The best Mushke this side of the Vjosa

July 9th, 2024
West of the Vjosa river. Kushaj, southern Albania

Fejzir woke me early. We’d stayed up late drinking Raki, but he was up and dressed bright ‘n early, looking down at me with a face that seemed to say “it’s 5am, were you going to sleep all day?”
If I was surprised I was a fool, he’s a farmer — up here where life seems to have been very little changed by this century, or last — and I’ll be grateful for having started early when the heat creeps up toward 40°c. Farfuri brings Turkish coffee to extinguish my ethanol breath and she’s back in the kitchen cooking something up for me before I can protest.

We met last night. Well, first I met their dogs. I was climbing out of the Vjosa valley, headed vaguely in the direction of the coast, putting more places on my map of Albania, and well aware that I was trespassing. Alerted by the barking, Fejzir comes out to meet the vagrant at the gate. He’s appropriately suspicious as I explain myself as well as I can with my pak Shqip (little Albanian) — he doesn’t know even a word of English — but he waves me through the rickety gate in his hand made fence while beating back the dogs with his other hand.

He and his wife live alone on the ridge. That is, alone with three dogs, two cats, a cow, many chooks, a handful of goats, and a mule. When I asked what the mules name is he grins and shouts “Mushke!”

By 10pm I have been toured around the property atop Mushke, Farfuri has fed me to bursting with chocolates, sweets, nuts, fruit, coffee, and raki… and just as I’m about ready to pass out from gluttony, she tells me dinner is almost ready! I survive by eating uncharacteristically slowly while my generous hosts call everyone they know to tell of the strange foreigner at their table. At some point the phone — the only admittance of this century on the farm — is thrust into my hand. It’s their daughter. She lives in Greece, is a little older than me, and speaks a little English, about equal to my little Albanian. She says Fejzir is very happy to have met me, and that I can stay as long as I like.

Fejzir still calls me every few weeks. As the months tick by and my Albanian fades it gets steadily harder to keep up a conversation, so that by the time I reach Istanbul, Fejzir has enlisted the help of his nephew living in England and we have a long video call. I think I break his heart a little when I say my plans have changed, that I won’t be coming back to Albania for the winter. He tries to persuade me, says he’s already picked out a goat to slaughter for our reunion meal.

Before we ring off I ask how Mushke is doing, he laughs, “Mirë, mirë” (good).
I know now that Mushke just means mule.

Shumë faleminderit dhe lamtumirë, Fejzir and Farfuri x