Balkanethnoexp. Part IV. Albania
Map
June 18–20, 2012
At first glance, Albania hasn’t changed much over the past couple of years. The same unfinished buildings (if you leave a house partially incomplete, you can save on taxes), the same car washes on every corner, the same woman with a fake smile on supermarket ads.
But the changes are there. The country, although of no interest to anyone, is growing prettier. Buildings are occasionally painted in surprising ways.
Trash dumpsters still stand in clusters.
But now they stand in a special bay instead of right on the road. They’re even partitioned off by a wall painted with plant motifs.
A special-occasion trash can on the main street.
A regular trash can.
Dedicated lanes for public transport have appeared.
Payphones.
New post boxes.
A chic-looking kiosk. On closer examination, however, you notice that the shelves are crappily hung, there’s a bunch of soda dumped on the ground by the entrance, and the sidewalk continues to be covered in sludge.
Street signs.
A bus stop sign.
A sign for a taxi stand accommodating three vehicles, each of which can fit up to four passengers in addition to the driver.
A taxi license plate.
Albanians have a curious way of writing vertical signs. If a sound is transcribed with two letters, those letters are kept together on the same level, like inseparable twins.
The Albanian death.
The water supply is unreliable, so everyone has a personal water barrel hanging outside their window (or on their roof).
Those who have one big barrel on the roof move on to the next level of concerns—they hook up their individual satellite dishes to the public utility pole.
There’s a huge number of power lines everywhere. They frame windows on facades, hang in clumps in the courtyards.
Albanians love their national emblem.
It’s on every corner.
At every construction site.
Old women in the street knit sweaters with the Albanian emblem on them.
Even the traffic controller’s wand has a black eagle on a red background.
Policemen’s caps are protected with bright-green waterproof bonnets.
Boys sell rabbits on the side of the highway.
A young woman talking on her cellphone steps out of an apartment building into the courtyard.
Half the women in Albania walk around with Chinese paper parasols.
A vegetable seller.
A sneaker seller.
A passerby in the capital.
And after death, everyone is commemorated with an obituary notice on the wall.
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