Which is what the Turks
supposedly call the Balkans. I don’t know if it’s true, but it does make for a
cool blog post title. Bar two separate trips to two of the Balkans’ biggest
cities (Belgrade in 2006 and Zagreb in 2012), the area was rather unknown to
me. Emphasise the past tense, as I embarked on a 10-day journey to Albania two
weeks ago. Now a massive red flag with a two-headed black eagle (once the
banner of Skanderbeg’s house and now Albania’s national flag) adorns a wall in
my bedroom, and I listen to Albanian music while writing this blog post. Albania,
you have been wonderful. I’ll be back.
The journey basically consisted
of two separate legs. During the first five days it was worn and sun-bleached
shorts, t-shirts that had started to disintegrate a good while ago and would
receive disapproving looks from slum dwellers, and either flip flops or hiking
boots (depending on the activity). I found myself on the top of the towering Accursed
Mountains, trekking through valleys, on the roof of a boat crossing lakes, and
sleeping in dorm rooms. The deceiving sensation of complete liberty made me
forget about life in an office for a while, which makes the blow of reality
upon homecoming all the harder. The second leg was of a more urban nature, and
featured sipping cocktails, shopping for clothes (sort of a necessity as my
attire made me feel uncomfortable anywhere close to civilisation), and dining
out, all in very privileged company. Curious? Well, there we go. A 10-day deep
dive of Albanian food, nature, and people.
The start of the journey was
slightly ominous, as I was still finding splinters of glass in my clothes and
hair that evening when undressing for a night’s sleep in one of Munich’s less
eccentric airport hotels. On the way to Dublin’s airport, our bus, which was
already half an hour late, got further delayed as some north-side hooligan
decided to throw a stone through one of the windows. Luckily nobody got hurt,
but the extra delay was not welcome at
all. Well, from then it got only better. I did make my flight to Munich
that night and after a 12-hour stopover boarded the plane to Tirana the next
morning. The adventure had begun.
My first impression of Albanian
people was positive and would only be reaffirmed over the next ten days (bar a
few modest exceptions). The taxi drivers touting for clients outside the
airport’s gates were polite and didn’t press when told thanks but no thanks.
The one with whom I eventually agreed on a price agreed to drop me off at a bus
to Skoder, as that was where I had a dorm bed booked for the night. Please note
the ‘a bus’ as there’s no designated bus terminals in Albania and you pretty
much rely on locals’ knowledge of where
what bus departs from. Well, there’s an agreement that could cause friction in
many ways. Traveling in the likes of India and Morocco an ‘unexpected’ event
would invariably occur, likely a quarrel about the previously agreed price
because of some i) road works, ii) unmentioned taxes, iii) extra levy for the
bag, iv) you name it. Your man might pretend not to have change or he would
drop you off at the hotel of a cousin (‘I need to get on the bus, not to a
hotel’). Experiences as such have made me a cautious and somewhat cynical traveller when venturing
off to unknown and faraway lands. Well, that quickly vanished in Albania. After
consulting some men hanging around a café, the taxi driver dropped me off at
the corner of the street, whereafter one of the blokes walked me to the white
minibus waiting to be filled up. No quarrel about the price. The man who helped
me get to the bus nodded his goodbyes after making sure I got my seat, and I
paid the same price as my Albanian co-passengers. Throughout my entire journey
I found Albanian people helpful, kind, and honest. From that first experience I
shook off the guarded cynicism that is required in some countries, retained a
healthy dose of common sense, and entered Skoder with an open mind. Hello
Albania. Welcome Tony.
Traveling by bus in foreign
destinations, or even better, by train, is one of my favourite pastimes. It is
like watching a movie; constantly changing scenery, accompanied by matching
sounds and scents, make for an experience that tickles all the senses. Gazing
out of the window of the minibus I saw the outskirts of Tirana slowly give way
to green rolling hills, dotted with detached and multi-storeyed houses. Another
positive surprise. Albania appeared a lot more developed than I had expected.
Big houses on green plots of land, with fruit trees and cattle around,
suggested a pleasant lifestyle for those who lived there. As Erio told me later
that day, this is at least partially a façade. ‘What good is a big house if you
can’t even afford the electricity for it?’ And I did recognise his observation
that many of them had not been finished (yet), with the ground floor for
instance being inhabited while the first floor still required completion. As an
Albanian who had, until recently, lived for 15 years in Italy and Sweden, Erio
was sceptical of the perceived progress his country had booked in the meantime.
