Winter Calls in Cyprus

 

Time’s up. 

Still haven’t figured out my finances and must flee Portugal again.  My bone-deep weariness deepens.

My current malaise only uncreased when I found out that Portugal has changed its immigration policies.  Under the new system, it now takes 10 years instead of 5 to attain residency.  All the people in the current process of citizenship are in limbo with the new system. 

The country was already known for its insanely slow bureaucratic process and now the new system is leaving everyone confused about how to proceed.  A YouTuber I follow (Dave in Portugal) who’s been in the country for 5-7 years said that if he were faced with trying to immigrate now, he’s not sure he would do it.  The new system has made the whole process too difficult.

Great.

The goal of moving to the country just seems to get further and further out of my reach.  With the ever-worsening news coming out of the U.S., I know there’s no way in hell I’d ever want to go back there to live.  I’d rather be nomadic forever (and I really don’t want to do that).

Weird things are also happening in my second choice of country, Türkiye.  It’s bad enough that the lira has devalued a lot in the last year, causing many immigrants to move out, but there was an incident recently that was really alarming.  A German family of tourists, two kids and their parents, all died due to some kind of chemical being sprayed in their hotel. Earlier this year there were also reports of tourists being drugged or dying from food or alcohol in the city.  With everything getting more expensive there, it’s thought that merchants are skimping on ingredients and putting people at risk.

Yikes.  I hate hearing all that about the country.  I can only hope things get better for the Turks. 

As for my number 3 immigration candidate, Cyprus, I decided to spend the winter there.  Just like last winter.  Boy, am I ready to be housed.

But I remain grateful.  I’m not completely broke (yet), I still have the freedom to move about as I chose, and, most importantly, I’m not in the states.  Things are much worse for a lot of folks there and they are always on my mind.

Anyway, enough with the gloom and doom.  I took the usual route of taking an Uber to Faro Airport.  From there it was a quick flight to Lisbon for a 4-hour layover until my next flight. That was the easy part. 

The part that concerned me was the flight from Lisbon on an unfamiliar carrier.  I still vividly remember getting robbed by Ryanair coming into Portugal and didn’t want the same thing to happen with Sky Express.

The guy checking me in asked me to also check the weight of my smaller bag.  He then gently warned me that the clearance was usually 8 kg and my bag was overweight at 14 kg (this was because I was trying to lessen the weight of the big bag which still ended up being heavy).  I started reaching for my purse when he shook his head and said he’d let it pass this time.

What?  You mean I’m not about to be robbed?  Seriously?  I thought for sure I’d end up shelling out another 50 euros just to be able to secure my seat.  I discovered later that the plane was barely half full so it was easier for him to overlook the weight limit.  I also think that it helped that my name is Daphne.

It’s one of the things I do enjoy about traveling to Greece or Cyprus.  If ever I tell anyone my name, they are sure to remember.  Oh.  Tall, black, American woman – that’s Daphne.

Cool.

I didn’t even get pinched by any of the security in Greece or Portugal.  Truly the Travel Gods have smiled on me and I am grateful.

The flight from Lisbon was an overnight to Athens Airport.  A short layover there and I was back in Larnaca.  I managed to book my favorite place on the island (and one of the best of my entire journey) for a little under three weeks.  The place wouldn’t be ready for another day so I booked a night at a nearby hotel.

I took the city bus to Finikoudes Beach (a note again to anyone visiting the island: avoid the cabs.  The bus is cheaper and worth the wait.) then dragged my crap up the familiar road to the apartment …

Only to find that the whole area leading up to the apartment is to’ up from the flo’ up.  And I mean that literally.  The sidewalks and the street are completely gone, replaced with rocky dirt and construction vehicles.

Boy was it fun to transfer from the rough Cyprian sidewalks to no sidewalk at all! I wasn’t even sure I could get into the hotel because the workers were right in front of the door.  I managed to maneuver myself across rickety boards to the entrance only to find the door locked.  Sigh.

