Blood feuds

While working in Albania recently I read Ismail Kadare's Broken April. It seemed like a good time to read a novel by Albania's most celebrated writer. It is a fine book, portraying a world, the world of the blood feud, that is utterly alien to modern society with a persuasiveness that only fiction can achieve. Of course, it is abhorrent, bizarre, that families, generation after generation, can have been bound, afflicted by this scourge which often had nothing to do with them personally, its origins lost in the mists of time, beyond the fact of their being trapped in such a diabolical cycle.

Particularly extraordinary is that it still goes on. While reading the book I met the head of an organisation that works to bring about reconciliations among families engaged in feuds. He estimated that some 3,500 people are confined to their homes, unable to leave for fear that the vengeance of the blood feud would be meted on them. It still has its hold. Sentences for murders are longer when they involve a blood feud - as much as 25 years in gaol. Yet young men in remote places are not deterred, accepting the sentence rather than the shame of not having avenged the blood of a family member. The modern state seems hardly to exist for such people, who adhere instead to the older law of the Kanun (code), perhaps the only example of the rules of the blood feud being codified in detail. I was especially amazed when the man told me he recommended, as part of a solution for those caught in the blood feud, that parts of the Kanun should be incorporated into modern Albanian law. The positive elements, he said, referring to sections of the Kanun that deal with reconciliation. The whole thing would be better consigned to the past, a past that was so forcefully portrayed by Kadare.

Beer and mountain huts

I like Zagreb in summer. Half empty, as its inhabitants head off for the coast, it is quiet and peaceful. No problem finding a place to sit outside my favourite cafes. Ice cream at Millenium, and coffee at Pif. Steamily hot, of necessity everything moves at a slower pace.

And there is nice beer to be found in Zagreb. As ever, the micro-brewery whose beers can be found at Mali Medo (Little Bear) on Tkalčićeva street are superb. The find of this stay was Kasačko, a bottled beer from Gospić. In style, it is very similar to many English beers, which must be a good thing, a darkish brown colour, bitter to the taste, very nice. Interestingly, it comes from the same region as the once marvelous Velebitsko, which is sadly not what it was since production was increased. I first tried Velebitsko about ten years ago, when visiting the Plitvica national park, in Lika, a region part-way from Zagreb to the Dalmatian coast. Both its dark and light versions were superb, without exaggerations among the finest beers I have tasted anywhere. It couldn't be found in Zagreb then, but each time I passed by Plitvica I picked up several bottles. Then it changed. Suddenly Velebitsko could be found in many places in Zagreb. It wasn't bad, still among the better beers in Croatia, but nothing like what it had been. What a shame. And now there is Kasačko, also from Gospić, different from and still not quite as good as the old Velibitsko. But it's good to have it.

I have drunk Kasačko twice this trip. Once at Kaptolski Klet, an old-style Zagreb restaurant opposite the cathedral, where pleasant cool breezes waft down from Sljeme on a hot evening. The second time was on Sljeme itself, at the Runolist "Planinarski Dom" (mountain hut, although rather more than a hut). It was a superb lunch at Runolist, confirmed as my favourite "dom" on Sljeme. It had rained heavily one day a week earlier, and was therefore an excellent time for mushrooms. I ate "vrganji" (ceps) in a sauce, with pasta. It was delicious, and a heaped plate for less than five Euros has to be good. There was also their excellent home-made bread, and a sour cherry and apple strudel. All washed down with Kasačko, and in excellent company.

Climbing Sljeme on a Sunday and eating well at the top is such a joy. Somehow everyone seems to leave their troubles behind at the bottom of the mountain, and all are happy, in good spirits. I climbed Sljeme four times in just over a week. It's not the same on weekdays. Fewer people, and not the same as the Sunday regulars. Not everyone observes the custom of greeting people they pass with a friendly "Dobar dan" ("Good day") on weekdays. And the doms don't make such an effort with the food. There was little on offer at Puntijarka on Friday, and the turkey with "mlinci" (a kind of Croatian noodles) I opted for were disgusting - virtually inedible, dried out, probably several days old. I used to like Puntijarka very much, but this was a disgrace. That said, their (freshly made) apple strudel was very good.

