I think there’s something truly lovely in how Albanians love Edith Durham. You might expect that a relatively isolated people would be grateful for the historic attention, but it isn’t that. Albanians aren’t grateful to Edith Durham. They love her. They have adopted her.
I’ll tell you a little secret? . . . and in odd moments of ego-centric self-indulgence, perhaps not-unreasonable fits of self-definition . . . . I do get a certain mild satisfaction from remembering this: Edith Durham never lived here! Never sold everything and moved in. . . .
Sure, Edith, Queen of the North. Or even Rose Wilder Lane, who could’ve stayed, but didn’t (and one suspects, regretted it somewhat all her life). It’s different for me of course. It isn’t anything like as outlandish for me to settle here, I suppose (oh that it were, and I could prove my love! etc. BUT) . . . . .
But NOR is it easy. This is what one learns, when one tries settle here independently.
I am one week away from my own personal deadline to be living here on my own two feet (or 14, if you also count Pango (the dog), the hedgehog and the rabbit) — but it’s not as easy as ‘renting a new apartment.’ Malesori don’t sell land easily, and give up teeth before houses. So! It’s all a grand adventure! I hear a rumor of a German Camper van that may be for sale (?). Alfred tries desperately to help, but Malesori methods of negotiation are slow, and stately, and involve many, many cups of coffee . . . . Will little Edith – I mean Catherine – find a house of her own? Stay tuned to find out the next thrilling adventure in: an American goes wild (in the most civilized possible way)!