Hi everyone. This is my last post on Albania; the last of this kind anyway. I didn’t originally set out to write three but it turns out I had plenty to say, so here we are!
Hope you’ve been enjoying the posts and thank you to everyone who has read them and left a comment or emailed me. It means a lot and so I’m always happy to hear if you got a kick out of it, or if you were particularly thrilled by any of my recent anecdotes, like the one about the man distributing biscuits on a bus. High octane stuff.
One of the things I've found difficult in writing about Albania is that I don't like how it made me focus on some of the not-so-nice-things. I don't like to be that person, i.e. a nitpicker or a Debbie Downer. Or even a Sarcastic Susan. And especially not a Snarky Steven, the very worst one.
I'm a positive and hopeful person. I like to see the good in things but there were times in Albania when it was hard to do that. Partly to do with what I wrote about in my first Albania post. About preconceived notions and expectations. Coming in with a Backstreet Boys attitude, declaring 'I want it that way’, and when it wasn't, demanding that someone 'tell me why.' If there's one thing worse than a Snarky Steven traveler, it’s a Backstreet Boy one.
But the fact is that some of the bad stuff was unavoidable. The driving, the rubbish, the smoking indoors, the lack of safety. Like a parent to a misbehaving child: 'I don’t want to be the bad guy here but you're making me be that'.
In truth, I'm not even sure what kind of writer I am yet. I don’t think I could ever call myself a travel writer. More of a noticing-things-that-just-so-happen-to-be-in-a-different-country-and-then-feeling-compelled-to-write-about-those-things kind of writer. I had ideas when I was in Italy and felt inspired to share them, and it was the same in Albania. The strongest opinions I have on the countries I've visited are about the desserts, and I'm always happy to go on record when it comes to that.
I suppose if anything, these are more like travel diary entries. Intended to document and hopefully entertain. This will be the last one from Albania and I will end on a hopeful note, because that's how I feel now looking back.
We had gone up north to hike a mountain in the Albanian Alps, and it had been a real journey to get there. We felt like we'd been through the ringer just to get to the starting line. And it was all the classic hits again. Navigating hairy mountain roads made hairier because of the potholes and dangerous driving. Our driver calling out to us at one point: 'Am I good driver or bad driver?'. Bad driver, I thought to myself. 'Good driver!' we called out, not wanting to shatter his confidence at a crucial time. Catching the ferry through Komani Lake, stunning scenery ruined by unending swathes of rubbish, some of the worst pollution I'd ever seen in a natural setting.
All that aside, once we actually got there, the experience of being up in the mountains was truly the best of Albania. And at the end of one of the toughest hikes and physical acts we'd ever put our bodies through, we arrived in the tiny mountain town of Theth. Shattered and shaky-legged, we stumbled through this beautiful place, surrounded on all sides by the mountains we'd come down from, and arrived at our guesthouse. A woman was hosing down and scrubbing her cow, talking to it in an affectionate but stern tone to keep it in line. We settled into our room in a chocolate brown wooden building that looked like it was missing a layer of snow on its roof. We fell in a heap in our room and resurfaced for a communal dinner at 7pm, at a little picnic table in an open air hut. Dinner was all homegrown and homemade. A spread of cheese, bread, meat and vegetables which we shared with three other guests. A bunch of young Norwegian guys who did nothing to tarnish the stereotype that Norwegians are some of the most friendly people you'll ever meet. So much so that afterwards I commented to KB on how impressed I was. 'God they're so polite and well-spoken. Have you ever met young people that were that polite?' This triggered a crisis where I suddenly realised I was now the kind of person that commented on how polite young people were. I racked my brain trying to remember if I had made any comments about the 'good old days' during dinner.
The next day after eating our breakfast alongside the young Norwegian guys (they really were so well mannered), KB and I went for a walk around the town. There was no main centre, just a long stretch of dirt roads, houses, and fields, along with numerous wooden guesthouses with sloping roofs. Tall haystacks that looked like they were out of a fairytale, fences made of misshapen sticks. Cows and sheep being moved out of fields and back into fields.
