The maddening and simultaneously wonderful thing about traveling is that you never truly know until you go. You can get all the information about anything ever. You can Google pictures and satellite maps, but until you experience it for yourself— until you breathe the air and walk the roads, smell the smells and feel the temperatures— you don’t really know.
Leusa —>
I left you last at the thermal baths of Permet. In addition to the baths, my favorite Dutchman had recommended a hike up to a Byzantine monastery in the hills behind the town. The next morning, I headed up into the hills. I didn’t see anyone else as I walked through the neighborhood, but saw a sign spray painted on the wall that read “Leusa”, so I guessed I was headed in the right direction.
After hiking straight up a dirt path for a while, I came across a lady lugging her groceries up the hill. “Leusa?” I asked. “Po,” she replied, in addition to a bunch of other stuff in Shqip (Albanian). It was hard to watch her struggle with her bags on the steep road, so I offered to carry a bag with hand motions. She gave it to me, and talked at me in Shqip for the next 20 minutes. I just nodded and said Po (yes).
The monastery emerged from the trees after a half hour. I gave my new friend her bag and knocked on the wood door. After a while a grumpy old man opened the door, grunted, and hand signaled for me to enter. The church itself was dark and eerie. Floor to ceiling was covered in intricate Byzantine frescoes, with all the classic depictions of Christ being condemned, on the cross, etc. I don’t know much about the church, and all the signs were in Shqip, and there isn’t even much on Wikipedia, but I’d say it was a very well hidden gem. It was a little awkward that the church attendant sat there and stared at me the entire time I was in the church, just us two, but he grunted in a kinder tone when I made a donation and left.
After the Byzantine adventure, I hopped into my car and headed for Berat. Everyone I had talked with and the guide books all loooved Berat, so I booked two nights in a hostel prior to arriving (what commitment!). It didn’t help that I arrived on a grey, dreary day, with the formidable castle looking down from her perch, but Berat never really gave me the warm fuzzies. Upon arrival I made a friend, and she and I hiked up to the castle together. Neither of us knew what we were looking at, but it was good exercise and what else are you going to do on a drizzly afternoon in Berat?
Determined to dig into Berat, the next day I opted in for the walking tour of the city. It was led by a nerdy local guy who tried a little too hard with his jokes but he was sweet and knowledgeable. He took us up to the castle and talked about the history of the city. The fact that I don’t remember much of the information I learned on the tour is on par with how I felt about the town in general.
As I sat at lunch eating a delicious plate of steaming hot stuffed eggplant in the cold drizzle (best part of my visit), I had to make a decision — stay in Berat for another night and drive straight to Shkoder, or cut my losses and go to Tirana for the night, return my rental car and take the bus to Shkoder the next day. Whereas I love to be in control of my choices, sometimes I just want a divine sign for how to live life on the best path. But no sign came, except that it was cold and rainy, and spending an afternoon in my dank hostel room didn’t sound appealing. So I marched back to the hostel, packed my shit and headed for Tirana.
Somehow, in leaving Berat I got turned around and drove the wrong direction for 25 minutes, and then took back roads most of the 3 hour drive. Then when I got to Tirana I realized I haven’t been in — let alone driven in — a proper city since Naples. Drivers in Tirana were fucking crazy. I almost got into so many accidents and arrived at my hotel with white knuckles and frayed nerves, but the car remained unscathed. Miraculously.
Communist bunker turned communist museum
By the time I sat down in my hotel it was dark and rainy, and I really didn’t feel like going out. I would have rather ordered Uber eats and read my book, but I only had one night in the city and felt obligated to at least see something. So I donned my raincoat and found an umbrella and headed for BunkArt, an old bunker that was converted into a history museum about the communist regime.
The museum was scary and disturbing. Not only was it entirely underground and claustrophobic in the extensive bunker system, but it detailed how the communists came to power and crimes committed against the Albanian people. It wasn’t that long ago. It took me until that very moment to realize that every Albanian over 50 remembers what it was live under a cruel and paranoid dictator.
After an hour in the bunker I started to feel queasy, breezed through the last few rooms, and went back out into the crisp night air. The museum really got to me. I was beginning to see Albania in a new light. An ancient land, people and language, a country deeply scarred by a brutal, isolationist, communist dictatorship, and slowly emerging as a delightful capitalist country, but not without some backwards ways.
The rain had stopped as I walked out into the city. I headed toward a popular neighborhood, and thought about the insane amount of growth that has happened here since the fall of the Soviet Union. I was surprisingly charmed by the vibrant city. I hadn’t heard great things about Tirana, and almost bypassed it completely. I walked through the beautifully lit square lined with cafes, an international book store and the opera house. I walked past bars and restaurants full of people. I could hear the thumping techno music bumping in the nightclubs. And every time I walked past an older person, I couldn’t help but think, man, you’ve seen some SHIT.
The next morning I awoke to crisp October morning with a bright blue sky and a shining sun. I had to return my rental car at 11am, but I was so taken with Tirana the night before that I wanted to see as much as possible in two hours. I left my guest house and walked toward the main square, and found a bustling market selling fruits, veg, nuts, spices, trinkets, old random junk from who knows where and everything else. My bags were full and too heavy so once again I didn’t buy anything, but it was tempting.
I sat at a busy cafe and watched families and friends gather for a Saturday morning coffee. There was a joyous energy in the air. Maybe that was just me high on life, but people seemed happy to be out, having lively conversations, shopping and connecting with one another. The architecture in Tirana isn’t particularly interesting, but they’ve made up for the lack of imagination by painting building with bright colors, interesting patterns or cool murals.
After my coffee, I joined a fascinating walking tour for the first half hour of it and was reluctant to tear myself away to return my rental car. I drove around in a few circles before safely dropping the car at a hotel (gracias adios!) slung on my backpacks and headed for the bus station. I took a crowded city bus from the center to the “international” bus station that had busses headed all over Albania. I found the one for Shkoder, paid my €4, and gladly found a seat.
I’ve heard great things about the Albanian alps. Apparently, the hostel will arrange everything for an overnight hiking trip once I get there, so I’m banking on that. But if I’ve learned one thing traveling, it’s that you never really know until you yourself go.
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