![]() The car was a black Mercedes, with leather seats and air conditioning. Marsh and Professor Petrela are waiting for you at the hotel. In the arrivals hall, a young man dressed in a bright white shirt came over. In passing, he mentioned that he would be operating in Albania in August and in Nepal in September, and I asked hesitantly whether I could join him in Albania. He wrote a cordial reply saying that he seldom worked there now, but he was sure something could be arranged. I had sent Marsh an email, asking if I might meet him in London to watch him operate. His job is to slice into the brain, the most complex structure we know of in the universe, where everything that makes us human is contained, and the contrast between the extremely sophisticated and the extremely primitive - all of that work with knives, drills and saws - fascinated me deeply. It was called “Do No Harm,” and it was written by the British neurosurgeon Henry Marsh. I shook my head, put the book I had been reading into my backpack, got up, lifted my suitcase out of the overhead compartment and stood waiting in the aisle for the door up ahead to open. The man next to me, a young, red-haired American wearing a straw hat, asked me if I knew how to get into town from the airport. The sun had set while the plane was midflight, and as we landed in the dark, images of fading light still filled my mind. I arrived in Tirana, Albania, on a Sunday evening in late August, on a flight from Istanbul. ![]()
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