Voskopoja

In the early 1300’s, about 150 years before Columbus sailed to the Americas, the town of Voskopoja was established in a high, fertile mountain valley. After 400 years, it had grown to the largest city in the Balkans, bigger even than Athens. Its 35,000 inhabitants had built 24 churches, a monastery and an academy training artists and architects. It was famous for its frescoes and icons and beautiful basilicas. Fires, earthquakes and invasions have taken their toll since then. It is now a remote, though tidy and scenic, mountain village of a few hundred people whose orchards and fields hide the ruins of its former glory.

A couple of former Peace Corps volunteer were touring through Korca as they traveled through Albania in a rented 4WD. They had served in Fiji in the 1980’s, but had continued their love of foreign adventure and each year chose an exotic destination to visit for a couple of weeks of vacation, often in countries with current Peace Corps activity. There is a bond of shared experience among former and current volunteers, and I had heard through the grapevine, that they were about. I was happy to show them around Korca. I even offered them a place to stay, although they have real jobs and opted for a hotel room instead.

I showed them churches and museums, coffee shops and stores around Korca. We had dinner at Vasili’s. Most locals identify it as the best in Korca. This includes my counterpart at the Public Health Department who is in charge of inspecting restaurants. A good endorsement, indeed, although by any standard, it is an excellent restaurant. Their specialty, lemon soup, is amazingly good. This was followed by a grilled assortment of vegetables (egg plant, peppers, cauliflower, beans, beets and squash), toasted bread, fish, beef, and sugar-cake (a local dessert) and fresh grapes. My friends drank a carafe of local, red wine which they said was good. At about $9 a head, it is more expensive than most places in Korca, but well worth it.

We joined the stroll along the boulevard in the pleasant fall evening. When we returned to their hotel they said they were planning to drive to Voskopoja the next day and asked if I wanted to come along. I did not have to be asked twice.

I have wanted to visit Voskopoja for awhile. Many of the most beautiful icons in the icon museum in Korca and in the National Museum in Tirana are from Voskopoja artists. We had a bit of trouble finding the road, and I was glad my Shqip is now functional enough to ask directions. The drive took about an hour on a winding and frequently unpaved road (what else would one expect in Albania) and the 4WD was useful in places. There were crews working on it and someday the road will be good, although a dump truck lying on its side off a steep drop indicated how formidable a task this is. We parked the Toyota in the center of town and set off on foot.

It was a fresh, early autumn day with small puffs of cumulus clouds in a bright blue sky. The fruit trees were laden with plums, wild pears, and thane fruit (a red, olive sized fruit with a slight acid tinge to its sweetness that is sold in cups on the streets of Korca). Blackberries and rose hips were thick on bushes along the paths. Locals worked in their gardens or tended sheep, goats or cows in the fields. They waved to us as we passed.

The buildings were stone with tile roofs, surrounded by low stone walls along narrow cobbled streets. The heroic, communist era monument in the center of town seemed out of place. It had graffiti on it and was broken in places. We found the Church of St. Nicolas, but it was locked and workers nearby said the priest was away in Korca and no one else had the keys. We climbed to a raised yard and along a fence and got a good view of the frescoes on the outside wall. We sampled a few of the yellow and red plums on the trees.

We walked across town to another church and encountered a teenage girl who spoke some English and told us she could give us a tour if we wanted. She was born in Voskopoja, but commuted every day to Korca to attend high school. When she graduated she planned to join her sister and go to university in Tirana. She led us along paths through fields to ruins that we never would have found on our own. One church had frescoes that had been defaced on the outside and on the inside when the communists had used it for storage. There was a large graveyard on the hillside by the church going down to the creek. Some graves were recent and some headstones were hundreds of years old. More recent ones had photos of the departed. Alongside were empty bottles of wine or raki, incense holders and dried or fake flowers. Albanians frequently visit graves of relatives on weekends and holidays.

Our guide pointed us towards the center of town and headed home. We then drove towards the monastery. We made a wrong turn and ended up at a small military base. The soldiers were friendly and pointed us in the right direction. We drove up a hill to the monastery which is an EU cultural site, according to the sign on the wall. No photos or cameras were allowed. A caretaker wandered about outside and let us into the church. The wood carving and icon painting inside were remarkable. We left some coins in the box by one of the icons and offered the caretaker something to compensate him for his trouble, but he refused politely. We walked around the buildings for a bit and then headed back to Korca.

We stopped at another church in Mborja. We waited outside while an old man passing by went to tell someone at the store up the street to bring the keys to let us in. This church is small but its frescoes from the 13th century are well preserved and show scenes of the final judgment and the apostles.

We then drove back into Korca. We had a late lunch at the beer garden adjacent to the Birra Korca brewery and near my apartment. My new friends gave me a recent New Yorker magazine, a recently published paperback novel and a bag of M & M’s. We said our goodbyes and they drove off the Pogradec and Lake Ohrid. They planned to spend the night in Lin, a town on a peninsula in the northwest corner of the lake, which I’ve admired from a bus window and heard good things about, but have not yet been able to visit. I walked back home to my apartment, across the litter strewn dirt yard between the blocks, past a recently collapsed brick wall, up the alley and into the building, and got back to work.

Trashegohet

I went back to Elbasan for the first time since Pre-Service Training. I stayed with another volunteer and we attended the wedding of the middle of five daughters of one of the Thane host families. It is apparently quite an honor to be invited to a wedding in Albania, and traditional weddings, like this one, are very big deals.

