10- Munich

I was in a state of delirium as the lights clicked on in the cabin. Outside the window, a distinctly European landscape rolled by under the belly of the plane. Fairy tale cottages dotting rolling hills, and immense, snow blanketed mountains. I heard one of us say, “Are those the Alps?” I’m pretty sure they were.

The daylight and the landscape washed away enough of my fatigue to make me think that I could make my transfer without falling asleep in the Munich duty-free. I talked in an intensely gravely morning voice with my sleeping seatmate, not realizing that she was asleep.

“Are you going to Albanian?” A well dressed, and well rested man stood in the aisle of the airplane looking down at me expectantly. I told him that we were, and explained our purpose without going into the nitty-gritty details of the Three Goals of the Peace Corps. He announced himself as an Albanian, living in Tirana. Bells and whistles and alarms began shouting in my brain- ALBANIAN! ALBANIAN! ALBANIAN!

I should explain; while in California, I searched high and low for an Albanian person to talk to about their country, as if I would land in the country and say, "Do you know, that Albanian guy Edgar from Whittier? Yeah, I know him!" And then the country would think I was cool. I even went so far as to post an ad on Craigslist with the title, “Are you Albanian?”* This was all without result. If Los Angeles had Albanians I would have found them. But here I was, face to face with a real Shqiptare.


I began mumbling inanely, wondering if I should use some of the guidebook greetings that I had memorized with flashcards I had made for myself. I thought about asking him if he knew any of the Albanian Hip-Hop that I had listened to on Youtube. I considered asking him if he wanted to circle dance in the cabin of the airplane. Instead I stared at him, opening and closing my mouth intermittently. He introduced himself as Igli, a businessman, who spends half his time between Tirana and Washington, he gave me his card, and told me to let him know if I was in Tirana. He turned on a heel and left.
I sat there for a stunned moment, feeling as if I had just received Jay-Z’s personal number. Albanians are rad. I thought.

*I'm sad to say this is true.