Stairway to Heaven

A year ago when we first arrived we stayed in a modern, new hotel until our apartment was ready for us to move in. The hotel has a small shopping area and in the evening families fill the cafes both inside and out. Mothers, fathers, aunties, and uncles sit and drink their thimble-sized cups of spresso while the kiddies run around until their energy wanes. It's a classy place and the children are often dressed in their best outfits, just like their mothers. I loved to watch them run around on the smooth floors, stop and look at their reflections in the shiny windows, and run off again, giggling with their friends like children the world over.

In the center of the shopping area are two rather long escalators, the only way up to the second level. The children would approach it with curiousity and caution. For you see (as far as I know), it was the only escalator in the country. Imagine being a child and watching these long, silver, moving stairs going up and down, moving quickly, never stopping.

Do you remember the first time you had to use an escalator? I don't, but I have never felt completely comfortable with them. I struggled to contain my personal fears back in Bucharest when I had to use the decrepit escalators in the old state run department stores. No lights, missing escalator stairs(!), handrails that didn't move at the same rate as the escalator, and holes in the floors at the landing turned it into a very creepy experience. When the Albanian children approached the escalator I could identify with the fear on their faces.

They'd slowly move toward it and watch the adults hop on and move off towards the stars, but most were too afraid to try it themselves. Mom or dad would run over and take them by the hand and pull them to the elevator. The kids pulled back and shrieked with fear. But of course, in this situation the stronger of the two always wins. And so the children would be taken in tow and forced to ride the metallic monster. Some kept on their feet, though they were shivering with fright, and some fell to the ground as their legs gave out. The stairs kept moving and suddenly they'd be at the top (or bottom) and the dreaded end of the ride. Often arms would be yanked and the children were carried back to solid ground. As soon as the colour came back to their cheeks and they caught their breath, shrieks of "again- again" would echo through the air. But this time the children refused the hands of their parents, confident that they could do it alone. And they usually did.

But even more amusing was watching the women in stillettos who, approaching the escalator, also had to face their greatest fears.