walking as a social practice in tirana: a performance in .... lcpj 7.2_a.47.pdftirana deserved to be...

63 © LCPJ PublishingVolume 7/2, 2014

Article 47 in LCPJ

Walking as a Social Practice in Tirana: A Performance

in Three Parts

The city lies open to me:Its gardens, squares, fountains and galleries.I walk in, and no one checks my documents.

(Sprackland 2013)

Cities are to be judged by their welcome(Kahn 1987, 12)

Abstract

This paper tells the story of several walking journeys I did in Tirana, the capital city of Albania. Forms of narrative and descriptive writing are used as creative and critical devices to discuss the self and associated landscapes developing within an emotional and performative background. I take you with me on my walking and introducing a ‘dialectical flick’ add some conceptualisations of self, landscape and subject-world.

Introduction

I want to tell you some stories; stories of three separate walks that I undertook, alone, in Tirana (= në Tiranë). I was staying in a hotel, about four miles southeast of the city centre on the Rruga e Elbasanit (= Elbasani Street), and had decided on the first evening of my visit that I would take a different route back to the hotel each day. This paper is an account of some of these walking journeys. I take you with me on my walking, introduce a ‘dialectical flick’ (stepping in and out of the now) and add some conceptualisations of self, landscape and subject-world.

Short P, Nigel 2014: Walking as a Social Practice in Tirana: A Performance in Three PartsTo be downloaded from www.lcpj.pro

64© LCPJ Publishing Volume 7/2, 2014

I use various forms of narrative and descriptive writing as creative means of discussing my multiple selves during these walks and the landscapes emerging within the effective and performative milieu of urban walking, on my way back to my accommodation. I present a paper that is a medley of moods, recording context driven incidents, subjectivity, reflexivity and unfolding landscapes.

I play with ideas of being in and being out in the city. I was often an observer of the objects of interest and scrutiny. I was aware for example of being a ‘part’ of the city’s hustle and bustle and on occasions of being very distant, not physically, yet detached and distant, as Elvis Costello sings:

You’ll see me off in the distance, I hopeAt the other end, at the other end of the telescope

(Costello 1996)

In addition, I want to say that the world is far more lavish and extravagant than I can ever conceive or put forward; the world is continuously unfolding; I experience the world as a construction and co-construction enterprise. I also put forward the idea that the world does not resolve, reach an ending or come to rest: `the creation of the world did not take place once and for all time, but takes place everyday’ (Beckett 1987, p 19).

Journey two

I visit the National History Museum on Sheshi Skenderbej (= Skenderbeg Square). I notice it is warmer in the museum than outside, as expected, but the temperature is very cool. I am pleased I have worn my thermal under clothes. I am told that it costs too much money to heat the museum constantly. The lights in the museum only come on when you enter individual rooms. The curators, volunteers and museum staff, who sit in pairs in the various rooms, are all women; they wear long woollen skirts, red and white gingham check shirts and drab coloured scarves on their heads. They knit and chat to each other as I make my way around large glass cabinets full of artefacts displaying Albania’s history.

After a few intense information-absorbing hours, I leave the building. I put on my reliable light blue waterproof coat; I lift the collar to protect the



back of my neck from the wind and put my hand knitted hat on my head. I chuck on my backpack and set off slowly back to the hotel. I take my time crossing over Bulevardi “Zogu 1”. There are lots of cars, buses and large trucks. (Since the collapse of Communism, there has been a huge shift from public transport and non-motorised modes to private automobiles. This transformation has been extreme in Albania as car ownership was outlawed during the communist rule). The vehicle horns provide a constant cacophony. Vehicles’ brakes seem optional.

I stand on the corner of the square, outside the Palace of Culture. As I look across Skanderberg square, I can see an interesting complex of buildings: buildings that reflect the different historical periods that have influenced and produced Tiranë’s architecture. There is the Clock Tower and the Et’hem Bey Mosque. These are the only reminders of the city’s Ottoman past. The square was named after an Albanian nobleman who defended the region of Albania against the Ottoman Empire for 25 years. The square is undergoing a massive remodelling with new paving slabs and new landscaping. I can hear the concrete debris crunch under my cherry red Dr Marten boots.

