Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“My friend, we like you,” Mikos shouted, his preferred form of communication, it
seemed. “Welcoming you to the Albanian home!”
I thanked him and quickly left the border crossing before he changed his mind.
I had never before been to Albania, but I realized one thing very quickly—Albanians are
very proud of their heritage. They are deeply connected to who they are as a people, and
there's a fierce pride that comes from that connection.
As I drove to the closest town, I found myself wondering about my own “home.” Would
it always be England, the place of my birth? Would it be Greece, the home of my ancest-
ors? Or was it now Los Angeles, where so many miles away, my house and girlfriend and
dog all waited for me to return—hopefully in eager anticipation. Maybe because I felt so
disconnected from home, I decided to jump on the Albanian bandwagon and get a tattoo of
their national flag. Well, sort of.
I was walking down the main street of the small border town when I saw the distant light
of a ramshackle Albanian tattoo parlor. After discovering that the two tattoo artists inside
spoke English, I asked them what kind of tattoo I should get. Their suggestion: the Albani-
an flag,
on my neck
.
“Guys, my girlfriend might not like that too much,” I explained.
“Why not?” the younger brother who worked at the parlor asked, as though there might
be something wrong with my girlfriend.
“Well, unless she's secretly Albanian, she'd probably be confused.”
I waited, expecting some sign of understanding before I finally threw my hands in the
air, and sighed, “Women!”
This they understood, and offered an alternative plan: a henna tattoo of the Albanian
flag on my leg.
A henna tattoo on my leg, I could do. Lina might have more to say about an Albanian
flag on my neck.
In the morning I headed off to Pristina, the capital of Kosovo. At first glance it's a
bleak-looking place, with concrete reminders of the uniformity of the Soviet era scattered
throughout the city. The heavens opened up, and rain was pouring down from heavy gray
skies that matched the buildings below it. Cars and scooters and bicyclists crowded the
rain-soaked streets, honking and yelling against the onslaught of traffic. I worked my way
through, praying that Kindness One would behave while I sought a safe place to find some
food and shelter and rest. And that's when I ran into him. President Bill Clinton.