He complained about poor governance, corruption and nepotism. Over a refreshing
soda we had a refreshing discussion on Albanian politics. And however much I
value the insights he shared with me, I can’t help but being positively
impressed with what I saw during my trip. Especially with Albanians. Cause how
did I end up having a drink with Erio? Because he asked me. He saw me in the
streets taking pictures, recognised me from the bus journey, and invited me to
have a drink with him. First day in Albania. Wow. If this is the precedent of
what’s to come, lucky me. It was.
Upon arrival in the ‘Mi casa e tu
casa’ hostel I was welcomed by Drini in what I came to appreciate as an, ehm,
very, well, characteristic way. ‘What do you want?’ Well. ‘I booked a room.’
Mutual observing. ‘Ok come here’. Pours me a shot of raki. ‘Drink. Well done.
Welcome.’ The hostel turned out to be a very pleasant place to be. The main lounge
had comfy sofas, a bar with bar stools, a table tennis table, a hammock, loads
of cats, the occasional dog, art + artists… all that you need and more. The
evening was spent at that very bar, drinking raki and beer with amongst others
Josh from the States and Ben from France, who made us a very tasty pie with
pancakes for dessert. Whereas at the time my appreciation for raki was still
limited to it being ‘Albanian’, ‘traditional’ and ‘alcoholic’, I admit that
from the next morning onwards I added ‘no hangover’ to a list of plusses that
would grow up and till my last day in Albania when I searched in vain for
bottles to take home. Bad luck, nearly all Albanian raki is home-distilled. Not
commercialised. Everybody drinks it, everybody makes it at home. I love it,
even though it does prevent me from taking it with me.
Hangover-free I was collected
from the hostel at 6 in the morning (Albanians are indeed early risers!) for a
ride to lake Komani. The loop that the area is famous for is from Skhoder to
Komani, Fierze, Valbona, Theth and ultimately back to Skhoder (lest it wouldn’t
be a loop). The cool thing about the whole journey is that it cannot be
completed by car; from Komani to Fierze you have to go by boat and in between
Valbona and Theth a massive mountain range without tunnels makes hiking (or
flying) the only way to complete the whole thing. The 6 o’clock pick-up could
have been 7 or 8 as well in order to make it to the 9 o’clock ferry (which
actually left at half 9 at the earliest) if it hadn’t been for the driver
stopping in every village so he could chat with locals, load and unload some baggage
and drink coffee. While slightly resenting the whole procedure (I would have
loved an hour or more in my bed), the scene in the village was amusing enough
to witness. It slightly reminded me of India; locals who would get up at the
most impossible hour, only to hang out in the main street of their village,
chatting with their neighbours, and scrubbing the floor of their shops that don’t
need scrubbing. Why get up so early if you have nothing useful to do anyway? Eventually
the ‘dieci minuti’ had passed (it was more like 45 minutes) and off we went,
with some extra passengers on board, across the first serious mountains, to
lake Komani.
‘One of the world’s great boat trips’
is how the 3 hour journey is advertised. Well, I don’t disagree, although I haven’t
been on too many mind blowing boat rides so I mightn’t be the one to make this
comparison. What it did remind me of is the 3 day (!) boat ride over the Yangtze
(?) river in China, through the so called ‘three gorges’. Mountains rising from
both sides of the river, sometimes narrow, sometimes broader, with the
prettiest scenery and a multifold of green colours overlapping after every
turn, make for a very enjoyable journey. While waiting for the boat I struck up
a conversation with Jen and Mike, from the USA and Brazil respectively, who
were on a slightly longer journey than I was (a year). Albania appeared a
suitable travel destination to make new backpacker friends not long after you said
your goodbyes to your old ones, and I stuck with my new friends until they left
Valbona the day after. After being amazed by the scenery for about half an hour
on the back of the boat, I got the ingenious idea to follow some Czech youths
up to the roof for an even more spectacular 360 view of the natural bounties
around us. With my backpack propped up behind me, the brilliant sun shining
down on me, while chewing on the ‘nuts for snack’ that Jen had brought along, we
slowly drifted to Fierze. What a way to travel.