Bracing winter winds sends paper swirling in circles just above the street level. The sun is shining and the sky is a perfect blue. I cover my mouth with a handkerchief. I need to protect my lungs from the dust. I make my way past the Palace of Culture and the National Library of Albania. I can hear the mullah calling people to prayer at the Et’hem Bey Mosque. I make a mental note to go inside the mosque the next time I am in the city. I walk past an isolated random man selling fruit: Citrus fruit, their wonderful bright colours and their familiar recognisable comforting fragrances. His recently harvested produce piled up into several precarious chaotic tumbling pyramids. I see bright green Persian Limes, pink grapefruits (rrush ngjyrë trëndafili), mandarins and oranges (portokall).

I buy a handful of oranges. The man picks the fruit from the top of the heap. We smile at each other and he thanks me. I open my backpack and he puts the fruit inside for me. Another warm smile to each other. Several children sit on the pavement nearby; their sad melancholy eyes catch mine. Their dirty out-stretched hands, rattling plastic cups, seeking money. I drop in some coins. As I walk away, for a short period, the rhythm of their percussion compliments my walking pace.

I turn left and make my way up Rruga “Luigj Gurakuqi”. I find a bench; a wooden bench. I sit down, alone and eat a couple of oranges. I enjoy



walking; cities, towns and countryside. I used to walk to school and save my bus fare. I prefer walking alone. For many years at home, I was the only boy among three sisters. I learned to be independent. Making my own decisions: no need to compromise when alone. I prefer the slow pace, relying on my own two feet. I can stop and start walking at my leisure. Walking is often unreflexive and habitual practice. Here I have an opportunity to be reflexive. In my late teenage years, I read a book called The Dice Man. The book, (written by George Cockcroft using the name Luke Rhinehart), tells the story of a psychiatrist named Luke Rhinehart who starts making decisions about what to do, based on the roll of a dice. Whilst I do not use this technique, I like the idea of this decision-making.

People walk past; busy in their determination. A few bus drivers are standing in a small circle on the road at the front of a bus, talking. I imagine that the vast majority of people I pass are employed; busying themselves on their way to or from work. I on the other hand am a nomad, a wanderer. Wandering cultivates my mind.

I love that feeling of not always knowing where I am: all my senses become heightened and I am more alert to what is happening around me. I become aware of the details and textures that are immediately to hand. For example, the cobbled pavements made of carefully cut 2inch x 2inch x 2inch square cubes of rock. The deep street gutters; constructed purposely for diverting and managing the water from the melting river as it flows down from the Dajti Mountains high above the city, to the east, during the spring months. As I was about to put my orange peel in a rubbish bin, a dog appears to my left. I notice he has a collar around his neck. Most dogs I have seen in Tiranë look thin and emaciated. This dog, a black Labrador, with a wonderful shiny coat, looks fit and healthy. His owner comes into view and calls his name. It sounds like Bekim. The dog stops and waits for their owner. I am greeted with a hello and they both walk off towards the Kafe Europa.

I continue my walk. I start walking up Rruga e Elbasanit. The pavements are busy with people. Most of them are walking towards me. I feel like a lost salmon going up stream. I decide to turn off the main road and find myself in a narrower road, less congested, the Rruga Mustafa Lleshi. This road has tall buildings on either side and the light from the sun is minimal. It feels colder. The clothes the people are wearing are different from the main city streets I have just left. Most of the city people had suits and ties on. In this street, the people appear to be manual or artisan workers: bread



makers, carpenters and seamstresses. I then join Rruga “Pjeter Budi”, continuing on Rruga “Sotir Kolea”. These roads are becoming busy as I make my way down the labyrinth, they seem to be narrowing, although I am sure they are not. It is getting darker. The lights from the dark shops offer the only illumination. There are more stray dogs in this area. I buy some cakes, a type of macaroon. They are delicious. I am completely lost, although I am able to orientate where I think I might be. I feel exhilarated. I then turn right into Rruga “Arben Broci”, eventually arriving back on the Rruga e Elbasanit. I turn left and make my way up the hill to the hotel.

