Sweet Home Albania
Of Hospitality and Contrasts
This article is about the incredible hospitality
of the Albanian people and about the huge contrasts within the country. We receive an unexpected invitation, get cheered and beeped at uncountable times and have a strange encounter with a BMW driver. Why we don’t camp in the wild even though it is legal and how one of our biggest fears – being attacked by a feral dog – comes true? Read all about it now.
Happy reading!
Table of Contents
- A Wet Start into the Land of Contrasts
- The Shkodra Resort – A Camper’s Dream
- Bargain Ice Lollies and a Proud Albanian in a BMW
- An Unexpected Invitation
- A Better Life
- An Evening with an Albanian Family
- Let’s Ride to Tirana
- A City for (almost) Everything
- An Arduous Morning
- Only all the Way to Elbasan
- No Place for a Wee Break
- The Dog Attack
- Espresso and Sweets
- With Adrrrrenaline over the Border Pass
A Wet Start into the Land of Contrasts
We arrive at the Albanian border in the pouring rain. Deciding against full rain gear might have been a mistake, but now it is too late: water is running down our T-shirts through the collars of our rain jackets. Our feet are squelching with every pedal stroke in our soaking shoes. As we cycle/paddle towards the border, visibility is limited to about 50 metres. From the side of the road people wave at us to take shelter, but let’s be honest: We might as well head for the border now. The border itself is in a covered area and the passport control is simple. We seem to attract some sympathy with our two bikes in the pouring rain.
Hello Albania! Unfortunately, our traditional picture in front of the national sign has to be cancelled: All we see is a dripping wet Albanian flag hanging down in the distance. When the rain changes to drizzle a few minutes later and then finally gives way to sunshine, we make our way into the new country.
As it turns out, it isn’t just the weather that starts crazy. Such impressions of the country continue: We cycle past fancy houses with large gardens surrounded by fields. Noticeably every single plot of land is fenced in. It actually becomes a challenge to find a place for a wee break. The people around us seem to be as fascinated by us as we are by them: Besides the endless honking and beeping, people wave and shout at us as they pass in their cars. Or in their horse-drawn carriages, which are participating in traffic in a completely normal way!
Shortly before Shkodar, we ride through a district that could hardly be more untended and neglected. Rubbish is piled up at the roadside next to half-ruined, makeshift houses and shacks, small children are playing on dirty blankets in wooden carts. We knew that Albania is one of the poorest countries in Europe, but we had not expected this sorry sight. Later we find out that this poor neighbourhood is a settlement of Roma, who are unfortunately marginalised and discriminated against in Albania as in so many other countries.
The Shkodra Resort - a Camper's Dream
In the small town of Shkoder on the eponymous lake, which lies between Albania and Montenegro, we notice the enormous contrasts once again: Crumbled down houses stand next to modern bars and restaurants, even including a bar called Casa de Papel after the Netflix series Money Heist. Roaming about for food, countless (friendly) street dogs characterise the standard streetlife.
We leave Shkoder in a north-easterly direction and ride along a country road to the Shkodra Resort, accompanied by the honking of the cars passing us. At Shkodra Resort we are again immersed in a completely different world: The modern (once again fenced off) campsite has large pitches and clean showers right next to the lake. There are hammocks and deckchairs on the beach – we are in paradise, and it only costs us €15 a night. The associated beach restaurant is inexpensive and absolutely delicious, so we refrain from unpacking our camping stove and stay under our daily budget despite regular visits to the restaurant.
Apart from us, mostly seniors in camper vans from Germany and the Netherlands populate the fully occupied site, there is only one other tent traveller. Editor’s note: In the German version, the autocorrect almost turned tent travellers into time travellers. No Google Docs, we are not writing esoteric reports or Science Fiction here.
When we return to our tent after dinner, Joel is startled when he looks into the tent. “Jana, we have a visitor!” I anxiously peer into the tent. An insect? Or even a snake?! But no – a naughty cat has made itself comfortable on top of the inside layer of our tent!
Bargain Ice Lollies and a Proud Albanian in a BMW
Continuing towards Tirana, we find a place in a small village with some poorly-kept colourful benches for our lunch break. Two teenagers, no older than 12 or 13, buy cigarettes in the small corner shop. We fancy a dessert and so buy a couple of ice lollies. The lady in the shop writes the price on a piece of paper. 40 lekë, the equivalent of 30 cents. For 2 ice creams. We look at each other in disbelief.