A few km before Fierze the
drifting came to a halt however and we were dropped off at some random docking
point next to a dusty road. All the Albanians on the boat had apparently
arranged for transport, which left us gazing around for a way to get out of
there. Luckily a tour operator full of tourists from the capital had a few
empty seats in his minibus which he offered to us ‘at a price that you deem
fair’. Cool! ‘I don’t do this for myself, nor for you.. I do this for Albania’.
I like it. Some consciousness about creating a positive image for travellers! With
less legroom than on the average South American bus we set off towards Valbona,
where it took us a while to find the guesthouse with whom I had arranged for
two nights’ stay. Tasty home cooked dinners, fresh fish, freshly baked bread, locally
sourced ingredients and imported Kosovan beer made for a splendid combination
which left me well-nourished during my stay in the valley. After two days I was
more than ready to move on however, especially with the prospects of getting to
cross the mighty mountain range that separated us from Theth. Along with being
on foreign public transport, hiking, and especially hiking uphill, is really
one of my favourite activities. Especially in an area as stunning as the
Accursed Mountains.
‘What about the pass between here
and Theth?’
‘Full of snow’
‘Really’
‘Yes. Apparently there’s a
shortcut. But I haven’t been there yet this year’
‘Ok. Let’s take a guide’
The guide turned out to be a
teenage boy who hadn’t been to the pass yet either that year. Luckily I found
two Polish travellers, Agnieszka and Pawel, willing to share the costs of the
guide for the journey uphill, to get us past the snowy bits. Eventually there
wasn’t too much snow around, but some expertise in crossing the nasty bits was
very welcome, as a wrong step could be fatal. So the boy did come in handy.
In Theth we found a pleasant home
stay with a local boy named Vincent and his mother, at whose house we ate and
slept that night. When dusk slowly set in, and rain and thunder engulfed the
valley, I sat on the balcony next to Agnieszka and Pawel, mesmerised by the
spectacle in front of us. After dinner and some raki (I still didn’t really
like it) I decided to call it a day as the following morning would feature
another early wake up. Vincent’s confusing references as per whether there
would be a bus going to Skoder and if so at what time left me eager to go out
early and find out for myself, as my schedule wouldn’t allow for another night
in Theth, however lovely the scenery. Eventually I secured a ride with some
bloke in a 4-wheel-drive, which wasn’t a luxury given the state of the road
leading out of Theth. Definitely worth the tenner I paid for that, and I did
feel pity for the people in the back of the ramshackle old minibus that passed
us on the way (so there was a bus!).
Back in Skhoder I immediately
headed for the hostel I had stayed in the first night, where I was welcomed
warmly by the staff who had evidently not forgotten about me. It felt a little
like homecoming, to be returning to a cosy and warm place with happy memories
after a few days out in the mountains. I had just about managed to put all my
dirty clothes in the washing machine when Margareth from Canada introduced
herself and her friend Sara and invited me for a bike ride along lake Skhoder. Apart
from these two ladies our company comprised two Norwegian lads and Drini, who
accompanied us on his shiny red Vespa while we peddled our ramshackle old
bikes. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if one of these bikes fell apart before we get
there’. My words proved painfully accurate, as Margareth’s bike saw its chain
snap and drop, not too far from our final destination. Well, those last 10
minutes could as well be covered on foot, and anyway the place was so beautiful
it would have been worth crawling the whole way from our hostel. After about half
an hour’s cycle along the shores of the lake, with beautiful vistas over the smooth
blue water, mountains in the background and small fishermen’s boats dotting the
lake, the paved road came to an end and a dusty track was all that remained. Carefully
hidden from many a tourist’s eye but well known to locals, a concrete building
just off the dusty trail was home to an old man who was frying freshly caught
fish for hungry swimmers. Perfect. After an hour on the bike, in about 30
degrees Celcius, we were all longing for a dive in the lake that had been
looking more and more appealing the further we cycled. The water was lovely,
and from it the surrounding mountains looked even more spectacular.
After a
refreshing swim we sat down for lunch on the roof of the concrete building, enjoying
the freshly grilled fish, the captivating views, and the nice people at our
table. A big advantage to Albania is that it attracts a certain type of traveller,
and most of the people I encountered had their own interesting stories and
experiences. Mostly backpackers, with a yearning for traveling that I
recognised all too well, I found myself in very pleasant company almost all the
time. Apart from the guesthouse in Valbona, I didn’t come across the
stereotyped German tourist in their late fifties, who travels by tour bus and
walks around in mid-calf length trousers and sandals. Any sight of those is
usually a cue for me to move on and explore somewhere further, as any such
destination has obviously become too accessible and is in the process of
falling victim to the disease of mass tourism. Well, fortunately very little of
that in Albania. Hopefully for a good while to come.