Jarvis (1997) suggests that walking for pleasure helps the individual assert their individuality and autonomy. Edensor (2000) contributes by promoting the fostering of self-reliance, contemplation and uninterrupted sensual experiences. An advantage of walking is that I could be quick or slow my pace, be purposeful, discursive or conceptual (Wunderlich 2008), different walking paces provide different information. Choosing to adopt a slow pace for example, offered me opportunities to capture valuable data, including sights, sounds and odours. In this way, Nigel’s walking produces knowledge that is rich in detail but hard to extrapolate. I aim to present the world, not represent it, or explain it. As you will read, I produce ‘descriptions’ rather than ‘results.

Tirana deserved to be experienced from street level. The walks sought to activate a time-space context to investigate issues of landscape, architecture and subjectivity. I pass through an extraordinary amount of time as I moved between buildings from the Ottoman Empire, noticing Italian influenced architecture, dull grey benign evidence of Albania’s communist rule and ‘modern’ democratic public buildings. I was unable to locate any buildings associated with King Zog 1, although I was told he had a palace in Duress on the coast and that Zog’s villa is one of the best representatives of the Italian Architecture in Albania.

When I am walking and I have an idea, the very act of walking helps me to embody the idea. Some of the landmarks I saw on my walks will, I suspect, be forever associated in my mind with the ideas I had when being near them and these then shape the way I see certain places. (I go walking regularly with a couple of friends several times a year. Sometimes over the years, we have returned to an area where we have walked before. My companions are often surprised and fascinated that I can usually recall what we were talking about when we passed particular landmarks on previous trips). Being in motion through a world of images, I become a



film camera. Our own exploration therefore has to be personalised; I am doing it for myself, increasing my own store of particular knowledge, walking my own eccentric version of the city.

Journey one

As I walk, I remind myself of some books I have read by a few cultural geographers for example, Wylie (2005), Ingold (2001), Edensor (2000; 2009) and Anderson (2009). They describe places as being made up of by the intersections of culture and context. In more detail however, Anderson (2009) suggests that places are constituted by entanglements of traces. Traces are marks or bits and pieces left in place by cultural life. Traces are most generally considered as material in nature, such as buildings, signs, statues (Anderson 2009). With this in mind, I think about the statues I am seeing, the buildings I am walking past as traces. What are they telling me about Albania? The country’s history or the different cultures that have lived in this land. Let us look at Skanderberg Square for example. Why would the city of 1960’s want to create this monument and accompanying plaza? The naming of this square commemorates a significant Albanian figure, one that represents a strong fighter; it represents the military might and power of the Albanian people. A reminder to Albanians of their resistance to the Ottoman Empire.

Every building I pass is a snapshot in time, place and context. What materials were available? How far had architecture progressed? I think about the aspirations of the architects and who may have influenced their decisions. Grey communist blocks of flats positioned amongst new chrome and glass buildings that convene at intersections.

Walking then, can be seen as an ordinary activity in our everyday life in the city. Yet, it is through walking that we immerse ourselves and dwell in the representational and lived world. Walking can be seen as ‘an ideal strategy for witnessing’ (Lavery 2005, 152). Miller continues by saying it is because walking involves a corporeal engagement in a rhythmic time: ‘there’s a sense of relinquishing ourselves to a rhythmic state of being’ (Miller 2008).



Journey three

Here I am at Tirana railway station. I have just returned from a trip to Duress; a town on the Adriatic Coast about 20 miles west of Tiranë. I make my way up Bulevardi “Zogu 1”. The street is crowded with people. It is about 5 pm. I make my way to the Rruga “Ded Gjo Luli”. I find a bench-height brick wall to sit on. I put a plastic bag on the damp concrete and sit down. There are many people here. Makeshift tables made of plastic boxes and flattened out cardboard boxes for tabletops, line up close together near the curb. Some young men are selling mobile phones, some selling cigarette lighters.

