First impressions of Albania

It's worth saying that few if any people we have met so far have expressed any enthusiasm for Albania. Certainly the Greeks were very surprised that we would be travelling there, just as they also expressed disapproval of Macedonia, in fact I was corrected in a friendly way for referring to FYROM as Macedonia when it "should be Skopyj". Macedonia is the area near Thessalonika.

However a plan is a plan and we weren't to be deterred. Internet searches show that there are tourists, it isn't third world and it's also very beautiful. So off we went, pushing north towards more high mountains.

The startling aspect of the first sight of the country was a sudden change in the landscape as the mountains changed at a stroke from forest and bush to completely open slopes. I can only assume that a considerable amount of de-forestation has occurred.

We reached the Greek border and had to mingle in the short queue with foot travellers. Here's Dawn getting to know a Brazilian who is on a long trip and an older man living in southern Albania where Greek is still the native tongue.

It's worth noting here that the Brasilian guy cropped up two more times this week, completely coincidentally, at tourist spots admittedly, but nevertheless, to bump into him again and again was quite funny.

Just a point of interest, his wife didn't want to travel, so he's on his own. He's using public transport and has come from Rio to this area of Europe, is then travelling to Prague and on to Moscow and St Petersburg.

The Greek border was a mix of foot and car people, the other border post officer might have been a victim of austerity or he/she might just have been at lunch. So we took our turn in the short queue and then it was a short nervous drive across no-mans-land to the Albanian border.

At the window were two border officials and the young lady behind the glass had quite intense makeup with deep eye lashes. However she had not been to charm school and hadn't learnt the English for "please" and "thank you". The eyes were not for me; there was no eye contact as she scanned each passport in turn, looking for whatever one looks for on the screen, when a new person requests permission to enter a country. Whatever the checks were, they were both positive and with a flourish of an ink stamp she closed both books, slid them under the glass and said "Go"!

So we did.

I was immediately in "nervous mode" as we drove towards our first stop, Gjirokaster, a world heritage town only 30-40 minutes from the border. As we entered the town I was slowed by a Mercedees in front, with a sign in the rear window - SHITET. I didn't know what to do, eventually building up courage I overtook, only to regret it immediately as I glanced down to see the plain clothes guy reach for his phone and make a call, presumably to a colleague further down the road.

I lost him a little further on as our satnav took us accuarately through the Old Town to our treat, a night in the Kotoni B&B, in an old Gjirokaster house of typical Ottoman style. (€25 for two, including breakfast). I couldn't wait to check with Haji the owner, just what I had done wrong in overtaking a vehicle showing SHITET. He looked at me for a moment then smiled and said, "It means for sale"! Gulp.

We stayed it the house in the foreground and you can see the Landy parked outside. To get there meant driving up steep cobbles of incredibly smooth white stone (limestone?). The streets are narrow!

This is the view from old town, over new town, to the mountains across the valley.

The castle is stupendous, dominating the top of the town and it's full of WW2 guns, both German and Italian. It has surved as a prison during the communist era and once in there you are free to roam.

We had a guided tour of one of the best preserved/restored houses, by the daughter of the owner. Now in use as a museum, it gave a fascinating insight into the way of the Ottoman households, especially the way in which they treated guests, newly weds and women.

We are beginning to see a slightly more intrepid traveller now that we are in Albania. Sharing the BnB were a couple from Santiago de Compostela in north west Spain, who have driven here on a Ducati. Later we saw a couple from Poland, who more sensibly have come on two bikes.

Walking the old town during the early evening, we passed a man sitting outside a shop. He stopped us, asking where we are from. Mentioning England is great, as just as in Greece, he was all handshakes and broke into English, telling us that he had been a teacher of Russian at the town's Gymnasium, until such time as Russian was no longer the second language to be taught and spoken. 

The tour guide at the old house told us that the house and land had all been taken by the government. I believe that this was when Enver Hoxha (pronounced Hoja), changed his allegiance from Russia to China and was consumed by the Maoist cultural revolution.  When this came to an end, firstly following Mao's death and latterly Hoxha's own death in 1985, only the houses were eventually returned to the previous owners, not necessarily the land that was originally with them. Gjirokaster was his birth place and to a certain extent it was protected from his excesses.

Our first twenty four hours in Albania certainly gave us a good impression of the country and the people, in spite of "Go" at the border. So we moved on to the southern coast, the Albanian Riviera, north of Sarande.