I called the number on the door, but found the line was disconnected.  Seriously!?  I wouldn’t have been able to get in if one of the construction workers didn’t come out a few minutes later.  I entered the empty reception area and quickly realized that there was no elevator in the ancient building, just a really long set of stairs.  Some more fun!

After ringing the bell and getting no response after 5 minutes, I went upstairs to find someone.  The lady running the place followed me downstairs and checked me in.  While she was doing that, the Asian cleaning lady came in.  She remarked on the construction and told me that they’d been working on the street for the last 6 months.  It was only now that the tiles were being placed for the new road and it would be another few months before everything was finished.   

The hotel was decent enough with each room named for the 9 muses of Greek mythology.  There was a rooftop bar (closed for the season) and a breakfast area just outside of my room.  I had a good night’s sleep (pretty much a guarantee after the rough night of sleeping on the plane) and woke to a hodgepodge breakfast of sliced meats, olives, toast, crepes, coffee and juice. 

It's unusually warm in Cyprus this year, with the temps hitting the low 80’s F.  I enjoyed the sunshine, ate my olives, and reveled at being back on the Mediterranean. 

Portimão Update

 

One of the many reasons I wanted to move to Europe is the ability to live car-free.  In every city I’ve visited, including those in Jamaica and Costa Rica, I had easy access to everything I would need on a regular basis.  Grocery stores, pharmacies, malls, movie theatres, the beach (as I can no longer live far from water – I’ve been spoiled for inland living), and restaurants are all a short distance away from dwellings.  Sure, there are plenty of cars in all these places (and stupidly loud motorcycles) and one can be rented easily, but they are not necessarily vital for life. 

As much as I appreciate a walkable city, being on foot all the time does have its drawbacks.  Rain and cold are big ones.  I don’t stay anywhere that is too cold (or, heaven forbid, snowy) but the weather does affect how often I get out in it.  I think I’ve made it clear on this blog that I am no fan of the rain.  The rainy seasons in Thailand and Costa Rica left me horribly depressed and struck them both from the future home list. 

Then there are other issues to being on foot.  Portugal, I love you to death, but some of your walkways are health hazards.  I took a header on a walk a few weeks ago here in Portimão and skinned the crap out of my left leg.  I had to spend more than 50 euros on wound care.  And the seepage …

I didn’t take any pictures as it was pretty gross.  My health situation didn’t improve when, out of nowhere, my left foot swelled up.  This happens sometimes because of the meds I’m on so it wasn’t a surprise.  But it was no less annoying since my right foot had STILL not fully recovered from the bee sting.  For a while, neither foot wanted to fit into a shoe and I had to change the bandages on the scrapes twice a day.  Good times.

The leg had mostly healed (feet were still swollen, though) when I finally completed the walk I’d tried to take earlier.  After 2 ½ years of constant use, my phone’s battery is dying out.  I took it to Worten, the big electronics chain in Portugal, to get a new one.  It’s about a mile away from the apartment and felt even longer as I was now paranoid about tripping again.  Fortunately, the walk went without incident and I made it to the store.

They didn’t have a battery in stock, so I ordered one.  It would arrive in 12 days and the install would take about an hour once I returned.  Cool.

Cut to about 8 days later and the battery was in.  I walked to the store, dropped off my phone, and continued my walk to the nearby mall for lunch.  I had a pretty decent burger with a glass of white wine (this is still Portugal after all) then lingered a bit afterwards.  I had no idea how long I was there because, without my phone, I had no way to tell time.  It’s insane how much I’ve come to rely on that device for the time and translations.

Got back to the store and unsuccessfully tried talking to the guy behind the desk as he did not speak English.  With another guy there to translate, he told me that they couldn’t replace the battery as it was too dangerous. 

Huh?  Wouldn’t they know how to do the install if they ordered the battery?  They knew full well the make of the phone when they put the order in. 

Instead of giving me the battery, they refunded my money.  Dude, I don’t want my 50 euros back.  I want to not have to worry about how I’m going to get a new battery.  Before I left, I did ask where it could be done.  Lisbon.  Great.  The city is only 3 hours away by bus.