There are groups of people waiting at bus stops. As I sit and contemplate, I consider the routines of the city. The daily walking practices of people. I watch the pace of the schoolchildren on their route from school to home. Some are dawdling, some are walking quickly, and some are busy in conversation. I watch people in the rush hour; the quick dash between traffic, slowing down at the bus stops. I enjoy watching that late afternoon early evening period when people are making their way home as other people are making their way out for the evening: perhaps for a drink or to visit friends. All these different types of walking add to the rhythm of the city, people contributing their rhythms of their own particular modes of walking. These walking rhythms overlap with each other at particular junctures: bus stops, crossroads or at traffic lights. The rhythms influenced by contexts, for example traffic flow, shop opening hours or work breaks. They all are adding to the complex multiple rhythms of Tirana. I leave the square and walk up Rruga e Kavajes. I want to see the Catholic Church. I had been told about this building by the manager of the hotel. There had been a dispute between local residents and the church as to who owned the land and the accommodation. I sit in the church for a short while. Resting and escaping the sounds of the city.

Outside the church, I turn left and then left again into a narrow street: Rruga “Mujo Ulqinaku”. This darkened passageway becomes the Rruga Besim Imami and after walking through some more narrow passageways, I arrive on the Rruga “Myslym Shyri”. There are some expensive shops in this area. Bright lights. Jewellers, clothes and electronic stores. The pavements are wide and are full with people shopping and some like



me, window gazing. I have seen poor areas and more expensive parts of the city. Geographically uneven development and underdevelopment provides another framework for interpreting the processes that produce injustices.

I am trying to find the University of Arts, the Polytechnic University of Tirana and the statue of Mother Teresa again. I take another rest. Students are criss-crossing outside the academic buildings. I leave the plaza and make my way past one of Tirana’s two football stadiums, the Qemal Stafa Stadium. From here, I join the Rruga e Elbasanit and make my way up the hill towards the hotel.

The army barracksI make a detour down Rruga Herman GmeinerI need to see if I can see The Royal Palace (formerly known as The Palace of [Partizan] Brigades)

On the way an Alsatianbears his ugly clean teeth.The chain round his neck prevents connection.

I creep round him.His moist throat rattles angrily, behind me, as I move out of sight

I make a note in my notebook (a retirement present from a work colleague) about body ballet or place ballets. This was a term coined by David Seamon in 1980. He was fascinated in how bodies move habitually when performing tasks. When these tasks are strung collectively through a day, they produce what Seamon called a time–space routine. These routines are often habitual. He gives examples of driving to work, walking to work or going shopping. As suggested earlier, these activities do not require much thought. I’m reminded of the term Cognitive Miser, this was coined by Fiske and Taylor (1984) to refer to the general idea that individuals frequently rely on simple and time efficient strategies when evaluating information and making decisions. When these individual time–space routines come together, they form a place-ballet (Seamon 1980). During my walking, I saw hundreds of people conducting their personal time–space routines, doing routines that were collective. Regular patterns began to emerge.



Seamon’s argument is that places exhibit a kind of unchoreographed yet ordered practice.

Journey one, again

Before my trip to Albania, I had read about Edi Rama in a National Geographic magazine in my local dentist’s waiting room. Edi Rama was elected as Mayor of Tirana in 2004. He wanted to transform the ruined facades of the city into fascinating paintings.

It can be difficult to visit parts of the world and see things in entirely fresh ways because we have often been exposed to many images of places, we then carry that visual heritage with us. Albania was unique for me. I knew very little about the country and had only seen a few photographs. It would be new.

I leave the hotel and catch a bus into the city. On my walk to the bus stop, I see a cow tethered outside a butcher’s shop. The concrete pad the beast is standing on is corrugated. The butcher draws a blade from his leather apron pocket and slits the cow’s throat. The beast shakes and slumps to the floor. The blood drains down the corrugation channels into the gutter.

I hop off the bus and head towards the painted buildings.

