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"Music brought me to tears" - The story of a writer who fell in love with Albania

2023-05-18 19:45:02Pikëpamje SHKRUAR NGA JACOB MIKANOWSKI
"Music brought me to tears" - The story of a writer who fell in love
Thetha

Over the past four years, I have traveled to 17 countries for my book Goodbye Eastern Europe. In it, I try to describe a vanished Europe in which cultural diversity and religious tolerance were the rule, not the exception. Albania was one of the few countries where heritage was not a memory, but a living reality. Seeing the legacy present gave me hope, not only for the Balkans, but for Europe as a whole.

I felt a sense of dread before my first visit there in 2019. All the more so since Bulgarian researcher Maria Todorova said that every country in Eastern Europe considers itself the golden mean and views its neighbors (especially in the south and east) with suspicion. I am Polish and have been traveling around the region for a long time and have experienced all kinds of inconveniences. But I'm also old enough to remember the images broadcast from Albania after the fall of communism and the civil war that engulfed the country in 1997. Even though so much time has passed since then, I wasn't sure what I'd find.

My point of entry was one of the most beautiful border points I've ever seen, a stretch of coastline along Lake Ohrid where Albania meets North Macedonia. A quick taxi ride from the border to the nearby town of Pogradec was enough to banish any lingering anxiety. After refueling with a cappuccino by the lake, I boarded a bus to Korça, Albania's cultural capital. Arriving at noon, the town seemed deserted. As night fell, the bazaar was packed with people dining outside in Italian and Albanian restaurants. I decided to eat a plate of lamb kebab and Greek salad (they call it "village salad" here, a matter of nationality) and listened to a free concert by the French singer Clio.

I had come to Korça to see the remains of Voskopoja. Also known as Moschopolis, or "city of the shepherds," it was once the unofficial capital of the Wallachians, an often (but not exclusively) nomadic people who spoke a language similar to Romanian. In the mountains west of Korça they built their own miniature 'Oxford', complete with an academy, printing press and ornate churches. The city flourished for a century before it was conquered by Ali Pasha at the end of the 18th century, after which it sank into obscurity.

Today Voskopoja is a pleasant village in a small valley surrounded by fir-covered mountains. Many things have disappeared, but you can still see masterpieces by David Selenica and other Albanian painters in its many churches. However, sometimes a phone call is needed. St. Nicholas Church was closed when I arrived. At the front of it, I met two couples from Germany and France, the only tourists in town that day. We called the number on the door, and a few minutes later, a polite Vlach priest in black robes ushered us into a jeweled building with colorful frescoes.

Later that day, I set out on my own on an old path that connected Voskopoja to the great trading centers of the Balkans. I walked for an hour through the pine forests without seeing anything, until I came to a small stone pilgrimage church dedicated to Saints Constantine and Helena.

Satisfied by my first trip to Albania, I was determined to return. Life and the pandemic intervened, but in 2022 I returned with my wife for a two-week tour. We started in Tirana. Albania's capital has a lot to recommend it: beautiful architecture, a lively cafe scene, lively restaurants. It's also the best place to learn about the darkest period in the country's history: the 40-year reign of Enver Hoxha, the dictator who ruled Albania from the end of World War II until his death in 1985.

Near Skënderbej Square, an attractive villa that was once the headquarters of the secret police has been turned into an observation museum called "House of Leaves". His exhibits, which include wiretapping devices, controlled surveillance footage and interviews with survivors of incarceration, reveal what the communist regime was able to do to keep its population under control. On a more aesthetic note, the National Gallery of Art (currently closed for renovations, but scheduled to reopen in early 2024) has one of the largest collections of Eastern European art.

However, to get a real feel for Albania, you have to leave the capital city behind. Our first destination was the north, home to the country's Catholic minority and the highest mountains. Traditionally a land of strife and highlanders, this is the "High Albania" described by Edith Durham in the early 20th century. We began our visit to the city of Shkodra with a trip to the Marubi National Museum of Photography, which showcases the work of Albania's greatest photographic dynasty, started by Italian revolutionary Pietro Marubbi and continued through his Albanian students. The museum offers a window into mid-19th-century Albania: Ottoman pashalars, Catholic warlords, harem girls and even a freedom fighter.

Then we went three hours north to the valley of Theth in the mountains bordering Montenegro. In the past, Thethi was cut off from the rest of the world by snow for six months of the year.

Until recently it could only be reached by an unpaved road which caused dizziness to anyone passing by but slowly it was fixed and now the road is paved.

Carved by glaciers, Thethi has some of Albania's most spectacular scenery. In recent years, it has become a destination for tourists heading to Valbona, a neighboring (and almost equally picturesque) glacial valley that can only be reached from Thethi on foot.

After a few days of blissful hiking, interspersed with hearty meals like beans, tomatoes, and wood-fired bread, we were ready to head south. Back in Tirana, we rented a car and drove to Berat, the old town which is a wonder of Ottoman-era stone houses, stacked one on top of the other on a hill, the top of which is "occupied" by ruins of a Byzantine fortress. Berat also has the King's Mosque, where men and women gathered to listen to sacred music and socialize (albeit separately, in rooms separated by ornate wooden partitions).

This mix of Byzantine and Ottoman is characteristic of the south, which feels more Mediterranean than the mountainous north. It has some of the best beaches in the country and is close to Corfu and Greece. The presence of the Greek minority (much reduced since the fall of communism, but still present) can be felt throughout the Albanian Riviera, especially in villages such as Qeparo, located among olive groves at the end of a long bay.

But the south is not just a mixture of foreign influences. It also has a strong local culture. The best place to experience it may be the city of Gjirokastra. The birthplace of Enver Hoxha and Ismail Kadare, Albania's greatest writer and perennial (and, in my opinion, long overdue) candidate for the Nobel Prize in Literature. Like Berat, it is a treasure house of traditional architecture, with five-story stone houses with slate roofs built more than 100 years ago by local landowners, each looking like a castle.

But Gjirokastra also has modern pleasures. I found one of them by chance. Exploring the area around the Bazaar Mosque in the center of the old city, I came across an underground space filled with small shops, bookstores and cafes. A young woman stall owner invited me to explore another, hidden passage. Admission was free, but it was unpleasant: a long dark concrete tube, dripping with moisture, that ran deep into the hillside.

When I emerged into the light, I felt once again grateful to have had the opportunity to visit this place of history.

It turned out that this was one of Enver Hoxha's many bunkers, built in case of a nuclear attack, only this one had been remade into a wonderful sound art installation, with a kind of music I'd never heard called saze. It is an ancient form, native to the high rocky pastures of Southern Albania. Her songs, many of which are laments for the departed, consist of strong melodies sung polyphonically to the accompaniment of a violin, clarinet and lute. It reminded me of Byzantine chant mixed with the blues, and immediately brought me to tears. When I emerged into the light, I felt once again grateful to have had the opportunity to visit this place of history, boundless hospitality and endless surprises.

*Jacob Mikanowski is the author of Goodbye Eastern Europe, published by Oneworld.

Source: The Guardian

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