Discovery ChannelSometimes I feel my eyes are the camera for the Discovery Channel. I don't even have to leave my bed to see nature at its finest. I have had 3 frogs hop their way into my room from swimming up the toilet line from the bathroom next door. I just had a flying grasshopper (perhaps a locust) torpedo into my face with the help of my fan. I saw a spider the size of my palm crawl out from under the other bed and literally "hop" away under the door. I had a flying cockroach the size of my middle finger land on my thigh and start crawling up my shorts. The "bugs" are just regular visitors (no, actually I smash them). I realized the very human instinct when "surprise" meets "fear" is violence. I would like to thank those who have sent magazines. They are a powerful weapon when rolled up tight. As I was writing this letter (I save on a disk to e-mail later) I see another frog hop along my floor, a different breed than before. I just sat in my perched seat high up on my bed to watch what it would do and curious about which luggage bag it would hide under. Let me tell you, it is freaky being up at 1am, everyone asleep, and you see something move out of the corner of your eye. One day, not so far from now, I am going to stop being surprised.

SandwichI had this epiphany that there are meals that can be made that are similar to ones I'm use to in the States. I totally forgot about sandwiches. So when my host-mom ceremoniously asked me "Charmin! Do hash buke?" (what do you want to eat?) I said, "Sandwich." She looked at me strange. Then I remembered I have to say English words with an Albanian pronunciation, so I try again, "sund-ui-ch." Again, she looks at me strange. "They have to know what a sandwich is, they have a shop here," I think to myself. I try the pronunciation again. The remaining blank look...the same look I give her when I have no idea what she is saying. So I add charades and describe the ingredients, "bread, tomato, cucumber, bread." No luck. Still baffled. I tell Alma in English about the sandwich. She says the exact same thing in Albanian as I did. "Hmmm...Maybe my host-mom really doesn't know what a sandwich is" a revelation that crosses my mind. I tell her to just bring me bread (store bought, that is sliced), a tomato, and a cucumber. It is going to be a long two years!

Watering DirtWater is a sacred resource here. The government turns water pumps on once or twice a day. Residents have water tanks that fill up during these times and live off it until the next refill. It is quite odd to see people watering the dirt streets of the village like it was their garden. Very interesting. Apparently the water helps keep the dust down. Not sure how much a patch of mud helps keep the rest of the "dirt" road from not getting "dirty."

Cuddle-Time As I have shared in a previous update, there is not a lot of touching going on here in Albania. It is an unfamiliar sight to see a couple holding hands or stealing kisses, more likely in a bigger, more progressive city (again, all relative). Initial greetings are the hand-shake. If we are chummy and of the same-sex, we hand-shake with a follow-up of a quick kiss on each cheek. I still miss good ole American hugs. I haven't been out much, meeting new people, so the physical contact I get is the cuddling that inadvertently comes with the furgon driver cramming too many people into a small amount of space. Hey, got to maximize my limited resources.

J-walkingThe capital city is one of the few places that actually have a cross walk. I was picking up a package from the Embassy (thanks Jenny) when the red figure at the cross walked popped up. I stood there and waited. I pondered crossing the street anyway, but there was a cop car right behind me. "J-walking" doesn't exist here. It is so funny, that moment when you realize that the training from the American culture doesn't fit.

Bank linesI moved banks to the larger town because in my village they don't have a computer, so electronic transfers become difficult. When you go to an Albanian bank, there are no lines. You find this out when you've been patiently waiting and providing sufficient space for privacy. Then some old lady will step right in between the foot that separates me and the person at the counter. "Am I not here? Do you not see me?" I think to myself. Then the aggressiveness starts to kick in because I realize that if I don't get my bank book under the window first, I will never get my business accomplished. The old lady swings around to the side of the person being helped like she was the child waiting for her parents to finish up. So I stick my hand on the counter (bank book in hand) in between the old lady and the people at the counter. I realize that the defensive moves used in basketball from school are helpful. I smile at her politely and slide my bank book under the teller's window before she has a chance. After a number of bank experiences, this is considered "normal." When the teller is counting out my money, I have the two people up next (on my right and on my left) standing so close to me that I can feel their breathe on the back of my neck. It is no big secret how much money I have in my account, or now have in my possession as I walk out. There are two major windows at the bank. One is for the teller to look into the computer and document my balance. The second is to get the money. Two non-lines I have to aggressively stand in so nobody cuts in front of me. No ATMs, no drive-thru windows, no lines. Banking in Albania!

WafflesIn Tirana, the capital city, there is a Saturday morning breakfast special of waffles at a little cafe that is run by American missionaries. For the July get-together, many people in our group met up there. I haven't seen waffles in a really long time. Knowing I can't just get them anywhere and have no means of making them at home, my mouth just watered when they arrived on a plate in front of me. "Syrup! Real syrup!" is discoveries that almost bring tears to my eyes because I'm so happy. Every bite is savored. Food cravings are something I have become most aware of. When I got here, I found out how much food that I'm accustomed to don't exist here. Even if I didn't eat it often, I crave it because I know that I can't have it.