It’s morning, it is bright. The heavy rain during the night has washed the air clean of grime and dust and the city sparkles. Car tyres splatter through puddles and spray dirty water on innocent people who stand or walk on the pavements. Potholes make it difficult to assess the depths of the puddles. I walk to Rruga e Durresit in Tiranë; there are some wonderful examples of brightly painted buildings. The buildings provide optimism. They impart a sense of playfulness. I am finding that the best way to see Tirana and get a feel for it is getting ‘lost’ in the many different neighbourhoods. I come across indoor and outdoor fruit and second hand clothes markets; many makeshift bric-a-brac stalls. People sat on carpets covered with small plastic toys, kitchen utensils and small piles of used baby clothes. Colourful, tiny, congested grocery shops with endless long tall shelves stacked with rice and dried produce. The wooden floorboards populated with large hessian bags of different pulses. An overwhelming fragrance of warmth and comfort. I see beautiful minarets, Orthodox churches, and



horses grazing on the riverbank in the city centre.

Some buildings on the street remain rundown with walls and walls and walls of uninspiring dehumanizing shades of totalitarian grey. I walk up and down the area. I spend several hours absorbing the atmosphere. My senses are bombarded with the blaring of car and bus horns, the dust, the diesel fumes and the smells of hot oil, roasting corn and rosemary.

I make my way to a small shop, a grocery shop. I buy some fruit, some bread, some huge bright red beef, tomatoes and some small bottles of still water. The young woman at the checkout packs my bag with delicate care, like an artist arranging a mosaic of misshapen objects into a gorgeous whole. Her brown hair has three tight plaits that sit atop her head. She takes her time packing; it is charming to watch her fastidiousness. I forgo the use of my debit card, pour coins into my hand from my wallet and give her the correct amount. I receive a smile and a thank you (Falimenderit).

As I take another rest on a wooden bench, I see many old men with their bicycles. Bikes seem very popular amongst the older generation. I guess they did not have opportunity to learn to drive after the communist regime, who forbade ownership of cars.

There is a commotion going on outside the shop. A large green metal rubbish bin is on fire. Flames lick the air - a small fire engine arrives. Two firemen attach the black concertina water hoses to the water bowser and extinguish the flames. It is all over pretty quick. The air smells of burnt rubber.

I make my way to Sami Frasheri and watch thousands of sparrows as they swoop into the chestnut trees. The birds seem pleased to see each other as they chuckle, giggle, and show off their flying skills. I see some welders on a nearby building site. None of them is wearing protective goggles. I see a group of young men just about to go into a café; they are all wearing black leather jackets, light blue denim jeans and expensive imitation trainers. They all have short hair. I notice many people wearing different types of uniforms. I sit down again and eat some oranges. I look for a litterbin. The litterbins are sat on elegant metalwork. Some of the upright poles are damaged; bent at angles as they battle against the wind. Maybe they have been hit by cars, buses, or the huge trucks that rumble through the middle of the city. Some bins are missing, some are rusty. As I look around, I can see the Dajti Mountains to the east. The clouds hang near the summit like a necklace, blurring the approach. The peaks sit proud as they look down



on the city. I think about getting the cable-car to the summit.

I arrive at the Bulevardi Dëshmorët e Kombit. I want to find Mother Teresa Square on the Bulevardi Dëshmorët e Kombit. As I arrive at the crossroads with Rruga “Ismail Qemali”, I notice a few large men with long black shiny leather coats, dark glasses and swept black oiled hair. I gesture to them ‘Is it OK to carry on walking?’ One of them says ‘Yes’. Ahead of me near the Enver Hoxha mausoleum, the air is thick with black smoke; billowing black smoke. Several burning vehicles send flames high in the air. I have innocently stumbled upon a protest. I stand outside a large hotel and watch the disturbance from a distance. I asked a man sat next to me what was happening. He tells me there is much discontent with the present government. This discontent has developed into this day of unrest. (I text home and tell people that I am safe and not to worry. I receive texts. There is not news of the disturbances in the UK. A friend, who works for the news agency Reuters, texts me and asks me if I am OK, He suggests I look out for a Reuter’s reporters van and make myself known to them).