Feeling dejected, I started the walk home.  To complete my Charlie Brown moment – you guessed it – it started to rain.  While I do always carry my umbrella in my bag, it never can keep me completely dry.  And, of course, I was wearing jeans which are disgusting to wear when wet. 

My one pair of khaki pants developed holes from too much wash and wear.  I trashed them back in Tirana.  My last remaining pair of cargos is also wearing out and I can’t find replacements in Europe in my size.  I have other pants … in storage in Georgia.

I dread returning to the states.  You have no idea.

So, finding a new battery is just one more thing I have to figure out along with the pants.  Add that to the shop that is still not making any money, the dire prospects of finding a job, the fact that my Schengen visa will soon be up and it’ll be time to leave Portugal again and …

Well.  At least I managed to not burst into tears until I got back to the apartment.  I also didn’t trip on the walk back so … that’s something at least.

Living in the In-Between

The in-between time sucks.

It doesn’t matter when it happens.  Whether it’s waiting for transport, for a wound to heal, or ... well, waiting for anything but especially at the airport, that period of doing nothing but hoping for a good and quick outcome is just exhausting.

Case in point:  my bee foot is still swollen, only not so horribly.  It’s been over a month! While it’s no longer painful to walk on and doesn’t swell up immediately upon putting weight on it in the morning, it is still not back to normal size.  Note to self: avoid all bees in the future. 

As this blog can attest, I am still a homeless wanderer.  The business I've started is going nowhere, my book has sold nothing since being published in April, and I have reluctantly begun looking for a job again, though I have little hope at this point of finding one.  As if my own situation hasn’t been weighing on me enough, the state of the world in general has also contributed to the toll on my mental health. It’s a rare day when I’m not on the verge of tears.

But I soldier on.  And, since I sometimes forget to overlap my Airbnb stays, I ended up with a couple of in-between times here in Portimão.  Yes, I remain in the Algarve because … why wouldn’t I?

Nothing lifts my spirits faster than taking a walk in the surf. Feeling the sun on my face when I wake up is truly restorative and serves to prepare me for another day of frustrations. 

Anyway, I had to be out of the last place by 11 and couldn’t be in the new place for a few hours.  So, I hauled all my crap to a nearby bench, reached for my book, and waited.  Thanks again to the wonderful weather of the Algarve for making the wait a pleasant one.

In another bit of good fortune, the next place I’d booked was a short walking distance away.  I swear, all the Airbnbs I chose are in the same ½ mile radius.  That wasn’t planned though I’m certainly not complaining – saves me cab fare.

The new place is located a few feet away from two other buildings I’ve stayed in.  I love all these apartments, though the layout of this one is somewhat odd.

Seriously, who puts the living area in the kitchen right beside the fridge? At least, unlike the last place, this one has a separate bedroom so everything isn't on top of everything else.

Complaints aside, it’s another decent place in Portimão.  This place continues to prove to me that if I can’t find an apartment in Funchal, or if I determine it’s too much of a hassle to move to the island, I would have no problem living here.

I stayed in that place for a little over a week before I managed to book the same apartment I stayed in for two months earlier this year.  Once again, though, I had a lapse of a few hours between being out of the old place and checking into the new one.

This time I waited in the nearby park I’d discovered during my last stay.  Getting there early, I parked myself on a bench and watched as the empty park soon filled with families, skateboarders, and customers of the in-park café.

I do love these places, as I’ve mentioned several times.  It’s great to have a centrally located green space for people to just gather and chill.  No need to go to the beach or the mall or one of the numerous cafes if you don’t want to take that walk.  Just bring the kiddies past the parking lot enjoy the peace. And don’t piss off the birds.

I’ll be in Portimão until the end of my Schengen period, the middle of November.  Then, sigh, it will be time to move on again.

Getting from Porto to Portimão by Train, Plane, Bus, and Car

 

As I indicated by the title of my last post, I decided to get out of Porto after two weeks.  It was chilly and rainy half the time and I just didn’t want to be there anymore. 