Our arrival at the house was heralded by an Albanian combo (drum, clarinet and accordion). We were welcomed with handshakes and hugs and air kisses to both cheeks (traditional greeting for good friends and family). We were seated on a couch next to the father (the most honored seat), served raki to toast the day, and given small bags of cookies and candy. We sat and chatted for a while, then went outside to make room for arriving visitors. The band played for the arrival and departure of each group. People in the courtyard did the traditional line dance to the music and money for the band was placed in the drum.

After about an hour and a half, we went to a room above one of the Thane lokals which had been recently remodeled. It has large open windows and ceiling fans for cross ventilation which was really needed for the stifling, humid weather. Because it was held in a village, it had to be during the daytime because public transportation stops at about 6 PM and the guests needed time to get home. In cities, wedding parties are usually in the evening, to avoid the heat of the day, and go on most of the night. We were seated with more than 100 guests, in groups according to family relationship (we sat with the sisters and brother of the bride’s mother and their families). Sons-in-law of the two older sisters managed the bar and younger sisters and cousins handled food service under the supervision of the youngest brother of the father. Food had been prepared by the family, excluding the mother of the bride who got the day off. Being Albania, of course there was a lot of food, but that hardly describes it. That is like saying there is a lot of water in the Pacific Ocean.

The combo from the house was joined by a drum and keyboard. They had amplification which was set just below feedback, most of the time. My ears will ring for a week. The bride was seated at a small table on a dais at one end of the room under an arch of flowers. People waited until everyone was served and the father gave a toast. Then the guests began to carefully pick at the huge plate of meats, cheeses, and vegetables in front of each person, and the baskets of fruits and bread and bottles of water, soft drinks and beer on each table. They knew this was only the first course. One has to pace eating at celebrations in Albania. Traditional line dancing commenced. Each table would get up to do the money dance. People put bills in the hands of the lead dancers with a competition to see which group raised the most money for the couple.

After 2 hours, the groom and his family arrived. The bride’s family formed a reception line. The males of the family came first and were greeted with handshakes, hugs and air kisses. The women were next and were similarly greeted. Then, finally, the groom, who was escorted to the head table and seated next to the bride. The groom’s family was seated at their own table. Line money dancing then resumed and, this time, with the groom’s family joining the competition. They had critical expressions on their faces, apparently judging the quality of the party and the feast. How could it not pass? For the first time at the party, I saw the parents of the bride smile.

After 3 more hours and courses of soup and several kinds of meat (there is an Albanian proverb, “dasme pa mish nuk ka”- “there is no wedding without meat”, i.e. nothing comes without some sacrifice), a cake was brought out. It had several layers, sparklers and fireworks on top and when they were set off, confetti and spray snow were showered on the couple as they cut the cake. They then led the traditional handkerchief dance. They passed it back and forth and then both held on as they danced under arches of raised arms and joined hands of the other couples.

After the bridal pair returned to the head table, the groom’s family stood up, left the party, and took the groom with them. There was another receiving line. Each was given a large bar of chocolate with a picture of the newlyweds on the wrapper. The party then continued for another hour or more. The following day, the groom will drive to the bride’s home and take her to his village where there will be a similar party, with the roles reversed. After that, the bride and groom will move into their new home, living with the groom’s family. Imagine the thrill of a new bride being welcomed to her new home by her mother-in-law.

This was a modest wedding. It only lasted three days (there was another party the day before that we missed). Some Albanian wedding parties go on for 6 days. This does not count the similar big party held for the engagement, usually one year before the wedding. Rings are traditionally exchanged by the couple at the engagement.

It is very rare for a couple, once engaged, not to go on to marry. This is a great dishonor, particularly for the woman. It is almost as bad as divorce, which is rare in Albania. This may be because few families can afford more than one wedding per child (which requires years of saving). In spite of that, broken engagements and divorce are increasing in Albania, particularly in the bigger cities, like Tirana. In traditional villages, like Thane, it would be hard to show your face after either. I wonder what they think of me with two counts against my past. It is an indication of their tolerance and affection for Americans that I can be an honored guest at this occasion.

After the wedding, the father of the bride and many other relatives will return to Greece or Italy or elsewhere to resume their migrant work. He is gone for 6 months a year working in orchards. He feels lucky to have a work visa no matter how much he misses his family. It is that work that paid for their house and this wedding. The groom similarly worked two jobs in Wales for four years to save up enough money to return home to marry. He is a hard worker and smart. He is fluent in English and Greek. He wants to start a construction business with his brothers. It might work out as their village is only an hour or so from the big growth area between the capital and its seaport, Durres. Also, I noticed several new buildings in Elbasan as well as new stores and cafes. Even so, once the new couple is settled in, he will likely have to leave again for work. His new wife is a skilled seamstress and will probably run a business from their home as she will be left to manage home and family, just as her mother ran a byrek stand, tended the cow, chickens and garden, and took care of 5 daughters while her husband worked abroad.

By the way, “trashegohet” means “to enjoy a happy life with one’s family”. In the optative mood (used to express desires or wishes) it is the traditional Albanian greeting of good wishes given by guests to the family at a wedding. I said, “Trashegohesh!” to my hosts as I entered their home, the band played, and I was greeted with the genuine warmth that seems characteristic of most Albanians. I meant it.