At the church, one of the iconic photo spots in Theth, we stood by taking in the peaceful setting. Nearby an old man sat under a huge tree, singing and playing an instrument that looked like a long skinny guitar. He wasn’t collecting money, it appeared to be purely for the joy of it. I noticed the Norwegian guys were stood watching too and of course, clapped profusely afterwards. The only thing that shattered this perfect scene were two Instagram photo hunters that had set up a camera on a tripod and proceeded to stage multiple takes where they would run towards the church and come together, smiling and laughing. They would then check the camera for a while, and go and do it again. I wonder if they knew to check their legs for ticks because of all the long grass? Probably not.
Walking around Theth, I was aware of how special all this was. Being in this town at this point in time, it felt like a place that hadn't yet been fully taken over by tourism. Still raw and rustic. And yet at the same, we were very much aware of our own part in changing that, being here as outsiders. I felt incredibly lucky to be here and hoped that all this would stay the same. That if we were to ever come again, we might still see a lady scrubbing her cow outside our window.
Back in Tirana, we’d returned to The Grand Park and instead of going right and following the lake, we'd turned left which took us deeper into the park and featured a few smaller, windier paths. The forest much thicker in spots, the trees covered in vines as if nature had gift wrapped them for us. It was deeper into summer too and the cicadas had gotten so rowdy it was almost deafening.
Occasionally, shirtless men, middle-aged and above, perhaps having gone for a run or a vigorous walk, would wander in out of the forest along one of the dirt tracks, huffing and sweating as if having gotten into a scuffle with a tree and their shirt had come off in the process.
On one of our favourite windy stretches, we'd come across an enormous snail crossing the path in front of us. Easily the biggest snail I’d ever seen. Had we been able to communicate with the snail, we would have complimented it on the striking pattern on its shell. But we couldn't, so we just commented on it to each other. We crouched down and watched it for a while, pulling us out of our busy minds. The rain from earlier dripped through the leaves providing an accompanying soundtrack, and the rain mixed with the forest provided an accompanying smell-track.
The path eventually cut back down to the lake, which would take us back towards home again. At the intersection where you leave the lake, where there are stands selling popcorn, balls and other toys for kids, I'd seen a man dressed as Mickey Mouse. A full Mickey Mouse costume that looked like it had seen better days. It certainly didn't enhance the Disney brand, not to mention Mickey always seemed to have his head sitting next to him as the man had taken a seat and was letting his own head breathe a little bit. I only wished that he'd chosen a costume that was better suited to the heat.
A lady at the entrance to the park swept leaves off the path using a handmade broom made of leafy tree branches. Which seemed cruel for the tree and the lady, who was effectively using a broom to clean up more broom.
We'd also seen a maintenance crew of men slashing away at the more wild parts of growth using actual scythes. Deftly swooshing and slicing at any parts where it had grown out over the paths. It may have looked like they were fighting a losing battle, but it wasn’t a battle. The park was free to run wild.
At some point in the trip, the annoying quirks of Albania had morphed into charming traits. We'd even flown out of the country at one point and returning to the chaos of Tirana had felt comforting. It had become a chaos and quirkiness we understood. Like that door handle you have to jiggle a little bit, but also make sure you pull it and then turn the key. No, you have to pull it in a bit more. Yep, and now turn it. Bit more. Yep, there you go.
We talked a lot about Albania during our time there. On many walks through the park, on buses and ferries. At the end of our stay we tried to sum up how we felt about it. This was hard because it had been our home for nine weeks, but KB came up with the best summary, which was that 'the world would be boring if we were all the same'.
One of the heartbreaking things about crossing over into adulthood, is how much that process shaves off our interesting quirks. We abandon our weird traits in order to conform and fit in. The tragedy, which we often figure out later in life, is that our weird traits were the things that made us interesting and special in the first place.
Albania feels like that. It’s a place that’s growing and changing, and while it certainly has stuff it needs to sort out, I hope it remains just as weird and eccentric on the other side.
I love these ! I might go now.
I though Turkey.. with the smoking and the dogshit everywhere was rough... I had no idea...
Im in southafrica now.... so I win rough places I think...trying to send this quickly before the
power goes ou...
Another great read. The trees! The lady with the cow. Full of relatable moments. Love the drawings. I smile throughout. Can’t put it down! Thanks a million. I read technical documents all day, every day. Your stories are a breath of fresh air, delightful, so real.