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| The bust in the photo is of one of Skanderbeg's loyal generals that led troops against the Ottoman Empire. The beautiful Skanderbeg Museum is pictured in the background. |
Two things I have grown fond of while in Albania are fig jam and persimmon (kaki in French). The fig jam is intensely sweet but not overpowering. It reminds me of the sweetness of maple syrup if it were a jam. Persimmon was a fruit that was foreign to me before arriving in Albania. Nevertheless, I like it very much. The fruit is ripe when it is bright orange and firm like a tomato. Unripe persimmon fruit can be sour and have an astringent effect on your mouth. Fortunately, it is late enough now I don't have to worry about that. The taste of persimmon reminds me of a cross between a mango and peach, firm like an unripe pear. I like to eat them cut up or like an apple, as the skin is edible.
And the top of the pot topples into the bowl.
After breakfast, Jerome and I load up. It is pouring rain this morning. The short drive to Tirana takes about an hour and a half. Traffic around Tirana and Krujë moves slowly, so most drive time occurs over only a few kilometers. Along the way, Jerome and I discuss our plans after we arrive in Tirana. Jerome is heading north into Montenegro. I will head east to Kosovo. Kosovo is a partially recognized country in the Balkans. However, it is still contested by Serbia, which believes it is still part of the country. "I really liked Kosovo. It is worth the trip," says Jerome.
Jerome handles the return of the car when we arrive in Tirana. While I wait, I notice a beautiful olive tree full of ripe olives. I reach up and pluck a beautiful large olive. It is green with beautiful shades of brown and light purple. I can feel it is perfectly ripened. "You haven't learned your lesson yet? Still trying to find an olive you can eat," says Jerome. I laugh. I know better now. Just because I can't eat it doesn't mean I can't admire it and dream about how good it would taste, I say.
Old town Prizren looks beautiful. It is clean and vibrant. I am looking forward to exploring over the next few days.
The Hostel is quiet, and very few people are there. "You are the only person that has checked-in today," says Rita. This is good news. I have had my fill of crowded hostels and sleepless nights. Unfortunately, the Hostel only takes cash. So, now I'm down to 25 euros for 2 days. Prizren is located in the southern part of Kosovo. The city was controlled by the Byzantine Empire through 1220 AD. Then, in 1450 AD, it was conquered by the Ottoman Empire and remained that way until 1912 AD.
After lunch, Jerome and I head to the bus station together. I plan to return to Tirana, so I'll skip exploring the city now and head to Kosovo instead. Over lunch, the two of us spend a lot of time trying to decipher the bus system in town. Tirana has a domestic or regional terminal 5 km from the city center. This is the one I arrived at, but it does not service buses to other countries. For that, Tirana has an international bus station near the city center. This is good news, as I won't have to pay for a taxi to get there.
I am surprised when I arrive at the International Bus Station in Tirana. I think to myself, where is the terminal? It isn't really fair to call it a bus station. It looks like a bunch of tourist kiosks looking to sell excursion tickets. There are a series of small booths, i.e., vendors, with a big parking lot for buses and no terminal for passengers. The bus to Prizren, Kosovo, my destination, leaves at 2 pm. That is less than an hour from now, so I buy my ticket. It costs me 15 euros, but all I have is Lek. So, she tells me 19,000 Lek. The exchange rate is lousy at 127 Lek per Euro. But I don't have options as it is cash only. So the ticket cost me 16 Euros, a small upcharge fee I can live with. Unfortunately, Jerome isn't so lucky. He was hoping for a 6 pm bus to Budva, Montenegro. "That is the summer schedule. Now only one bus to Budva at 6 am every day," the lady behind the counter tells him.
This is where we part ways, my friend. This worked out well, and traveling with you is a breeze," I tell Jerome. "Yes. I enjoyed it very much too. Thank you for splitting the costs with me. Hey, before we split, let's take a selfie." Jerome says.
As Jerome and I say our goodbyes, a young Albanian man, overhears us speaking French. "Êtes-vous français," he says. Kosta and I strike up a conversation. I sit near him on the bus, and we continue our discussion along the 3.5-hour bus ride. Not many people speak French in the Balkans. Where did you learn to speak it? I ask Kosta. "I spent 8 years in France. My mom has dual citizenship, and my little sister was born there. She is French. However, I was born in Albania, so I only have Albanian citizenship. I want to go back there soon, but it is complicated for me," he says.
