Don't Abandon Albania
Story Highlights:
- Bribing Albanian Officials
- Fledgling Tourism
- Trying to leave Albania
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Border crossings can provide plenty of thinking time. As your passport is thoroughly checked, or perhaps just passed around the office for a laugh at the photo, you ponder the country behind you and anticipate the one ahead. Why did every backpacker in the Balkans make a U-turn at the Albanian border? Why did they share a common expression of confusion and condolence when I mentioned my plan to travel there alone for a week? Curiosity, not extensive research, had led to my decision.
Bribing Albanian Officials
It was not too late to fling these plans out of the taxi window as a local would their trash - in the capital Tirana. What's more, the ten Euro border crossing fee seemed exorbitant, especially when most people wouldn't accept that much just to spend a night there.
These thoughts were interrupted as my passport was returned and the taxi now rattled along the pot-hilled road. Ten Euros, I came to realise, was just the admission price to a theme park with unlimited rides (although admittedly not many theme parks also charge an exit fee). Many of the rides can be old, noisy and uncomfortable but if you are looking for a quirky adventure rather than a pleasant sojourn, don't abandon Albania.
It is not a country that dazzles from the outset. Few will fall in love at first sight, but many will be seduced by the impossibly friendly people, fascinating hints from history, captivating landscapes and regular bemusing sights. Above all the feeling that you are one of about twenty visitors in the entire country is rare and to be cherished. By the end even a grey, decrepit, communist-era hotel with profanity-ridden walls of graffiti seems just part of the fun. Most hotels, in fact, provide cheap and clean rooms with air-conditioning and television which may overwhelm some backpackers. Frequent power and water cuts, however, will make those on tight budgets feel more at home, as well as creating the perfect excuse to skip showers and clean clothes.
Fledgling Tourism
My stay began in the north at Shkodra. The highlight here is the hilltop fortress which was completely free of tourists in the September sunshine. Such archeological sites in Europe, with half the grandeur of these, are usually overrun by an army of cameras. I theatrically indulged childhood battle fantasies – launching arrows into the city below and sword-fighting up narrow tower stairs – without any fear of being witnessed.
The capital Tirana is Bangkok-esque with an endless honking of horns, polluted air and a thrilling vibrancy. Visually it's a children's colouring book abandoned after a few pages. Dull, lifeless, incomplete buildings are interspersed with outrageous, bright, multi-coloured neighbours – a successful attempt at shaking off the communist past.
Heading further south requires the use of the unique bus system. Like a maths teacher struggling with a complicated equation, even Albanians seem baffled by it. There are no actual stations or stops, no staff, and no timetables available. Even more confusing than all this is the supernatural ability of the bus drivers who know exactly when to pick up passengers. Somehow, while still retaining a focus on the hectic roads, the driver multitasks as an auctioneer and scans for the slightest of facial twitches or indiscriminate gestures from the crowded street. Here, holding your arm out with 20 kilograms strapped to your back would be the equivalent in some countries of performing a naked handstand with STOP tattooed across your back in red letters.
This coded language amongst the locals is, however, aided by the hilariously pedestrian pace of a bus yet to be filled. Anyone rushing to a first date is well advised to just keep walking. You may arrive a little sweaty, but at least you have some chance of the date still being there.
However when the bus eventually reaches the point of overflowing, it suddenly comes to life and begins hurling itself around precarious hairpin bends and over glorious mountain passes. Along the coast, south of the Llogaraja Pass in particular, these routes reveal views more than equal to those of Croatia's Adriatic. Tiny seaside towns such as Drymades and Dhermi are almost faultless, save for the ever-present bunkers throughout the country. These were built as a precaution during the Cold War and have yet to be removed. In true Albanian style, even some of these have been given a colourful makeover. Despite the presence of hundreds of thousands of these identical constructions across the country, Albania has so many quirks it's impossible to point to just one as the national icon.
Indeed, the only way for a visitor to leave with the ultimate, typically Albanian photograph would be to capture in one scene some rubbish spilling from a large bin onto a bunker, while a group of men leave a café, talk over the hum of a roadside generator and climb into one of a dozen Mercedes Benzes. This dichotomy of unique eyesores and mesmerising natural beauty is a significant contributor to Albania's unconventional charm.
If you're en route to Macedonia from Saranda, take a seat on the right hand side of the bus. Those on the left will not only miss the chorus line of rocky mountains peeping down from above the clouds, but will undoubtedly end the journey with a sore neck from the constant strain to see what all the fuss is about.
Then there are the people. Drivers stop at roadside stores to buy fruit for their passengers, discounts are sometimes given without even bartering and being escorted to destinations is more common than being given directions. With relatively little experience in tourism, it appears that Albania has only solved half the riddle. It welcomes guests gratefully and openly, but so far lacks the conviction to take their money. The inhabitants of Berat's castle (wandering past to tend to the chickens) seem too preoccupied to charge an entry fee. In fact it generally takes a lot more luck than Lekke (the local currency) to get by here.
At one particular bed and breakfast, before I had even checked in, a regular customer implored me to sit down for a feast of steak, salad, fruit, pastries and beer. Conversation stumbled along in a mix of broken French and practically demolished English, but when the food is free the enthusiasm is easy. Awkward pauses were routinely broken with a clash of beer mugs and broad smiles. This is just one example of a people not yet jaded by tourists. When children say hello and ask your name on the street despite having nothing to sell: “getting away from it all” feels almost attainable.
Trying to leave Albania
Strolling across the border where Albanian and Macedonian flags face each other at the picturesque Lake Ohrid, I reflected as always on the country departed. Having arrived uncertain of what to expect I now left with a new list of curiosities. Why do stuffed animals adorn the outside of houses? Are the eccentrically painted buildings still grey on the inside? Do people actually lose their virginity in those dirty bunkers as tourists are led to believe?
Perhaps I'll find the answers sooner than expected. Foolishly fond of avoiding research and hence without a Visa, I was promptly denied entry by Macedonia. Apparently Australians are not as popular as we like to believe. Although embarrassed by the rejection I was far from demoralised. Did I return to Albania or had I never really left? Either way, the theme park was open and I was there to enjoy it.
- Kalon Huett
