A REPORTING trip to the mystery land of Albania brought the worst experience of my life. A surreal nightmare where I played the starring role.
It
was back in 1993 when I was working for Capital Radio. I arrived in the
capital city Tirana forewarned of the primitive conditions.
So
I brought my own mini-survival kit…bottled drinking water, biscuits,
chocolate and plenty of toilet rolls. Enough to last for the two days in
Albania while I covered a World Cup Qualifying match against the
Republic of Ireland.
I
made my way to the Hotel Tirana and initial impressions were
favourable. Smartly dressed businessmen exchanged snappy handshakes in
the modern foyer, the restaurant was spotless and the Irish national
team were staying there in the lap of luxury. It seemed too good to be
true.
But my problems started at the front desk.
“Mr
Incenzo?” said the receptionist. “Oh yes, I’m terribly sorry sir, but
this hotel is full. So we have booked you in at another hotel just down
the road.”
They
arranged a courtesy taxi to take me to the other building (which will
remain nameless). I checked in and was told that my room was on the
fifth floor.
Unfortunately,
the elevator was out of action. So I had to hump my suitcase, hand
luggage and tape recorder up five flights of stairs in 85 degrees of
evening humidity.
I
arrived at my room breathless and exhausted. The first thing I noticed
was that the shower was permanently switched on and was flooding on to
the floor. I spent half an hour trying to rectify the problem but to no
avail.
Things
got worse. The taps on the sink wouldn't work, the main light was out
of action, the toilet wouldn't flush and a starlight window wouldn't
close - allowing an exotic variety of winged insects easy access to my
bedroom.
“Well, this is Albania,” I said to myself, trying to make the best of a bad lot.
So I paddled through the murky water on the floor, brushed my teeth with my bottled water and got undressed for bed.
“At least I’m only here for two nights,” I thought, trying to savour the cultural experience.
But
as I walked back across the room, I was greeted by a terrifying
sight...a twelve inch long, black furry rat was sitting on its haunches
beside my bed, staring me straight in the eye.
I
felt my stomach wrench upwards and I let out a reflex cry of alarm.
This startled the rat and it began to scurry around the room in
concentric circles. I scurried out the door.
Down in the foyer, I complained to the hotel manager about my uninvited room guest. But to no avail.
“That's very nice for you sir,” he grinned smugly. “Rats are really friendly. I wish I had one down here to keep me company.”
I urged him to take me seriously and demanded to be switched to another room.
“That's not possible,” he smirked. “The hotel is full.”
I
told him I would call the police but he chuckled again because the
telephones were out of order. I insisted that I would find the police
station but he just kept laughing in my face.
Infuriated,
I stormed out on to the street and luckily spotted a passing police
van. I called for help and it screeched to a halt. Unfortunately the
driver couldn't speak a word of English.
He
decided to take me to the local cop shop, where I was I was surrounded
by inquisitive Albanian police. It was past midnight and I was at the
end of my tether. I sat there for two hours before they could find anyone who could speak English.
Finally,
I managed to make myself understood. The officer in charge subsequently
sent me back to my hotel accompanied by a van load of hefty riot police
who yielded sturdy truncheons and lethal pistols.
I arrived back in the foyer elated with my impressive entourage. And the hotel manager changed his tune dramatically.
His
flippant fit of chuckles gave way to a patronising flood of apologies.
But there was still nothing he could do - the hotel was full and the rat
was not his problem.
The
policemen talked amongst themselves before pointing to the stairs. They
gestured to me that they were prepared to kill the rat.
So
it was up to the fifth floor again. I was accompanied by this meaty
posse of musclemen, who limbered up by practising Kung Fu and Karate
kicks as we turned the corners on the stairs.
When we reached my room, everything was quiet. The policemen seemed to fill the space with their stature and presence.
And there was no sign of the rat. Had I imagined it? Had I caused all that fuss for nothing?
The
largest policeman - who was nearly seven feet tall - lifted up the bed
with one hand. Without warning, the rat came charging out and started to
dance around the room.
Like
a scene from the Keystone Kops, the policemen lunged forward en masse
with their truncheons. But the rodent managed to escape through a huge
hole in the skirting board.
An
amazing scenario followed. The coppers turned and proceeded to demolish
the wardrobe with a series of frenetic Karate kicks. Then they rammed
this timber into the skirting board to block the hole.
Triumphantly, they turned to me like actors taking their curtain call.
“There is no problem for you now sir,” said the one with the best English.
"Thank you, thank you,” I gushed. “You've saved my night. I really don't know how to thank you.”
Then
I remembered the chocolate bars. These would be a real luxury for
Albanians. I went to my suitcase and produced a bar for each of my
heroes.
The policemen accepted the chocolate but looked at me strangely.
“Me Stefano,” said one.
“Me Eric,” said another.
“Me Rico,” said the one with the biggest truncheon.
“Yes, I'm Tony,” I said confused. “And I'm very grateful.”
But I wondered why they weren't leaving.
The policeman with the best English stepped forward.
“Rico would like to sleep with you,” he grinned.
“W-what?” I said, stepping back in fear and amazement.
“Yes, he would like to sleep with you. In the bed. You can say thank you to him personally. We will watch and then join in.”
“No...No thank you. I think the chocolate is enough,” I said and I gestured them towards the door.
The policemen left quietly. Back down in the foyer, they gave the hotel manager a verbal roasting before they departed.
I
decided to book a morning alarm call. The manager took my details
before whispering sweetly: “I am so sorry about the rat sir. As a form
of apology, perhaps you would like me to sleep with you tonight?”
I declined his offer, rushed back to the fifth floor and firmly locked my door before retiring for the night.
Tony Incenzo
Follow Tony @TonyIncenzo
Memory added on November 14, 2012
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