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In Russia and Moldova, you say "babushka" (with an accent on the first syllable). In Romania, it's "bunică". And, in Albania, you say "gjyshe". They are always old women. They tend to wear headscarves. And, all around the Mediterranean, they often only wear black as a sign of mourning, for the rest of their days. I'm talking about grandmothers.
The gjyshes in Gjirokaster certainly were also in black. I tried a few times on the sly to capture a photo on the street. I was never successful. I couldn't get as close as I needed for a portrait in focus. After days without success, I put out the word to my Albanian contacts. Did anyone know a little old lady from Gjirokaster who might endure the photographs of an American tourist?
Melita came to my rescue.
She was my star painter with my Gjirokaster mural. This budding artist did all she could to make my Albanian experience complete. Melita took me to the local art exhibition down the street that showed her work. She located recipes that she knew I'd enjoy. And finally, she took me to see her grandm . . . er, gjyshe.
Gjirokaster had a couple claims to fame. There were Ottoman empire homes a couple hundred years old throughout the old town. Each home looked like a museum, with intricate woodwork and stone walls that were a yard thick. Overlooking all of this charm was the castle dating back to the 12th century. And, hidden behind the castle and higher up the mountain, not over the river and through the woods, was the road leading to granny's place.
Gjyshe's home was just like the "museums" in the old town. It just had a better view. And, if you were a welcome guest anywhere in Albania, you were served "raki". Not that I've actually tasted gasoline, but it was certainly the taste I imagine it to have. Raki was the traditional drink of choice throughout Greece, the Balkans and Turkey. It was made from grapes, truly 90% alcohol, and called "lion's milk" or the "milk of the brave". Okay, call me chicken-hearted. I sampled a bit, but it wasn't enjoyed. Still, I drank enough to prove I was welcomed.
Melita's gjyshe was not a woman in black. Grandpa was still alive and kicking, thankfully. But, just as we were ready to leave the mountain oasis, a little old lady in black passed by and I had my gjyshe moment.
The gjyshes in Gjirokaster certainly were also in black. I tried a few times on the sly to capture a photo on the street. I was never successful. I couldn't get as close as I needed for a portrait in focus. After days without success, I put out the word to my Albanian contacts. Did anyone know a little old lady from Gjirokaster who might endure the photographs of an American tourist?
Melita came to my rescue.
She was my star painter with my Gjirokaster mural. This budding artist did all she could to make my Albanian experience complete. Melita took me to the local art exhibition down the street that showed her work. She located recipes that she knew I'd enjoy. And finally, she took me to see her grandm . . . er, gjyshe.
Gjirokaster had a couple claims to fame. There were Ottoman empire homes a couple hundred years old throughout the old town. Each home looked like a museum, with intricate woodwork and stone walls that were a yard thick. Overlooking all of this charm was the castle dating back to the 12th century. And, hidden behind the castle and higher up the mountain, not over the river and through the woods, was the road leading to granny's place.
Gjyshe's home was just like the "museums" in the old town. It just had a better view. And, if you were a welcome guest anywhere in Albania, you were served "raki". Not that I've actually tasted gasoline, but it was certainly the taste I imagine it to have. Raki was the traditional drink of choice throughout Greece, the Balkans and Turkey. It was made from grapes, truly 90% alcohol, and called "lion's milk" or the "milk of the brave". Okay, call me chicken-hearted. I sampled a bit, but it wasn't enjoyed. Still, I drank enough to prove I was welcomed.
Melita's gjyshe was not a woman in black. Grandpa was still alive and kicking, thankfully. But, just as we were ready to leave the mountain oasis, a little old lady in black passed by and I had my gjyshe moment.