Though I do appreciate that even this ancient city offers a chance for the residents to touch grass.  This park area is located atop the Trinidade Metro station.  I love that a space that is usually unused has been turned into a simple way to access a park for anyone who needs it.

A travel day had again arrived.  I knew from the start that it would be bad.  I had no idea …

The first part was relatively easy.  That Metro station pictured above?  It’s literally 5 minutes away from the apartment. It was a quick downhill walk to the station where I boarded a train that took me directly to the airport.  So far so good.

I had arrived quite early for check-in so some waiting was involved.  I was anxious about it only because RyanAir, a new airline for me, required you to check in online for your boarding pass.  When I tried to do this from the apartment, the website wanted even more money from me (more on that later).  I couldn’t confirm my credit card because my phone is on a sim card that can’t receive text messages.  This has been an on-going problem on my travels and a never-ending pain in the butt.

When check-in finally opened, the lady asked to see my phone after I’d told her my issue.   She was able to quickly bring up my boarding pass and could take my payment at the counter.  Now, the website had warned that checking in at the desk within doing it online first would result in a 55 euro fee.  I was prepared to pay it since I was already frustrated and just wanted to get this over with.  Turns out though that since my big bag was 5 kg overweight, I was charged 73 euros for the overage.

That sucked.  But at least I got through check-in without being charged the extra 55 so not as bad as it could be, right?

Nope.

I ended up paying for my luggage not once, not twice, but three times!  First, when I bought the ticket (on Expedia’s website), second at the counter (most airlines allow 22-25 kg while RyanAir only allows 20 kg), and third when my little bag didn’t fit their size requirements.  That bag has NEVER been an issue anywhere else.  But since RyanAir wants all your money, suddenly the bag is too big.

The baggage fees ended up costing more than the ticket! 

Then, after paying that last surprise fee of ANOTHER 75 euros, boarding took forever.  This left me standing around to stew in the rage of being robbed as if I hadn’t waited around enough already.  We had to cross the tarmac to get to the plane and Porto decided to give me a last parting gift. The already foggy day turned into a light drizzle.

Do I need to explain how heated I was?  It’s a one-hour, in-country flight and it caused more stress than an international flight!  And almost cost as much!  What sense does that make?

Needless to say, I will never use that airline again.  The only reason I chose it this time is because the flight would get me to Faro before 5 p.m.  This meant that I could catch a shuttle or a bus as opposed to a cab ride.  My first time to the city, I took a cab not realizing that it would cost 100 euros.  The second time, I got in too late to get anything but a cab.  I knew from bitter, expensive experience that I didn’t want to do that again so I chose the first flight that would save me that cost.

Of course, I just ended up paying anyway thanks to the airline.

Sigh.

But I was grateful to land safely back in the Algarve.  I figure if I’m going to spend an exorbitant amount of money to remain in Portugal, I’d rather do it in Portimão than Porto. 

Still not there yet though.  I wasn’t sure whether to take any of the shuttle services offered at the airport or take the bus.  There are numerous stands and signs for either option, so I wasn’t sure how to proceed.  I eventually found a couple of machines that sell tickets.  I found the bus that would take me to the city and paid by card.

I’d much rather pay 14 euro for a 2-hour ride than 100 euros for a 1-hour direct trip by taxi.  Granted, the bus did require yet another wait.

At least I could feel the sun on my face during the wait.  There’s nothing like the sun in the south of Portugal.

The bus finally arrived and we were off.  It wasn’t the most comfortable trip as the seats were not designed for my long legs, but it went by fast enough.  Then I had to figure out how to get to my new home for the week once I was dumped at the bus station.

As there were no cabs around (strange), Uber became my only option.  The distance from the station to the apartment was a short one but still wasn’t feasible to walk.  It was getting dark, I was tired, didn’t know where I was going and couldn’t fathom dragging all my crap across uneven Portuguese sidewalks.

Turns out I did know the building as it was close to the other apartments I stayed in.  I just didn’t recognize the back streets we took to get there.  That made getting my bearings the next day so much easier.   