Does this logic make sense?There are so many sights that I see through the eyes of my culture and think, "Does this logic make sense?"

• Lines were enforced during communism. There is no more communism, therefore no more standing in line. (orderly fashion has gone to hell)
• When communism ended, people burned down buildings built under communism. On Monday morning, they realize their kids don't have a place to go to school anymore because a building no longer exists. Then, they complain about the education standards.
• In 1997, a number of people lost their life savings by investing in a pyramid scheme supported by the government. People were reasonably upset at a faceless enemy so they started firing off their guns and looting the government's ammunition supplies because they were pissed off. The result: civil unrest, people staying in their houses and away from windows, or fleeing to neighboring countries. The Peace Corps evacuates and leaves the country for six years.
• Factories were built by the people themselves, who worked there. Burned down because it was built during communism. However, there are thousands of ugly bunkers (circular gray concrete bubbles) scattered around EVERYWHERE that remain in tact (e.g. school yards, hospitals, city parks, and country hills). During Communism, the dictator used fear to get everyone to build bunkers because there was an outside enemy (e.g. boogie man) that was going to come and get them, so they needed to protect themselves. Instead of destroying the bunkers which represented communist thinking, people destroyed the building they worked in. Result: unemployment.
• Once a week people had to do "mandatory volunteer work" (which is an oxymoron in and of itself). One of the tasks was collecting and disposing of garbage ("you created it, you clean it" mentality). Since communism is over, proper disposal of trash consists of throwing it out car windows, dropping it as you unwrap it, or sticking it outside your property line. Collecting trash to a common area is considered a communist-thing, so the unprogressive cities (almost all) use the environment as their trash can.
• People here are obsessively clean. Not just clean, but "Monica-clean" when it comes to their clothes and houses. The same people who litter are the same ones who complain how dirty the beach/village/town is. It seems that people don't connect the dots between their behavior and the dirty environment they created. Result: complaining that the environment is dirty.
• A volunteer lives in Ballsh. Ballsh has oil lakes. Lakes filled with black oil in them from the refineries and old derricks. Across the small lake is an electrical line. An electrical line that has electricity, during at least some portion of the day, is wired across a highly flammable substance. That is like the smoker's club having a wet t-shirt contest with gasoline. It is a disaster waiting to happen.
• The Albanian currency is Leke. One hundred leke is worth about one dollar. However, Albanians still use the old currency. So 100 new-leke ($1) is said to be 1000 old leke ($10), which drastically changes the buying desire. According to sources, the currency changed in 1969. Thirty-five years later, people still haven't switched over to "new leke." The currency says "100" leke on the bill, but people will say "1000." Very confusing for foreigners.
• When a furgon is running low on gasoline, it stops at a gas station. Only on a few occasions have I seen the driver actually TURN-OFF the engine to re-fuel.
• After stories I've heard and corruption I've come to understand, I don't have much confidence in the education system here. Getting "good results" (i.e. grades) means you either worked hard, you bribed the teacher with money, or a favor was made based on family connections. No wonder why the Peace Corps tells us not to let anybody touch us if we ever have to go to the hospital. "Wait til WE get there. Don't let them treat you." Now I know why. I have little confidence in the doctor's education.
• Divjake has a sandwich shop, a pizza restaurant, and another restaurant. All of them are closed during lunch time, when people actually want to eat out. The reason being: the owners are eating lunch with their families. Meanwhile, I'm starving.

This is information I've been told and have come to understand. It is frustrating to realize that there is a lack of connecting the dots to see the bigger picture of logic that seems obvious through my eyes. It is as if the Albanians shoot themselves in the foot with their own gun and wonder why they walk around with a limp. I pause. Wait for the dot to be connected....nothing. One volunteer's co-worker tried to explain that the point of burning the Communist-era buildings (every structure built within a 50 year time period) was to start new, to wipe the slate clean. "What happened?" inquired the volunteer. "We never got around to rebuilding," was the realization of trying to understand her people's logic.

"I'm not a girl, not yet a woman"- Brittany SpearsIn the last year, I've discussed what it means to be a "woman" with many females in my life. When does a female recognize herself as graduating from being a girl, to young woman, to "woman"? Biologically, a girl becomes a woman upon getting her menstrual cycle. Legally, when she no longer has parental guardians. However, when does the female herself say, "I am now a woman!"? After having sex for the first time? Living on her own? Getting married? Having a baby? Being financially independent? When does that happen? In Albania, a female becomes a "woman" upon getting married. So someone can be a 40-year-old "girl." My married American Mormon friend that lives in Tirana is the exact same age as I am. She is a "woman" because she said "I do." I am still a "girl" because I say "Oh-hell-no...I don't" to marriage. So just when I thought I graduated to being a "woman" without even realizing it...I'm back to being not a "girl" in the American culture, not yet a "woman" in the Albanian culture. Something to think about...