“So…um…how long do you,
like, plan on staying?”
This question really
led me to sit up and take notice. I
realised I had invested so much energy in pursuing my goals that I never really
stopped to think what I would do once I had actually achieved them—or it in
this case: Tirana. Tirana was absolutely
bumpin’ at this time of year too. It was hot, crowded and full of crazed,
American spring-breakers looking for a good time and willing to take off their shirts for free shots. This is actually entirely true, as two
busloads of new Peace Corps recruits had just been shuttled up from the village
they were training in to experience the fun and excitement of the big city and—essential
for any United States-reared citizen who has to go through the anguish and
self-sacrificing experience of living outside the homeland—eat at a Mexican restaurant.
As it turned out, I knew one of these Peace Corps
recruits. We had been roommates in
university during the mass out-migration of Americans to Canadian universities in
the mid-2000s. He, being from Yakima,
WA, naturally understood me, being from Grand Forks, and the importance of Spokane
not only in identity-building but also as a source of cheap shoes and delicious
Mexican food at Rancho Chico (which has locations in Colville and Omak as
well). He also knew how much I love
talking about Kelowna, and talking about going to Kelowna, and ultimately how
disappointed I am when I actually go to Kelowna.
So it only made sense
that meeting up in Tirana—the T-Dot—would be the thing to do. We planned all sorts of festivities for the
times when he wasn’t engaged in 9-hours-per-day Albanian language classes in a
village to the south, and until he was assigned to his official site location,
we had the opportunity to occasionally meet up.
I used this as leverage with Garrett, my cordial and ever-gracious host.
“Yeah, just for a few
days, until you get sick of me.”
This bought me a whole
TWO WEEKS and Tirana was my oyster thenceforth.
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