I do not like studios.  I don’t like corner showers.  I don’t like the fact that I managed to get into the building and up to the 8^th floor only to realize that I was in the wrong building.  Sigh.  I hauled all my crap back downstairs and around to Building B before finally entering the apartment.

Not my preferences for accommodation, but still clean and decent enough for the week.  And again, I was back in Portimão.  If I can’t get to the outrageously expensive Funchal, this place will more than fit the bill.

The morning after my arrival, I went to the Hollywood themed restaurant on the boardwalk that I’ve frequented before.  The Ukrainian manager (still haven’t caught that guy’s name – I’ll have to fix that) instantly recognized me.  He high-fived me, welcomed me back, and preceded to spoil me during the entire meal. 

I love that!

Moral of the story: Portimão is still awesome and RyanAir can kick rocks.

My Last Week in Porto

 

I was not sad to leave that place in Porto.  I’d gotten used to couch-sleeping despite the couch being too short for my long legs.  The problem arose during the last few nights when – you guessed it – the bugs found me.

The host had shown me the two open skylight windows upstairs and instructed me on how to close them.  That seemed to be a hassle though, so I left them open.  With no screens.

So, yes, the mosquitos got me.  Please note I was still dealing with the bee sting on my leg.  After the first sting on my chest, I knew the area would be swollen and itchy for a while with no major consequences.  But a sting on the ankle turned out to be a different animal.

My foot swelled to ludicrous proportions, was painful to walk on, and was dry and itchy (my winter skin has also arrived).  I’ll spare you the picture of my horribly swollen bee foot.  Just know that it is awful and doesn’t want to go away.  Instead, here’s a puppy!

                                                            Photo by Bill Stephan on Unsplash

I swear, the bees of Albania must be Africanized.  They saw some dark skin and it reminded them of home, so they just had to sting me.

Thanks for that.

                                                                            ******

The day arrived for my departure and there just had to be issues.  The first Uber driver I called reached me on time, spoke only Portuguese as he gestured at my bags, then drove off.  Huh?  Presumably, he didn’t have room in his car for my mammoth suitcase, but since this had never happened to me before, I didn’t know what to do.  I tried to cancel the ride.  Nope.  Tried to call for a new one.  Nope.

So instead, I hauled all my junk to the main road thinking I’d grab a cab.  Then my phone started beeping to alert me that my driver was on the way.  What are you talking about?  He just left me stranded.

Turns out Uber was alerting to a new driver who expected me to be in front of the apartment.  I was already several feet away.  After texting him, he canceled the ride, allowing me to call for him again as I made my way back to the apartment.

Yeesh.

Got to the new place and he dropped me off.  On the wrong side of the street.  More confusion ensued as I had to get across the street to the right building.  Grab the key from the lockbox, up the stairs, into the elevator and to the 5^th floor.

After all that, the new place turned out to be decent enough.  Another too short couch, but at least this time the bed was surprisingly comfortable. 

The place feels like it’s made out of cardboard and is very echo-y because of it.  It took me a while to figure out which cabinets had to be pulled open and which ones were pressure based.  Even when I realized I had to push a door to get it open, it was still difficult to learn where to push it.  It took me forever to get to the washing machine.

I was not happy to see that there was no microwave when I thought I saw one listed in the ad.  Imagine my surprise when I opened the oven and found this.

I have never seen this setup before.  There were no manuals in the house and a bunch of strange symbols on the dials that I just didn’t understand.  While the oven gets warm like it should, the plate rotates like a microwave.  The timers are set to 15 minutes, which got the food cooked faster, but I’m still not a fan. 

Technology marches on, but sometimes it really shouldn’t.

Goodbye Tirana

 

Well.  I was getting a little too comfortable in Albania.  Time to upend my life again.

I ended up staying in the last place for over two months because I didn’t feel like moving.  My initial plan was to the head to the coast for a few weeks, either Saranda or Durres but I never got there.  I was good in Tirana, so I stayed.  Even once the hot water heater died a week before my departure, I was still comfortable.  Stinky by the end of my stay from trying to take cold showers, but comfortable.