In the next town we stop to buy some groceries for dinner. A car stops next to us and the driver, who had lived in Germany for a long time, calls out: “What, you’re from Germany? Two Germans on a bicycle and me, the Albanian in a BMW? Ha, you’ve done something wrong!!!”
That’s what he thinks. We think we did everything right 😉
It’s about time to look for a place to sleep. In Albania, wild camping is officially permitted, but ironically we haven’t seen a single place that would be suitable for it. On Google we had seen a place marked as Free Camping, so we set off there with hope. Unfortunately, we have no luck – there are only fenced-off farms and houses surrounded by high hedges. We have to turn back. On a gravel path with fields on both sides, a few locals are just about to bring their cows back home on a rope. We feel transported back in time.
Eventually we see an elderly woman working in a field. We approach her and ask if we can pitch our tent at the edge of her field.
An Unexpected Invitation
And we are lucky: The lady doesn’t speak English, but the neighbour’s boy, Eglis, does. “Yes, no problem,” he translates, “you can put up the tent wherever you want!” The lady, however, starts talking in an insistent tone to the boy in Albanian: Suddenly, the night in the field turns into an invitation to her, Nanna Franga’s, house, as her children have already moved out and she has a spare room. Hesitantly we accept.
Franga then takes us to her house across the street, but instead of leading us to her daughter’s room, the elderly lady changes the sheets on her own bed for us. We are taken aback and don’t quite know how to react to this exuberant hospitality. With the help of Eglis, Franga explains that she has work left to do in the field, but offers us to watch TV and later she will cook dinner for us. “Out of the question,” we reply. We would definitely help in the field and she wouldn’t need to cook us anything because we have beans and vegetables for dinner.”
Nanna Franga is cutting/weeding the grass under her 10 olive trees with a spade and a hoe so as to better collect the harvest later in the year. It turns out that weeding is back-breaking work and Franga would probably have been faster without our help.
A Better Life
While working, we talk to Eglis and his mother, who is now shyly joining us. Eglis acts as a translator, the 11-year-old speaks immaculate English.
We learn that Eglis’ father lives in Italy and the family plans to emigrate there as well. Although the mother has a job as a schoolteacher and the family owns a small plot of land with a cottage, they see no future for themselves in Albania. And they are not the only ones: Many Albanians work abroad and send money back home, probably one of the reasons why many products in the supermarket are barely affordable for the people working here. With a GDP per capita of only 32% of the European average and a monthly minimum wage of €269 in 2022 (for comparison: €1730 in Germany), Albania is one of the poorest countries in Europe.
Later on our journey in Albania, we would meet Dirlon, who buys us a coffee in a bar. He works as a self-employed building contractor in London and is currently on a visit home. Does he see a future for himself in Albania? He laughs. With the blatant wage differences within Europe, many Albanians are (naturally) moving to England, Italy or Greece.
Eglis, too, tells us with shining eyes that a better life would soon begin for his whole family in Italy. The striving for a “better life” is already being taught to the children here.
While we are sweating under Franga’s olive trees, Eglis’ mother asks us questions about where we have been, whether we have ever been scared (she herself is scared of the “black men in Italy”) and what kind of food we like? “Do you like cake?” she asks us. “”Of course,” we say, “who doesn’t?” She then rushes off in the direction of her house. We look questioningly at Eglis, who just shrugs, “Well, you said you liked cake! She’s baking a cake now!”
An Evening with an Albanian Family
Half an hour later, we are sitting on the sofa with Nanna Franga at Eglis’ family home and are persistently being asked what we would like for dinner. After several refusals on our part and repeated insistence on the part of the Albanian family, Joel finally spills the beans and raves about bureks, which we often eat for lunch. A cue the family was just waiting for: Eglis is sent to the grandmother’s to fetch ingredients and Joel accompanies him. Fortunately, the two of them are not gone for long, because without a translator it is quiet in the room and we smile at each other in a friendly way while trying to communicate with gestures.
Albanian is supposedly one of the most difficult languages in the world and is not related to any other European language. Learning to say thank you (faleminderit) and hello (përshëndetje) alone has been a challenge. Eglis’ mother prepares us a fantastic dinner of cheese burek, cucumber from the garden and homemade chips. Afterwards we have fig cake, which is still warm. A delicious meal! We are stuffed and very tired. Eglis’s grandmother gives us hazelnuts and dried figs as a farewell gift for the road.
We play flag guessing with Eglis, then we say goodbye and walk with Nanna Franga to the house across the road. Franga had even prepared the shower for us. The next morning we taste her Albanian pancakes with homemade goat cheese, then we pack the bikes for the onward journey. Franga quickly shines our shoes and we thank her and say goodbye effusively. Using Google Translate, we make a note that Franga really wants to be invited to our wedding.