Ghosts in Tirana

One of the first observations almost all foreigners seem to make on visiting Tirana is that it's a lot nicer than they expected. And it's true. Tirana is really a rather pleasant town, with nice green spaces, gardens and birdsong, and lots of lively cafes and clubs. It feels odd sitting at my favourite cafe in the Block (the area of central Tirana that used to be closed off by police, reserved for the communist elite), and looking at Enver Hoxha's former villa across the way (his garden is a bit unkempt these days). In this modern, bustling city it is hard to imagine what it can have been like less than two decades ago when the most oppressive communist regime in Europe was still in power. In this very informal country, in which laws are cheerfully disregarded, I often find myself wondering how the communists ever manage to exercise the control they did? It's like the saying about not being able to herd cats. Who could ever have managed to herd Albanians? Well, of course it was fear that did it. Although I suspect that officials, police and people all found little ways of compromising, turning a blind eye and getting around many of the more petty restrictions on their lives.

The pyramid, Tirana

But in the midst of this modern Mediterranean city there are reminders, ghosts of times past. Not just Hoxha's house. There is also the pyramid, a dilapidated, decaying building on the main boulevard in the city centre, designed by Hoxha's daughter as a museum to her vile father. Now it is crumbling, no longer a museum, although still in use. It's an ugly building. No doubt it will be torn down one day, like the statue of the dictator that used to stand on Skenderbeg Square. I was amused one evening to notice some young boys on the top of it, breaking bits off and throwing them to the ground. Vandals with taste.

For me, perhaps the most ghostly building is the Hotel Dajti, just along the boulevard from the pyramid. Once the one hotel in town where foreign visitors stayed, now an eerie, empty building, still standing while the ownership of the land it stands on is disputed. Some of the windows are shuttered, others are broken, and still others are wide open, as if the rooms are being aired for new guests. I was told that some foreign visitors to Tirana in the 1990s stayed in Hoxha's house, then a hotel, and found that they could not sleep. Was there a presence in the house still? I think the Hotel Dajti may be haunted as well.

Another ghostly reminder is at the factory at Kombinat, a suburb of Tirana built around a big factory. The factory itself is rather extraordinary. In rigidly atheist, communist Albania, the entrance looks very much like a religious building, perhaps a monastery. I think it must have been conscious, a factory as the new place of worship in the new, secular world of the proletariat. In the square outside the gate is a plinth on which once stood a statue of Stalin, plastered in campaign posters for the forthcoming parliamentary election when I visited - a much more fitting purpose.

I like Albania. Seeing a place where so much progress has been made from such an unpromising starting-point gives me hope. The ghosts are still there, but they're faded, lost, out of place in the much brighter new Albania. They shouldn't be forgotten, but they're no longer scary.

Pimms in short supply

This evening I went to the Queen's Birthday bash in Tirana. I always feel a little embarrassed on these occasions. Other countries have national days, but we don't have one of those. Just the Queen's birthday, which isn't even her birthday.

But this evening I was especially embarrassed. Usually, a Queen's Birthday do is at least a bit of fun. Often in the garden of HM Ambassador's residence, with lots of food and plenty of booze. A good excuse to slurp and cavort with international officials, and local politicians and others, not all of whom are altogether awful. But this time all I managed to lay my hand on was one measly glass of Pimms (rather well-mixed, alcoholic Pimms, but still), and a few rather sad canapes. And this is Albania, the land where hospitality is sacred. I've been to rather a lot of diplomatic receptions over the years, which is probably a sad reflection on the life I lead. The most important criteria for judging them are the quality and the quantity of the food and the booze. The best ones I've been to have been by the Spanish (very generous) and the Russians (caviar and vodka). But the Brits were generally pretty good. I suppose the stinginess this year in Albania is down to the belt-tightening of the financial crisis, which I suppose is reasonable. British taxpayers could reasonably ask why their money should be spent on the revelling of people like me. There wasn't even a band. Every other year I've been to one of these events there's been a band, or at least some buglers, or pipers (if the ambassador's a Scot). This time we had a recording of "God Save the Queen".

Even if taxpayers might reasonably be spared the expense of my Pimms, I couldn't help feeling a little ashamed. To me this evening spoke of a country without pretensions even to be second-rate. We should be able to do better.