I did try to get the heater fixed as soon as it broke, but no go.  August is vacation month for many countries in Europe, including Albania.  The host was very responsive so I believe him when he said he couldn’t find anyone to fix it. 

For that reason alone, I was ready to return to Portugal on the ticket I’d bought months earlier.  I just wanted a hot shower and looked forward to getting one once I made it to Lisbon.

The travel day ended up being more trying than I would have liked.  After a nice breakfast at one of my favorite restaurants, I grabbed a cab and bid farewell to Tirana.  Checking in at the airport was fine enough, but the flight was late for some reason.  No worries for me though as I had a 3-hour layover in Germany.

I took a seat at a café to wait for my gate to be called when I felt something land on my arm.  I swatted it away and realized it was a bee.

I was inside the airport!  With hundreds of other people!  I didn’t even have any food and that bee came looking for me!

And, yeah, it came back around and stung me on the back of my right ankle.

Are you SH!TTING me? 

A bee stung me (for the very first time in my life) on my first day in the city (Welcome to Tirana!) and now, just as I’m leaving, another bee gets me (Thanks for staying!).

What the HELL!?!

Seriously, why do I keep attracting the bugs?  Is there some way I can stop doing that?  I don’t actually enjoy being swollen and itchy.  Add that pain to being underhydrated, overstimulated, and overtired on my travel day and … yeah.  A lot of bad things overdone.

Prices in Portugal are insane everywhere right now.  I looked at my usual haunts as well as other places like Sintra, Aveiro, Ericeira, and Coimbra with no luck.  Funchal is still overpriced in general while the Algarve is on summer pricing for another month or so.  Airbnbs in Lisbon are priced cheaper compared to Portimão -- and Lisbon is not cheap.  So, to Porto I go.

I love Portugal.  That is not a surprise to anyone familiar with this blog.  But Tap Portugal, the national airline, may be my new enemy.

While I love their beautiful safety video on their long-haul flights, checking in at Lisbon Airport was a nightmare.  The line was insanely long just to get to the automated check-in.  Then when I tried to check my bag, it was rejected TWICE for being too heavy (this hasn’t been an issue for a while now). I had to keep pulling stuff out all while worrying about catching my flight.

I finally appeased the weight machine and sprinted for security.  The line wasn’t too bad but getting both of my repacked bags stopped as well as myself(?) just further stressed me out. There was nothing on me and after asking about my foot massager (a non-powered, spikey plastic object – how was that a weapon?), I was dismissed without a word while the guy switched shifts.

Thanks.  That was an essential waste of my time.

Not enough time for me to fume in impotent rage, though, as I sprinted for the gate.  The flight was already boarding, but at least I didn’t miss it.

All that rushing in the morning just led to a long wait once I arrived at Porto Airport.  My new home wasn’t cleaned yet and the host texted to tell me that I couldn’t check in until after 2:30. I had plenty of time to get some cash, a new sim card, eat, and relax.  To a point.

I’d found a nice place to sit outside beside a pool full of ducks.  I’m sitting there, enjoying the sunny day when some deranged man stopped in front of me and started ranting in French.  I told him I didn’t speak Portuguese, hoping he’d be confused enough to leave, but it didn’t work. I tried to ignore him as much as possible until eventually he walked off to rant at someone else.

Each interaction with men reminds me that a majority of them are not well.  I really wish they would keep their unwellness away from me. 

Soon after that, I grabbed a cab and got to the apartment.  The host met me at the door and showed me around. 

The reason I chose the place was because it was the cheapest I could find.  There are some reasons for that price. The place has the distinct smell of mold (I knew it was a bad sign when there was a candle burning on the island). 

 

These stairs are of the devil.

This bed, I would quickly find out that first night, is a medieval torture device.

And I quickly decided to spend the rest of my stay sleeping on the only-slightly-less-uncomfortable couch.

As for Porto … it was never my favorite city in Portugal.  As I walked (and walked and walked) to the Metro on the way to the Douro that first day after getting settled in, I had a thought.