Suddenly I am told to ‘run’! I could see police officers in riot gear charging down the street towards the group I was standing with. I decided to walk. I was hoping the police would run straight passed me. They did. I turned into Rruga Abdyl Frashëri. In my walking haste, I fell over a small metal chair on the terrace of a café bar. I was worried. I thought I might be hit over the head or perhaps kicked. Once I stood up I regained my composure. The police had disappeared.

I get out my camera to take some photos. I stood behind a column of a building. I wanted to be discrete and reduce any voyeurism. I was approached by a woman, she was shouting at me in a language I did not immediately recognise. Fortunately, an Italian whom I had met earlier that day coincidentally walked past and saw what was happening. He spoke Albanian. He was studying Anthropology in Italy and had come to Albania to ‘study’ a village in the north of the country. He had Albanian relatives in Tiranë. He was able to translate to the woman. He told her I was a tourist. It turned out the woman thought I was a foreign journalist.

On my way back to the hotel I am told that three people have been shot and killed.



Conclusion

In this paper, the walks I made in Tirana have served as a conduit for a different account of this city, narrating the self and landscapes. I am hoping that the narrative structures have allowed a post structural progression to develop. The writing was experimental. It has been a conceptual exercise. Though embedded in my physical capacity to move about, my walking is irreducibly social and a cultural practice that I have learned, regulated and produced. I have drawn attention to the multiple, contested and contextual rhythms fashioned through walking. I have had an opportunity to explore these dimensions of walking rhythms more fully and highlighted the nuanced and multifaceted ways in which the rhythm and flow of walking folds body, self, other humans and non-humans, time-space and place collectively.

References

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Costello, E. 1996: At the Other End of the Telescope. All This Useless Beauty. Warner Brothers.

Edenson, T. 2000: Walking in the British Countryside: Reflexivity, Embodied Practices and Ways to Escape. Body and Society, Vol 6, 3-4, 81-106.

Edensor, T. 2009: Mobility, rhythm and commuting. In Mobilities: Practices, spaces, subjects Cresswell, T. and Merriman, P. (Eds) Aldershot: Ashgate.

Fiske, S. T.; Taylor, S. E. 1984: Social cognition / Reading, Massachusetts: Addison-Wesley Pub. Co.



Hall, T. 2010: Urban outreach and the polyrhythmic city. In Geographies of rhythm: Nature, places, mobilities and bodies, (Ed) Edensor T Aldershot: Ashgate.

Ingold, T. 2001: The perception of the environment: essays in livelihood, dwelling and skill. Routledge: London.

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Kahn, B. 1987: Cosmopolitan culture: the gilt-edged dream of a tolerant city. New York: Atheneum.

Kärrholm, M. 2009: To the rhythm of shopping: On synchronisation in urban landscapes of consumption. Social and Cultural Geography, 10(4): 421–40.

Lavery, C. 2005: The Pepys of London E11: Graeme Miller and the politics of Linked. New Theatre Quarterly, 21(2) (May): 148–60.

Miller, G. 2008: Interview with Misha Myers. July 16, London.

Myers, M. 2008: Situations for living: Performing emplacement. Research in Drama Education, 13(2): 171–80.

Seamon, D. 1980: Body-subject, time-space routines, and place ballets. In Buttimer A & Seamon, D. (eds.) The Human Experience of Space and Place, pp 148--165. New York: St. Martin’s Press.

Sprackland, J. 2013: Sleeping Keys. London: Cape Poetry.

Tester, K. 1994: Ed The flaneur, London: Routledge.

Wunderlich, F. M. 2008: Walking and Rhythmicity: Sensing Urban Space. Journal of Urban Design, Volume 13, Issue 1, 2008 pages 125-139.

Wylie, J. 2005: A single day’s walking: narrating self and landscape on the



South West Path. Transactions of the Institute British Geographers, NS 30, 234-247.

The total number of words is 4854© LCPJ Publishing 2014 by Nigel P Short

Dr. Nigel P Short - Co-editor of LCPJ, MSc (Cognitive Behaviour Therapy), BSc (Cognitive Behaviour Therapy), BSc (Nursing), Post Graduate Certificate in Education, Registered Mental Nurse, Registered General Nurse, UK.


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