Give me a Break

– “Seeing I’ll be in Tirana for a week, please send me your address because I would like to pay a visit to the offices of your newspaper,” wrote, BP in an e-mail, a well known Danish anthropologist, very interested in Albania and the Albanians and a collaborator of Tirana Times.
-Address, what address, I almost said out loud, but contained myself. -Do you know the zone called “The Bloc?”
-Of course-BP replies with a shade of sarcasm in his lines.
-Right, well our offices are directly opposite the former residence of Mehmet Shehu (former Albanian Prime Minister in the 70-80ties).
-What’s that? – BP asks anxiously.
-Just my luck, I say to myself. BP knows about Albania’s history, but unfortunately, he doesn’t know details like for example, where the residence of the former PM of Albania is located, the house where Shehu lived out the last years of his life.
-Forget about it thenŭ
-No, no, hang on, what do you mean forget about it? – came the surprised reply of my Danish friend. -Give me different bearings, another pointer.-
-O.K. Do you know where the residence of our former dictator Enver Hoxha is?-
-I believe so, but still, maybe not, – he said in his most evasive tone possible.
-Well, if you did know, then our offices are no more than 500 meters awayō
-Well, I’m not sureō
Then I recalled that the building that houses the Tirana Times offices stands out like a sore thumb due to the amazing color scheme applied when it was painted, a figment of the imagination of Tirana’s Mayor. Without doubt this building has been for foreigner visitors to the city, like a blazing lighthouse. I often notice them from the office window as they pause and tilt their heads back like birds to gaze upwards at the incredible fa袤e. Not even our anthropologist from Denmark can have missed this kaleidoscope of fantasies.
-I wonder if you’ve noticed the predominantly bright orange building where the Manhattan Coffee Bar is.?
-Of course,-the answer shoots back.
-That is exactly the building the offices are in.
So it was no big surprise that he found us. BP arrived at the door of our editorial office on the third Friday of October, at 14:00 hours on the dot, as we had arranged.
It’s strange how insignificant events bring to mind some simple truths, but unfortunately never really thought of and utterly out of the usual. One of these things is the following. Tirana, the capital of Albania is a city without addresses. The principle arteries crisscrossing the centre of the city bear names, predominantly the names of distinguished figures of world, history, politics and only a handful of names of Albanian figures of renown. But no-one uses these names. No-one knows them. Instead of streetsnames and numbers, generation after generation of Tirana citizens have used as directions, the names of a handful of individuals who are far removed from them, their history, glory, traditions, art and culture. The names the city uses to reach locations are linked either to money or former state spies. For example, when anyone asks where I used to live, I promptly reply – in the bloc, opposite the apartment of Sulo Gradeci. – BP would of course be justified in asking who Gradeci is, just as any other foreign visitor who does not know the details of the history of Tirana. Is he perhaps a kind of Janosh Huniad of the Albanians, perhaps a hero, a martyr, distinguished political expert? No I must answer this question, myself. Sulo Gradeci, across from whom I lived for thirty years, is nothing other than a police officer or a bodyguard. But not the usual run of bodyguard. He was the most trusted bodyguard who headed the personal security detail of our great leader E.Hoxha during the last twenty years of his life. In other words, nothing but a simple police officer from a shepherd’s backgroundō
But there is even more to the Albanian wonder. If BP were ever inclined to ask me where my new apartment is, I would again be compelled to offer a similar answer and say, opposite the home of Ramiz Alia, the former Albanian President before the ninetiesơdjacent to the Twin Towers.
And BP could well be surprised and say, “Wow, there are Twin Towers in Tirana too?!”
Then I would have to explain that they’re nothing like the former Twin Towers of Manhattan, but that they are “twin towers” because of their owners, two very wealthy brothers from Lushnja (Central Albania), who turned up in Tirana one fine day. Short and stocky, with big bellies, the twins suddenly began opening up the foundations of a new apartment bloc in the middle of the back yard of our apartment bloc, which was once a pleasant recreation area for us. We were astonished by the resemblance between the twins, but even more so by the speed with which that building of theirs went up. Without the slightest hesitation, we began describing our location as being, “the zone next to the twins’ building.”
I’m certain that other Tirana residents have similar absurd points of reference for addresses. I would not be surprised if even foreigners who live and work in Tirana, for example, you, our readers, were to give me similar, strange directions instead of your addresses. For example, “I live next to the “Pinguli” building. (Pinguli is a successful builder whose apartments are in the top price brackets, in other words among the most sought after in Tirana).
You’re somewhat more fortunate if you live in one of the “Dulaku” apartment blocs. Dulaku is an even more successful builder than the first one. He is also the best of them if you happen to live in “his building in Fieri!” You next question could well be, “Well, who is he?” No one seems to know. He is merely a businessman from Fieri (Central Albania), no one even seems to know his full name. This businessman constructed a huge bloc of apartments in one of the most popular residential zones of Tirana known as “The Bloc.” He astounded everyone with the amount of capital he had. So in the old buildings surrounding it you can hear such directions being given as “to the right of the building of the man from Fieri.” How’s that for a solution?
By giving directions or addresses in this manner, to a certain degree you are indicating the social level, the financial status of a family of Tirana. For example, if someone says they live in the “Dulaku buildings,” then undoubtedly, they are part of the newly created wealthy stratum of Albania, members of Albania’s Nouveau Riche, people who have made several millions of dollars or euro over these last twenty years. Whoever says that they live, for example, in or in close proximity to the apartment bloc of Enver Hoxha’s former bodyguard (close to my old flat), are, nine times out of ten, members of the “nobility” of the past, who now no longer have the titles and even less the money. Whoever gives you directions to reach them in the “Davidoff Building” or the “Quo Vadis” Tower, are either our Nouveau Riche or foreigners employed in international organizations. Naturally others will give you directions for Bathore and again there is no need for further commentō
This is the strange way that a city and a society create their system of values. Up to this point there is probably nothing new here for anyone who knows Albania and the Albanians. The strangeness lies elsewhere. 10 days ago, the most astounding news flashed across the TV screens. “For the first time in all its history, Albania finally had its own Zip Code..!” Zip CodeƯr Zip Kud! Wonders will never cease! But what is the use of a zip code in a country that has no addresses, or with the direction/addresses we described above. This is like building a house beginning from its roof. The question is simple. What kind of technology builds a house starting from its roof?!