Uh oh.  I think Tirana spoiled me.  It was 20 degrees warmer there (mid 80’s as opposed to high 60’s), YouTube didn’t have commercials (that was sooooo nice), and I’d gotten very accustomed to having everything being 5 minutes away from my apartment.  Porto, while still convenient, makes you work a bit harder than Tirana.  And it costs more.

Why, by all that is green and holy, is PORTUGAL making me miss Albania?

What world am I living in?

Randomness on the Road Part 6

 

Hmm.

I can’t believe there are 6 installments of this series.  I can’t believe I’ve been on the road this long.

When I was younger, I had an idea of going nomad, of running away from my life in corporate America.  I always thought it was just a pipe dream, something a person like me could never do.

Now it’s been 2 ½ years of wandering aimlessly.  A weird and wonderful journey that I still can’t believe is now part of my life resume.

Three birthdays spent in different countries (Greece and Portugal), 13 countries visited so far (not counting layovers in various airports), and still no end in sight.  I’m not crazy about that last part.

I’m still working on getting my business to profitability and making a stable income.  It’s been exhausting and frustrating.  The news coming out of the U.S. doesn’t make it any better.  But, still, I keep pushing.  I hope to be housed in Portugal by the end of 2025, but I doubt I’ll reach that goal.

In the meantime, here’s some more randomness.

In my travels, I have come across some interesting trends in food.  I think I’ve mentioned that the milk and eggs aren’t refrigerated in the grocery stores.  But I’ve also bought eggs that still had feathers on them, potatoes that still have dirt on them.  These massive carrots were in Thailand.

It just makes me feel like the food is less processed than in the U.S., that it goes through fewer hands to get to market.  It feels like a farmer just came into the store and dumped his produce into a bin.  “I grew this in my garden now pay me for it” or “My bird just pooped out this egg.  Wanna eat it?  Enjoy!”

I got a surprise when I first went to the grocery store in Tirana.  I had to use my handy dandy Google Translate app to make sure I was getting the right stuff, but soon realized that the labels weren’t in Albanian.  The main grocery store in the city is called Conad which is an Italian chain.  All the labels and the wines are from Italy.  Okay.

During my brief stay in Türkiye earlier this year, I had a prime view of a movie or TV shoot happening right outside the window of my apartment.  This was not the first time I’d seen camera crews around Istanbul.  There’s always something going on around the city and Balat specifically because is a famous historical neighborhood.  I was eating at a restaurant last year and had to ask the waiter about the guy walking the street and talking to everyone.  Through broken English and phone translation, he told me it was the mayor doing press for TV.

While in Tirana, I spoke with the waiter over my pizza one day.  He figured I was from the states and asked me about living there.  As per usual when talking to curious natives, I told him to avoid the country at all costs.  I don’t think he believed me, though.  He still had the American Dream drummed into his head and the only thing he could see about the place was making more money.  I could understand at least a little – he told me he only made about 600 euros a month, one of the lowest salaries in the Balkans. 

I have no idea how he survives on that, but I know that whatever money he would make in the states would immediately get snatched away from him.  The simple fact that he couldn’t move around as easily without a car in the states as in Tirana is a good enough reason to stay in Albania.   

The influence of American music persists across Europe with Tirana being no exception.  The first restaurant I ate in was playing Katy Perry’s greatest hits.  I still hear odd remakes of American tunes that always has me staring at the ceiling with my head cocked to one side as I try to identify it.  There’s been a lot of strange coffee shop/lounge style remakes usually done by women.  Most of them have been interesting to say the least.  There was one time I heard a lounge style remake of Rick James’ Superfreak which was just … wrong.

I will always mentioned any time I’ve seen my name out in public.  The hotel in Istanbul, the clothing shop in Bulgaria, the taxi stand in Cyprus – all Daphne all the time.  I also have a brand of chocolate found in Istanbul.

A spice made from the leaves of the tree that bears my name in Cyprus.

And this is my name in its native Greek: Δάφνη.  If I hadn’t looked it up, I never would have recognized it.