Tirana

The huge Skender Bey Square, which would not be out of place even in a larger city, is the centre and constantly running engine of the capital, Tirana. With its enormous dimensions and broad road, it contains enough to see even for a whole visit. The bustle of life can be well observed from the eighth floor of the hotel. There is plenty of room for cars on the wide, multi-lane highway and the traffic moves freely. (If only it were so easy for me to drive to work in the mornings!) At first it is incomprehensible why the policemen are constantly blowing their whistles and cars are blowing their horns, but it soon turns out that pedestrians, fearlessly neglecting the warnings of basic life instincts, boldly dash among the cars and bicycles set off in a direction opposing the flow of cars. Traffic here is one big, exciting game, whose rules are obviously well-known to all the natives. We also give it a try and attempt to fight our way between the cars in the manner of the locals - with not much success. Perhaps it is obvious to all that we are beginners.

The enormous square has everything - the huge building of the National Bank, the 14-storey Tirana Hotel, the Museum of National History, the Ethem Bey Mosque and the Palace of Culture, built in 1966 with all the characteristic features of the time. There is a day and night café under the arcades of the Palace with only men occupying its tables. In light shirts they are reading the papers at leisure, pondering on the world or trying to change it through vivid conversation. A female customer with a huge rucksack is sitting at one of the tables. A tourist, of course.

Locals are squatting on the steps of the Palace of Culture quietly contemplating. Some are seated on newspaper, while those in the know have brought a piece of cardboard cut to size. We also sit down among them and watch the hustle of the square - the bustle remains on the road, but peaceful onlookers don't let themselves be disturbed.

Elderly men are sitting in the Ethem Bey mosque, their shoes a few steps away. I dare to step in the doorway. They may not be pleased to see a female visitor, though not everybody is so wary. A young couple stride in, camera in hand. Posing as a photo model, the girl sits down to be taken crossing her long legs. No one tells them off. I fume. I could have also gone in.

Walking in the street they recognise the foreigner in us. We smile and they kindly smile back. An elderly lady with a white headscarf waves and the cassette street vendor changes the music for our sake. Tirana is a city of sellers who offer their merchandise from propped up bikes, upturned cardboard boxes, open suitcases, beer crates or a piece of canvas simply spread on the pavement. On sale are watches, shoe polish and shaving brushes, second hand and new shoes - several hundred pairs in bulk - paint in bags, superglue, battered and faded books, and cigarettes sold individually. A young man in a white T-shirt in front of us buys only three and immediately lights one. In a small paper box there are three bottles containing liquid for lighter refills. Next to them on the pavement are bathroom scales and for a few leks we can weigh ourselves or buy cupfuls of black-husked sunflower seeds sold from a small sack. An elderly man is offering deliciously thick corn on the cob, diligently blowing the embers in a baking tray set by the wall so that the corn grains would be ready sooner. Tiny half open kiosks offer freshly baked cheese byreks, still warm. A string of barber's shops reveals customers being shaved seriously and intensely. Some of these are so tiny that the barber can hardly fit in next to the only chair.

As we walk it is becoming hotter. After all, this is one of Europe's southern corners and it is soon lunchtime. People make use of any small shade, resting in groups under a tree. Some are enjoying a siesta in the park, placing their shoes carefully by their side and sleeping on the grass or mostly on the already familiar cardboard. Cafés are crowded here, too, and increasing numbers of women can be seen sipping coffee and chatting with their friends - obviously it is no longer a man's privilege only.

We sit on an open terrace with parasols and observe the recently painted colourful buildings. Breathing life into the grey and monotonous houses was the idea of Edi Rama, mayor of the capital since 2000. They now look lavish in colours of blue, yellow and red, some with stripes and patterns, others plain. A bit farther away there are still some grey buildings, perhaps left to counterpoint the bright ones. The refinement was a really good idea.

We slowly walk back to the square of Skender Bey. In the middle there are seven fountains and although only one is working it is being put to good use. In its longish pool children in T-shirts and shorts splatter, jump in, splash, expel water and dive under, taking no notice of the traffic around them. By the History Museum we see a huge platform with steps and bushes, but the steps do not lead anywhere and the platform is empty. Enver Hoxha's statue stood here up to 1991 when the crowds pulled it down. Today the space stands empty, though at the bottom of the steps a small train carrying children circles round and round. Nearby are several dozen quads in different colours and sizes, which can be hired for a few minutes' drive. Thoughts of mortality and changing times pass through our minds. However, the equestrian statue of Skender Bey still stands proudly in the middle of the square. He was not swept away by the winds of time.

At midday some of the shops close and a long siesta follows. By the time it finishes the sweltering heat has eased and the pleasantly warm weather lures the whole city into the open air. An almost carnival-like atmosphere and bustle is generated in the neighbourhood of the Regency Casino, although it is a weekday. None of the tables in the huge café by the fountain is free. It is impossible to find a place. Those who could not get in or have come just to chill out are sitting on benches and ledges. Even the pavement curbs are crowded with seated people. In the middle of the park there are lots of children. The boys are playing football enthusiastically and freely, undisturbed by prams left in the middle of the ground or girls playing hopscotch in front of the goalposts. Everyone blends with everybody else, while on the grass vendors offer appropriate merchandise - toys, kites and balls. On the main square the muezzin sounds. Dusk has arrived. But traffic on the roads is becoming intense and we are relieved when we manage to get to the opposite side.

Now the crowds are flowing as if they had been waiting for this all day. Everyone has something urgent to do, since the city is alive and it must not be missed.

Anna Nagy