One of the consequences of living in a developing country is that little changes become mood-altering events. In Albania that little thing involved bread.

One thing we learned quickly in Peace Corps Albania One is that the Albanians would rather eat only bread than risk not having bread in the house in case guests stop by. In fact, one of their oldest sayings is that the three things they always have for a guest are “bread, salt and heart”. (This seems simple, but it’s the first level of the martial art that is Albanian hospitality.)

Unfortunately for us, because Albania was recovering from decades of Communism the bread choices were limited to government bread stores and their large, uniform loaves which were about the size and shape of a four inch partition block. They all had a groove in the center marking where to cut if the customer only wanted half a loaf. They were usually decent if you could get them and eat them fresh, but after a couple days they were dry and, I’m 90% certain, used as construction materials.

During our first year, the government liberalized the grain market and by the second year wheat and flour were cheap enough that small independent bread shops began to appear. The first I remember opened just down the street from my host family’s home and served fresh Italian loaves a few times a day, if you were lucky to be there when they opened. One day I camped out for half an hour to buy a couple loaves.

By the time I got home, one loaf was gone. I broke about every rule of etiquette on the way home including eating while walking and eating while on the bus. In my defense, they were steaming hot with crispy crust and I believe it pisses God off if you let bread that fresh go to waste. Also in my defense, it really was a mood lifter.

The other interesting part was that for some reason, the Albanians were more courteous in the private shops than at the government shops. Every government shop had three “lines” (more accurately described as “clumps”: The men’s clump, the women’s clump and the “I’m in a #@$%ing hurry” clump between the other two clumps. Within each clump the technique was to simply shove money between the bars (the government stores all had barred windows and doors) and grab the first loaf that came out.

The private shops had actual lines, with the occasional jerk. (Oddly, it wasn’t me as I missed out on bread a couple times because I was too far back in line.)

Oddly, those loaves of bread are one of the few things I truly miss from days in the Peace Corps.