"I don't like Albania. I work all day for 10 euros. That's shit! That is why I am going to Prishtina to work. I need to feed my family. My wife is pregnant with my daughter," says Kosta as he points to the belly of his wife, who is seated next to him. His wife only speaks Albanian. He looks at the weather and sees the forecast is predicting rain. "Do you have 5 Euros I can borrow? This way, my wife and child don't have to be in the rain. I will take a taxi when I get to Prishtina," he asks. I reach into my pocket. I tell him all I have is 3 Euros (all coins). Take it. "I will pay you back when you come to Prishtina," Kosta says.
About 10 minutes from customs crossing, we stop for a restroom break.
The crossing goes smoothly. It is simple, and we aren't required to leave the bus. Instead, we fill out a sheet of paper with our passenger details before arriving and hand our passports to the driver. Another 10 minutes later, we are on the outskirts of Prizren, and the bus stops. "You are going to Prizren, right? So you need to get off here," says Kosta. We aren't near the city yet, I say. "I go with you to find out," he replies as he says, "Go, Go."
When I step off the bus, Kosta is right behind me. He chats with the operator, and he relays the information. "You take a small bus now to Prizren. Then, when you are in Prishtina, you come to stay with me," he says. Thank you, my friend. I will be in touch and grab my backpack from the luggage bin.
It rained most of the way to Prizren, but the skies are dry when I get out of the small bus. Good timing! I'm about a 20-minute walk to the Hostel. I remember Siem telling me that the Ura Hostel is well-kept and I should stay there if I go to Prizren. On my way, I spot a bank and withdraw the remaining 50 euros I have. This cash-only economy surprised me; I forgot to transfer funds last week. So now, I need to wait another two days before withdrawing more Euros.
I notice that the streets are full of retail shops. But unlike other places, sectors are lined with similar shops. For example, I see only suit stores for men along one block and only women's dresses on the next block. This interesting. This manikin catches my eye when I pass a shop with sportswear. What a clever thing to put on a shirt, I say to myself. The sweatshirt reminds me that I receive the energy I put into the world, so keep sending out good energy, I tell myself.
"Where ya from, mate," says the young tattooed Australian man in the bunk next to me. We are the only two in a room with 5 beds. Jayden lives in Portugal currently, but he is on his way to see his friend in Prishtina. So, he decided to stop here for a couple of days. What are you doing for dinner? I am hungry. Are you ready to eat? I ask.
Jayden and I leave the Hostel and head for a highly recommended vegetarian restaurant. Unfortunately, it is closed, so we pivot as we try to dodge the rain that has started again. "I ate at a traditional Albanian restaurant last night, not far from here. It's quite good, and the decor is quite nice," he says. I'm in, but I am tight on Euros for a few days. I am waiting for my bank to clear a transfer. "Ah, no worries, mate. I got you covered," says Jayden.
A few minutes later, we are at restaurant Hani. "This is the other restaurant the Hostel recommended," I tell Jayden. "I found it on my own last night," he says. I ask Jayden, are you up for splitting a meal? We could do this clay pot meal with a sword for two and a salad. "Works for me, mate," he says.
The staff carries out a small clay pot when the meal is ready. The waitress on the right is wearing gloves so she doesn't get burned by the clay pot heated to 1,000 C (1,852 F). The other waitress holds a small plate to catch the top of the clay pot that will be beheaded by the waiter.
The waitress pours the contents of the clay pot into a serving bowl. It is a beef stew with onions and peppers with a broth that is rich in flavor but not too thick. The meat is tender, juicy, and melts in my mouth. Despite the intense heat, the clay pot retains moisture and prevents the meat from drying out. The meal is delicious! What an experience!
Later, I reflect on my day. What an incredible day! I laugh. In reality, I didn't do much except on my ass traveling today. However, the timing was impeccable, and everything fell into place once again. I feel light and nimble. I am not weighed down because I waste no time worrying if things will work out. Instead, I continue to spend my time present in each moment. I am open to what the day brings and resolve problems if they arise and need my attention. Today, I met some new people, was generous, and in turn, saw that generosity returned and shared a fantastic meal. I continue to be humbled by and am so grateful for days like these.
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