My greatest gift came in the form of a phone call several months ago. On my work voicemail one day, I had a message. Kara Breissinger from the U.S. State Department had seen my articles on Eastern European organized crime networks, knew I had spoken about my coverage to other reporters, and wanted to know if I'd be interested in going to Albania to speak to journalists there about how I got into covering these stories.
I played the message more than once to make sure I heard it right.
Over the years as a reporter, I've gotten calls from prosecutors, lawyers, cops, politicians and even an inmate or two from jail. But never have I been graced with a friendly jingle from someone in Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice's shop, recruiting me to speak in a country I knew little about.
I went online to look at a map. It's north of Greece, across the Adriatic Sea from Italy.
Albania is coming out from underneath a communist regime. The U.S. and other countries are promoting democracy in this Balkan country of nearly 3.6 million people with the hope the country will eventually join the European Union. Having a free and independent press is part of establishing a democracy.
As part of the U.S. Speakers Program, I'd be meeting with Albanian crime reporters to talk about the mob - including copious amounts about Al Capone - the history of the American press, and reporting tips and tools - all without getting them killed or fired from their jobs.
It was an offer I couldn't refuse.
My wife, Kerry, a fellow reporter, thought it was too good to be true. My boss Ron Kaye giggled on the phone when I told him.
He gave me the time off to go.
In November, I packed my things. I was on my way to Albania.
Once there, I met fascinating people and saw amazing things. I walked amid the ruins of an ancient Ottoman Turk castle with views of the Adriatic Sea. I sipped espresso in Italian-style cafes in the shadow of Mother Theresa Square.
I heard from Albanian journalists, editors, and government officials, who shared their experiences in a country undergoing dramatic change. I held a workshop with eight crime reporters at the Albanian Media Institute, established in 1995 to develop the country's press.
Albania is a dangerous place for a reporter. Just last year, an explosion damaged the offices of Albania's most popular independent daily newspaper. No one was injured. And no one immediately claimed responsibility for the bombing, but the paper's editor said at the time he thought it was some kind of warning.
Also in 2005, two men beat a journalist in a town called Gjirokastra. I interviewed an editor who told me he was kidnapped by Albanian police, bent on silencing him from reporting on riots after a financial pyramid scheme collapsed a decade ago. He said the police beat him for three days until stories about his kidnapping prompted high-ranking officials to order his release.
Other than having my digital camera stolen from my checked luggage somewhere between L.A. and Albania, I encountered no problems in the country. I left there struck with a sense of a country of contrasts, of old and new, a place where mule-drawn wagons share roads choked with diesel-spewing Mercedes, where a group women meet up outside a theater to watch, "The Devil Wears Prada," while nearby the Muslim call to prayer can be heard from a mosque blocks away.
Ten days in Albania in November - it was the journey of my life.