Berat, one thousand windows and a dance

Berat, one thousand windows and a dance

I skipped the castle town of Berat back in 2013. But now, it gets a second chance. The city of a thousand windows, I had read somewhere. The old Ottoman houses cling to the hillsides like laundry hung out to dry. White, symmetrical, sharply outlined against the rock. They all look a little alike, yet each one seems to try just hard enough not to be exactly the same. High above it all towers the ancient fortress. From up there, the view is vast and open. The Osum River winds through the valley like a ribbon. Inside the castle walls, people still live. Truly live. There’s laundry hanging. Dogs bark in the distance. It feels real. Early in the morning, I have a coffee. Grandmother makes it, and her granddaughter, maybe ten years old, still in pajamas, chats away non-stop. Her English is surprisingly good. In August, she has to perform a little dance at school, and she gives me a preview. To melancholic music from her phone, she moves softly and precisely. It’s touching. She asks me to post the video on Instagram. I don’t, to protect her. But here’s a photo. Berat is quiet at seven in the morning, but not empty. The cobbled streets shine with age, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. At nine, the museum opens. Of the 42 churches that once stood within these walls, only eight remain. All are closed, except one. And that one is the museum. Inside, stunning icons hang on the walls, worthy of any museum collection. When I step back outside, three modern-day icons are sitting on a bench. They ask for a photo. Of course.