By: Jerina Zaloshnja
– Excuse me Miss is this your scarfſ!
– The young lady, head bowed in shyness, coyly darts a very quick, but prudent glance at the handkerchief, which is and isn’t hers. The initials on it appear to be right butŠ
It is not proper for her to pause any longer. She takes the handkerchief from the charming young man, who, for almost two minutes had been paying her such profound reverences in the middle of the city’s main boulevard. She is well aware of the fact that dozens of pairs of eyes are watching her every move from behind the wrought iron bars of the fences of the villas lining both sides of the street, so she quickens her pace in the direction of home. With a refined intuition of a young woman who knows about “the modern” methods of courting, she has all the same, understood two important things: That the handkerchief had appeared as if by magic at her feet and that, despite the exaggerated care to imitate the endless handkerchiefs her mother embroidered for her, this one did not belong to her. And what is even more important is that she has understood that inside the handkerchief something had been concealed, something that will fill her life with joy, from this day onwards. A love letter.
The scene described above was not taken from a comedy by Moliere. This was a scene from the life of an Albanian city, typically European, in the twenties. This is no small city. Peaceful, with its clean streets, the gardens of the villas that line the streets are full of oleander and other flowers. The city of Kor街 180 kilometers Southeast of Tiranaطas once known as Albania’s “little Paris.”
“Le Petit Paris”
In Kor衠of the 20-30ties, was much different from many other towns and cities of Albania, there were two very good cinemas, The Lux and The Majestic, a coffee shop, that was famous throughout the country called “The Panda”, the city library and many other private libraries in the homes of Kor衧s families. After completing private studies at the Lyceum, or at the two foreign secondary schools of the city, the young girls of Kor衠focused on sewing and embroidering their dowries, they took piano lessons, fussed over the roses in the garden, and then, dressed in their best, they would go out for their evening stroll, hearts a-quiver with the expectation of perhaps finding a “fallen handkerchief.” The young men of Kor衬 on the other hand, continued schooling abroad, in the West. Historians relate that usually the bulk of these young men would return to their country after approximately a ten-year experience in America, Bucharest, Paris and Alexandria. Another portion of the young men of Kor衠completed their studies in their home town, at the famous French Lyceum or at the Greek Secondary School run by foreign professors and tutorsءfter which they would take over the their family businesses.
Today it is practically impossible to imagine Kor衠in its heyday, (1920-30 up until the beginning of World War Two). The road that leads to the tiny town of Kolonja, was once the route traversed by the traders of Kor衬 and which linked their town with the famous bazaar of the Balkans, in Janina. Four foreign consulates (Greek, Romanian, Italian, and Yugoslav) once operated out of Kor衬 the city which resembled a tiny European corner, unique from the rest of Albania. As if to cement its multiculturalism, Korca also boasted Greek, French, American, and English secondary schools. In addition, after 1950, American emissaries arrived and built the “Kennedy Charity Mission.” In fact, all of Korca’s principle buildingsشypical of a Western cityנthe churches, the schools, the hospital, and the libraries were built by charity. Kor衠is the only city in the country that has ever known charity, philanthropy, as a reliable source of the development of its city’s life.
Kor衧s very own philanthropists, with considerable assets in Romania and the United States, donated the famous Saint George Church, the building that housed the French Lyceum, the hospital, and the old library. Evidence from the archives indicates that the same philanthropists of Kor衠donated innumerable scholarships for students of Kor衠outside of Albania, in the West.
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Yet now, in 2011, can one say there is anything left of this grace?
The answer is unfortunate and comes from Pandi Belloנone of Albania’s musicologists and a former Deputy Director of the Timishoara Operaطho returned to his city of birth. Bello described today’s Korca as “Šan exhausted and run-down house, an abandoned house which has long outlived its major and joyful moments.”
Following the anarchy of 1997, which caused a profound exodus of the population, there has been very little development of the city. The situation is made yet more grevious by the fact that the average number of persons who left the city last year was 18 per day. 400 families from Kor衠per year have immigrated to the United States alone. Who is staying behind to ensure the future of this former jewel?
“If you were to go to Ulster, Boston, Detroit, Chicago you would discover many people from Kor衠living there. The majority of the families inherit American citizenship. Then eventually the entire family joins them,” Pandi says.
“Here, emigration has assumed a different meaning,” adds the well-known musicologist. People from Kor衠would leave the country for a ten year period, then they would make their way back. Now, however, the issue is that there is very little hope that anyone will return if they leave. The reason for this is simple. Fifteen years since emigration, my brother has purchased a house in Athens and owns another property here. In short, he is far better off than I am economically. There is no reason for him to return. I can’t see anything happening in this city in the foreseeable future. Innumerable villas are being constructed here in the city, in the village of Dardha, in Voskopoja, in Bellovod롩n Vithkuq (all villages renowned for their scenic beauty). Villas are going up everywhere, but nothing else.”
The absence of future development plans can also be observed via other details of day to day life. The city’s main boulevard is lined with restaurants and fast food shopsطhich were once stately villas. The “Themistokli” Vila, which bears the name of a distinguished Albanian patriot of the twenties’, is one of these villas. This is perhaps Kor衧s most up-market restaurant. Howver, on Saturday evening when I wanted to dine there, I was in fact the restaurant’s only customer. The manager told us that it only comes alive with the return of the emigrants since, “the locals can’t afford to come here often,” he said.
It is painfully obvious that the golden times when this small city was acknowledged as the Petit Paris of Albania, have long since gone. Gone are the private piano lessons for the young girls of the local wealthy families, the trips throughout Europe and dozens of other little luxuries and benefits the citizens of Kor衠enjoyed. Things have changed, and perhaps in this instance, change is not good.
