..So a friend of Other Half's said yesterday, as he put a huge fish he'd caught that morning on the grill and opened a bottle of wine. We were sat under the awning outside the bar he's built in their home town.
I suppose he's right. And things could be worse. We could be seriously injured or dead. God, I wish I had a babysitter and little pile of spliffs with me.
I am losing track of the days, but Tuesday I think it was, that we spent in a whirl of maddeningly unclear conversations and confusion. The mechanic (a friend of one of Other Half's brothers) had told us the parts we required. Which I now know are the clutch cyclinder and 'the bit that goes underneath it, which is not broken but might break...' ???. An apparently reliable parts dealer told us this was not available in Albania so I found myself on the phone to a VW dealer in Corfu who told me said parts are not available in Greece either, as diesel golfs are rare there, and that they would have to be imported from Germany. This would take ten days, so we'd be lucky to get the car fixed before we had to leave to go home, and that depends on the borders being open again, as they are still closed to vehicles.
My euphoria at finding a solution, albeit a shitty bloddy solution, was dampened when the guy on Corfu then said he needed a cash deposit to order the parts. Bumpkin! So we then had to make another load of phone calls to find a relative (a nephew of Other Half's) who had to leave work to find the village and the shop and pay said deposit so that parts were safely ordered. Phew!
Older brother then gets back and says he's found the parts in Albania. What the f*ck?!! He had gone to a parts shop three minutes from the family home, and the owner had looked up the part in a catalogue, phoned Tirana, ordered it and it arrived last night. We went to collect it (he said we don't need the other part that was 'nearly broken' so I hope he is right, and wasn't covering up the fact that he'd forgotten to order both) and as I write, Other Half is with the mechanic, getting the car well again, I hope. I'll believe it when I see it and am resigned to the awful journey being the best part of this holiday, as long as we get back on the road somehow or other.
In the meantime, I am trying to get back on track, behaviour-wise, and hiding my irritation and frustration with being stuck in family home with a truculent Babe who has had enough of being poked and prodded and smothered in kisses by people he cannot understand. Two neices are staying with us who speak English and he loves playing with them, but he has definitely had enough of the rest of the crowd. As, frankly, have I. It took Auntie Eleni (who is a bit of a wild cat herself) less than an hour to teach him to pummel her with his fists, bite her (on the bum, so god knows what she was doing with him) and stab her with a fork. He can't stand the food, and ate nothing until yesterday when I took charge of the chaotic kitchen and made him chips. Getting him to bed at night amist the noise and excitment is near impossible, as is keeping him occupied in our room from 6am while the bodies strewn about the place lie in until ten-ish.
Gah! On the sunny side, they say that a change is as good as a break and I'm getting that, in spades.
And Saranda is a place of character and a certain beauty. Walking around is like being on some weird kind of demolition site, with huge concrete edifices in varying stages of completion towering above you everywhichway you turn. In between them are decaying old buildings, some with semi-wrecked entrances and street-level rooms full of rubbbish, but with upper-floor flats fitted out with air conditioning and brand new double-glazed windows and doors.
The seafront is a short walk from the family home and it is lovely to be by the water, although the beaches are litter-strewn and stony and I'm not sure how clean the water here is. The first two days were sunny, and I took Babe down and let him paddle. He is not afraid of the water at all and wanted to pull his clothes off and splash around.
Also on the sea front is a very old merry-go-round. It is, I think, from the USA, but instructions on the vehicles are in French - so Canadian maybe? It is an amazing piece of social history - hand painted images of men carrying out agrictultural tasks surround the outside of the top, and the vehicles include a tank (!), Harley Davison-type bikes - complete with leather saddles, an amazing fire engine, an old flying Mickey Mouse, a weird pig and a lion... It has bits that would have lifted and spun in the old days - I suspect it arrived here second-hand, and may try and find out more - and these days would fail to comply with health and safety regulations on many counts. Babe loves it, especially when his dad rolls his sleeves up and manages to push it around.
So we are having some happy moments amidst the chaos, and who knows, when I head back home now, there may be some happy news about the car awaiting me.
More soon! Miropafshim!
No comments:
Post a Comment