I hate the Dons

I am back in the office after what will definitely, probably, maybe, nah-it-won’t be my last beach weekend of the year. Ah, the beach. To use an Albanian saying, “I die for the beach”. And the beaches here are just so easy to access. You don’t have to worry about parking, you just park in the middle of the road and if cars need to pass while you are sunning, that is their problem. You are on holiday. If you have finished your 5 bottles of Amstel and the trash can is inconveniently distant (more than 2 meters away) just leave the beautiful, brown bottles to slowly dissolve into well-rounded beach-glass. The brown toe cutters contrasting with the white, bleached stones is striking.

Of course I am just picking on the Albanians. The beaches, despite their frequenters, still blow all other beaches out of the water. HA! Yes I said it, sucka. This July I made it back to the US after just over a year and a half and met family at Hilton Head Island, SC. HHI is so well planned, family friendly, perfectly designed for biking, and dignifiedly reserved. My wife’s family loves the island so much they have purchased multiple timeshare weeks there. I think it is great too. But HHI’s beaches are a poor comparison to the raw beauty found in Albania.

It’s not HHI’s fault. The poor island probably didn’t submit the proper paperwork for its location bid and was therefore assigned to the Atlantic Ocean, North America Division. Given a second shot, I am sure it would have opted to be halfway between the Adriatic and Ionian Seas so it might enjoy sandy beaches on its northern shore and stone beaches in the south (like Albania). And of course it would have requested a profile of jagged cliffs dropping dramatically into the sea (like Albania) instead of its slow, low, slope. And what respectable beach wouldn’t want water so glassy smooth and crystal clear that from the cliffs you can see the sea bottom, 20 feet deep, rapidly approaching as you dive head first into a turquoise mix of salty goodness and a fresh water spring (Albania again).

HHI is lacking in some other resources compared to Albania. Weddings for one. I have never been stuck in 30 minutes of traffic in HHI, or anywhere else in the US, as a wedding party of 10 cars decides to drive in the left lane because the right was just too slow moving, yelling, with a smile, “Open the road. It’s a wedding”. Ah but you should see when two wedding parties meet head on! It is a thing of beauty, the perfect storm. When this happens, both weddings are automatically cancelled and the brides and grooms must reapply for an asshole license the next year.

And poor HHI with its SUVs and minivans, station wagons and pick-up trucks. It seems like a welfare state when compared to the August influx of $100,000 Mercedes adorned with Italian, German, British and Greek plates from the prosperous Albanian immigrants who, though they left Albania without a high school education have obviously struck it rich in some honest industry. And why have they returned in August? To attend their second cousin’s milk distributor’s daughter’s wedding. And where MUST this precious ceremony of three days of circle dancing and lamb’s head consumption take place? Yes, a café on the beach. Hey brother, might as well park that Mercedes in the road while you’re at it. You’re on holiday and it’s a wedding !
NOTE: No one is going to read this blog, but somehow, some idiot will call me a judgmental racist just like people did when it was “suggested” that President Bush’s watch might have somehow slipped off his wrist while engulfed in his loving, Albanian mob in Kruja. Not all immigrants drive Mercedes (some have BMWs). Those that have neither German luxury automobile either left Albania with 1) an education or 2) to seek and education. They are the poor ones and must depend upon their cousin, Don Immigriano, for a ride. Respecte!

I die for the beach. But I think I can hold on for two more weeks when the curse of the Dons will be lifted and my (I say my. I have been here long enough) blessed beaches will be full of blue plastic bags, garter belts and Amstel bottles. But we will be free of so many of the want-to-be Scarfaces (funny that a Cuban is their idol being Dons and all). Now there are Dons that live here year round and drive Hummers with Ontario license plates, eat meat for all three meals, and drink coffee with their pinky extended, but they are another story that I won’t get around to. Could have implications on my own coffee consumption.