Football

Yesterday Tirana was full of flags, the black and red of Albania, and occasionally the blue with stars of Kosovo. Albania were playing football with Portugal, or, as one female colleague put it, Ronaldo was in town. Unsurprisingly, Albania lost. But it was rather cruel, Portugal's winning goal coming in injury time. And despite being much the better team on paper, the Portuguese really did not impress. Ronaldo did not light up the match, in what would have been a dull, pedestrian game, were it not for the passion and determination of the Albanian underdogs. They deserved to get a result. Although the people in the bar where I watched the match did not seem too disappointed. No doubt it was expected.

But the really memorable thing was the camerawork. It seems that the TV cameras were practically among the fans. Frequently the pitch was partly obscured by their upraised arms, and every time something exciting happened the fans leaped up and those of us watching on TV had our view obscured by someone's head. For this reason we missed the first Portuguese goal altogether. How bizarre. The Albanians in the bar where I watched the game seemed to accept this cheerfully as quite normal. We foreigners couldn't help ourselves roaring with laughter. What a country!

Tirana in spring

I'm really impressed by Tirana. After the hard times it has been through it has emerged as an attractive, lively, pleasant city. Lots of green spaces, birds in the trees, chirping merrily, so different from the aggressive cawing of the crows in Prishtina. There are nice cafes, many of them with gardens. All in all, it seems like a relaxed, pleasant Mediterranean city. And for the moment, the weather is mostly just pleasantly warm and springlike. No doubt, as summer progresses, it will become horribly hot.

There are nice places to eat as well. As well as traditional Albanian food, there is a strong Italian influence, and lots of seafood. There is a downside; I have been suffering horribly from food poisoning the past few days. But overall it's really good to be here. One of the pleasantest places in the Balkans.

I am full of admiration for the multi-talented young man from the British embassy who plays guitar and piano for a really rather good rock band on Saturday evenings, and then plays the organ in the Catholic cathedral on Sunday mornings. Remarkable. He speaks Albanian as well.

Of course, there are negative aspects. The politics (the reason I'm here) are dirty. Respect for laws is as and when people find it convenient. That can be seen in the behaviour of state institutions, political parties, and driving habits. Law is a very low currency here, perhaps unsurprisingly given the country's past experience.

Wild Strawberry Rakija

I love wild strawberries. One of the most delicious fruits there is. And the pleasure is still greater for the joy of coming upon them during a ramble through the woods, rummaging through the undergrowth in search of the delectable little red berries. And then there are those intimate moments when a companion, having got lucky and stumbled on a rich seam, offers you some of her find - what a sacrifice, it must be love. And then there is the dear friend who showed me the secret little corners of the garden, behind the bushes, where a precious crop of the fruit could be found. Real trust there, that I would not succumb to the temptation to scoff the lot.

So, visiting Belgrade last weekend, how could I turn up the chance to try a Wild Strawberry Rakija (Eau de Vie)? Friends had taken me to a restaurant in the hills out of town (roasted lamb and veal, and lots of salad - I preferred the lamb, nice and succulent - the veal was a bit overdone for my taste). the waitress proposed the Rakija as an aperatif. I have tried a variety of Rakijas, most often plum (Sljivovica) and grape (Lozovaca), as well as Travarica (Lozovaca with herbs) and pear (Viljamovka), as well as mulberry (in Albania). But Wild Strawberries. That sounded interesting. And what was it like? It smelt and tasted just like wild strawberries. How odd! I never before tasted a spirit that tasted exactly like the fruit it is made from. Wild strawberries with an alcohol kick when it hits your throat. Very nice of course. But if I want to taste wild strawberries would I rather just eat wild strawberries or take it as Rakija? Not sure. But an entertaining experience.

Something nice to say about Prishtina

I have often been a bit harsh about Prishtina. It is too easy to do. Prishtina is such an obvious target for criticism, that it almost becomes cheap. So let's look on the bright side. Today I am feeling in good spirits. Possibly this is because I will be getting away from Prishtina in a few days time. Very definitely it is because I will be getting away from a job I have not enjoyed and a boss I have not got on with. But I also find myself feeling more positive about Prishtina.

