GEZUAR

by Santiago Nieto (Argentina)

Making a local connection Albania

We had no address to enter in the GPS to guide our journey. Just one name to find: Shaban. Apart from that, we knew the name of a little village: Hudënisht. It was founded by fishermen who were captivated by the depth of the Ohrid Lake and its wildlife, shared between Albania and Macedonia. We drove through tiny curvy roads that went up and down beautiful mountains until we reached Hudënisht. On airbnb there was a picture of a hand drawn map with the indications to get to our accommodation for the night. Next thing we had to do was to find a fast food place with a green door. There we would meet Shaban, our host. We felt inside a cartoon while travelling the Balkans as we had a grey cloud following us on every step we took, no matter the country we were in, showing us its protection through drops. That afternoon we were protected too. Waiting at the green door there was a man, watching and waving to the people that passed by. He was almost bald except from some white hairs resisting firmly the pass of time. His big nose was the perfect companion for an almost toothless smile that was always shining. I don't want to think of a situation that would make Shaban serious. As soon as he saw us, he quickly closed the door and jumped into our fully packed car. In an exception of any physics rule, we fitted inside. We filled his ears with questions about the landscape, the country and the house but all he answered was “good”, “right” and “left”, giving us directions to get to our airbnb. When we arrived, a lovely woman named Lila was waiting at the porsche. I felt like I was entering my grandmother's house after a while without seeing her. She was thrilled to have us there. Showed us around, pointing at things and saying words. Not a full sentence was made. We were afraid that the language could be a barrier. After we left our luggage in a childish room full of toys and teddy bears, we sat on a really big and cozy red couch in the living room. Meanwhile, Shaban turned on the TV: Russia was playing against Egypt at the World Cup 2018. Lila grabbed a newspaper and sat at the table to read. We looked like a big family but we were a little bit surprised. This is not how airbnb works. After half an hour, a neighbour opened the door like another owner would do. She explained everything, translating from albanian to english. We started making conversation and suddenly we asked about Rakija, a fruit brandy popular in the region. Shaban jumped up and left the room. Returned with a bottle of water and served us small shots. He made his own Rakija. After some sips, the neighbour left and we were alone: me, my brother –both argentinians–, three uruguayan friends, Shaban and Lila. Only thing in common we had was Rakija and being humans. Our only language was the signs and drawings. Somehow we were understanding each other and having a laugh. We invited them to dinner, they made a call and an hour later we were in this empty local restaurant. A huge table was set up for us, full of amazing homemade food including the famous salmon from the Ohrid Lake. We ate, we drank and we danced the Çobankat with the restaurant owners and employees. They kept repeating a word: gezuar. Next morning we woke up and translated gezuar. Meant “cheers”, obviously. On the table Lila left a fresh sandwich for each of us, some vegetables from their garden and a bottle of homemade rakija. As an exchange of cultures, we made them try Mate, an argentinian tea. Their review on Airbnb said: “Santiago and his friends were a pleasure to host. They felt more like a family than guests. We shared a meal together and had a great time. We will remember you thank you for staying with us.” From that day on and with one word in common, we are part of a big family in Hudënisht, Albania.