: Kompleksi Dinamo, Tirana 1000, Albania