It's a nice spring day. Arriving at my office (not to work, it's Sunday, and I was just there to fetch the car), there was a man across the street sweeping up the dust and muck in the gutter. Now that is a step forward. One of the worst things about Prishtina in summer, when it is hot and dry, is the dust swirling around, getting in your eyes, making them sting, and in your throat, making you cough. But now they're cleaning the street. That is a novelty, and very welcome. I think this town is getting better. Another surprise this spring is the sprouting, here and there, of little patches of garden, tended lawns and flower beds. Someone is trying to make the town look prettier. Someone is trying to encourage a new spirit of civic pride among the citizens of Pishtina. Perhaps they might even stop chucking rubbish about.

And there are nice things to do. It's good to be able to say that there are even some things which are really good. For example, Prishtina boasts a really cool cafe, Strip Depo. The quirky decor, with the hotch-potch of furniture, the absence of any sense of theme in the eclectic choice of pictures adorning the walls, it all seems great fun. The music's good too. At one time this was a favoured haunt for younger Prishtina intellectual types, but its popularity has spread much wider now. No point in going in the middle of the day, when it's heaving with people, but in early evening, it's a pleasant place to relax in a deep armchair, with a coffee and a fresh orange juice.

Today I had a walk and lunch (trout with grilled courgettes and carrots and a Greek salad, washed down with Peja beer) at Germia. Loads of people out enjoying the sun and the fresh air away from the town, children running about, screaming with pleasure in the spring warmth. It could be a park anywhere in Europe. Prishtina is coming on. Yes, there is plenty to complain about. Hardly surprising in a place that was recently one of the poorest, least developed backwaters of Europe, suffering under the heal of an Apartheid-like regime. It's all too easy to look on the bad side. But things are getting better. Someone once divided Eastern Europe into the "Europe of Hope", and the "Europe of No-Hope". Kosovo is now part of the "Europe of Hope".

Back in Skopje

Last weekend I was in Skopje again. Beautiful spring sunshine, sitting outside cafes and restaurants with friends, great. Skopje must be one of the most underrated cities in Europe. It's not one of the most beautiful cities, it's true. The rebuilding after the 1963 earthquake was typical of the era and of the grey communist regime that undertook it. But it's full of life. It just feels good to be there. I've always enjoyed myself in Skopje, ever since my first, brief, crazy visit in 1988. Some cities seem to have a spirit about them, an energy. Skopje has that.

There may be worse things than 60s communist greyness. Apparently, the latest government plan for poking the Greeks in the eye is to build a huge statue of Alexander the Great on the main square. Apart from the fact that baiting a more powerful and influential neighbour is daft, I fear it will be one more step in the determined effort to turn Skopje into the capital of kitsch. The ghastly Mother Teresa memorial house is one example (Mother Teresa was a native of Skopje).

Mother Theresa Memorial House, Skopje

What kind of architectural mishmash is that? Then there are the ridiculous little statues sprouting around the town centre. Skopje risks becoming a laughingstock. In one previous job, we had an office competition to see who could bring back the most kitsch souvenir from their holidays. I fear Skopje might become a kind of mecca for kitsch aficionados.

A week in Macedonia

A week in Macedonia (as an election observer) was such a pleasant interlude. It just has so many nice things that one struggles to find in Kosovo. Within minutes of arriving, I am drinking Skopsko with an old friend in the Cuban bar, eating hot buffalo wings and a rocket and parmesan salad. Just normal nice things, in a pleasant atmosphere. The city is so much cleaner than Prishtina. Why cannot city governments in Kosovo manage to provide such basic services when everywhere else in the region can? In Skopje I feel relaxed and contented in a way that I never do in Prishtina, where life always seems to be about endurance, devoid of pleasure.

There are, of course, some negative aspects. The temporary metal wall along the river embankment, blocking off the views for all the riverside cafes (including the Cuban bar) is an eyesore. It's to enable trucks to drive along to a building site on the edge of the main square. New buildings on the square fill people with apprehension. Do the construction tycoons care about the aesthetics of the square? It is not the most beautiful square, it must be acknowledged. But it is a lively central space, a focus for the city. Will they improve it, or spoil it, as they have already spoiled the old bridge?

And then there was Ohrid and Struga. Deep snow, blocked roads and soggy feet. And then spring sunshine, lunch by the lakeside and a stroll through the old town of Ohrid, with snow-capped mountains in the distance. What a scene, what a rest for the mind.