Post-awesome-lunch my stay in
Skhoder comprised cold beer in the city centre, ice cream from a remnant of the
Soviet Union, super tasty dinner at Peja, a tour of the ‘small streets of
Skhoder’ as Drini put it, and some drinks at ‘the Black Sheep’ to finish the night with. The next morning I
resented the idea of leaving this lovely hostel and these lovely people with
whom I had had such a nice time, but eventually I bade my farewells and took
off in search of transport back to Tirana. ‘Where will I find a bus to take me
to the capital?’ I asked Drini. ‘No need. Just walk to the roundabout with your
backpack on your back. Don’t worry, the bus will find you. Sometimes I find
myself on a bus to Tirana even when I don’t want to.’ Ok, that sounds easy. It
was. Ready for another movie.
And that was the first leg of my
journey. The second leg was all about Marisa and our mini-Erasmus ’06 reunion,
after three years (!) of not having seen one another. Some things change,
others never do. Our tendency to constantly encounter funny moments that ask to
be written down in a quote seems to have only increased over the past nine
years. Instead of attempting to catch the spirit of our travels in blossoming
sentences I may therefore instead stick to the quotes, as they do a much better
job of reviving the moments, even years after I read them. Quotes and pictures.
Thanks for a lovely long weekend Marisa!
‘Where’s the pyramid??’
‘Imagine there’s a real pyramid
just behind this one. With a sphinx next to it. Ohh here it is!’
‘This river looks more like a
gutter.’
‘I don’t want to go there.’
(pause) ‘No.’
‘What do we do?’
‘We just hang out here until they
approach us with a decent offer.’
Marisa: ‘I’ve done zero research.’
Later on…
Tony: ‘Ok imagine this is Albania
(waves vaguely in mid-air) and this is Tirana (point somewhere on the ‘map’)’
Marisa: ‘Ok..’
Tony: ‘What city is this?’
(points somewhere west of Tirana)
Marisa: ‘Durres.’
‘There’s coffee everywhere.’
Being amazed by animal farm:
‘Where are you from?’
‘Holland.’
‘Amsterdam?’
‘No.’
‘Ok lady what is your target
market. I don’t think you should aim for millennials.’
Hotel: ‘We only have twin rooms
left’
Tony: ‘That’s alright’
(considering to elaborate on the situation)
‘Twins are fine’
(Upon arrival in Berati castle,
sat down straight away at the first roof top restaurant, and had a two hour lunch
with beer, wine and raki).
(After lunch) Tony: ‘Ok let’s go
and explore the castle.’
Marisa: ‘What? Really. I thought
we had already done that.’
Which resonated an earlier
experience from six years ago:
<China 2009 revamp>
Marisa about the Forbidden City
in Beijing: ‘I don’t want to see it, I just want to have been here.’
Luckily I have in the meantime
learnt how to deal with this attitude…
Tony: ‘Ok let me give you a
carrot. If we go and explore, we’ll come back here afterwards and have another
raki.’
Marisa: ‘Ok.’
Which led us to a revamp of
another old quote:
Tony: ‘Ok Stefan you lost the
coin toss. You sleep in the 12 bed male dorm tonight.’ (Belgrade 2006)
‘Lead me!’
‘Do you mind if we… take?’
Waiter: ‘Ok do you want a raki
for a girl, for a boy, or for both?’
Us: ‘both.’
Waiter: ‘Ok. For the girl I have
this super sweet, nut based, smooth raki.’
(Tony thinking, I want that)
(Marisa thinking, I don’t want
that)
Waiter continues: ‘And for the
guy we have a mulberry raki.’ (smiles) ‘Strong.’
'Tonno'
'Yes...'
'Look a village'
'I remember this pace'
(counting back when we last saw each other)
Marisa: 'So that was Berlin, Copenhagen..'
Tony: 'I'm sure you're going to forget one (thinking of the random Schiphol 2-hour coffee meeting)'
Marisa: 'Copenhagen... and then Paris! (forgetting about India and China)'