Let's Ride to Tirana
Soon the rural streetscape changes and dozens of cafés and restaurants line up to the right and left of the two-lane main road. True to Murphy’s law, we decide to have lunch a minute too late: Instead of restaurants, now one furniture store (mobileri) follows the next. There must be a hundred different mobileris in total! Not until half an hour later we find a small restaurant called Dolphin, which “surprisingly” serves mainly fish. Instead, we opt for the soup of the day, Poc, an Albanian style goulash with chicken served in a cast-iron bowl, still bubbling. What a treat!!!
A little before Tirana, the EV 8 (cycle route) takes us over a rotten wooden suspension bridge that is no wider than a metre. We dismount and carefully push the bikes over the bridge one by one. Arriving safely on the other side, we notice an elderly man sitting on a chair in front of a small house, watching us with amusement. There are probably a few bikepackers coming this way on their way to Tirana and he seems to be just waiting for someone to fall into the river one day.
A City for (almost) Everything
Tirana turns out to be a crazy melting pot of different cultures. Especially coffee lovers (like us) and foodies (us again…) get their taste buds and eyes fully satisfied at a very reasonable price. On the streets there is a chaos of people, cars, scooters and the odd horse-drawn carriage, with the corresponding background noise. Along the roadside, completely dilapidated houses line up alongside luxury shops selling trendy clothes or the latest mobile phones. Only a fraction of the Albanian population will be able to afford these items. Inbetween, you can find small shops selling everything from scooter parts to televisions.
In Tirana, or so you might think, you can find everything!
Except, unfortunately, the two things we need: Front bags for our bikes (bikepacking is not yet trendy in Albania) and a new case for my mobile phone (too old).
For three days we relax in a beautiful little apartment, which we admittedly didn’t expect to find in such a run-down building, while we explore the city. Conclusion: Tirana is definitely worth a visit!
An Arduous Morning
It is absolutely pouring down in the morning and we are sweating in our rain gear. Floods are a regular occurrence in Albania, we suspect this is linked to the often clogged or even missing sewer system. On the outskirts of Tirana, luxury villas with huge fences line up one after the other. Deep puddles form in every dip in the road, even passing cars have trouble crossing them. Now the fact that only 4×4 off-road vehicles drive around makes complete sense…
After a short steep climb up a gravel road, we come to an abrupt halt. In front of us is a construction site and a pit the size of a swimming pool separates us from the other side of the road. A very important-looking man gestures wildly with his arms and signals us to turn around. Joel tries to ask him for an alternative route using the map on his mobile phone. Unfortunately, the man reacts very uncooperatively and waves us off: “No, no, no!” After several approaches we give up and turn around, eventually managing to find a diversion around the construction site. Needless to say, this requires us to go up another hill…
It is unpleasantly fresh and misty as we are looking out for a suitable place for a lunch break. On the side of the road to our right we find an abandoned construction site with a small shed. It is not locked, so we take shelter.
Only all the Way to Elbasan
We watch two young men repairing one of the parked trucks. By sheer coincidence, another bikepacker stops next to us at the construction site. For the workmen it must seem like a bikepacker meeting. Now they are the ones who are eagerly eyeing us unfamiliar figures with the strangely packed bikes.
The bikepacker (once again no names exchanged…) is from Germany and on his way to Iran! Technically, he is already enrolled at the university in Tehran and should be studying there, but it took him months to get his visa, so now he figured: “I’ve already missed a few weeks anyway, so a few more or less won’t matter”, and decided to just bike there. Today, however, he only wants to go as far as Elbasan – yeah, cool, same here! “Phew,” I say, “that’s going to be another tough day today, 800 metres or so in altitude!” “Nah, easy! 600 metres at the most!” he waves me off, swings back on his bike and off he goes.
That was a few weeks before Jina Mahsa Amini died. I often ask myself whether the lad actually made it to Iran and whether he was able to start his studies in the end, or maybe even joined the protests?
No Place for a Wee Break
Shortly afterwards, we set off and continue our steep ascent. No chance this is only 600 metres in altitude! At times we have to push our bikes up the asphalt road because it is so steep! And although we are surrounded by woods and rocks, there is one private property after another at the side of the road.
I really need to wee, but for about 15 km I can’t find a single suitable bush. Finally, I am so desperate that we stop at a small café on the side of the road – until we see that there are no toilets. I finally do find a bush, but it takes another 25 minutes.
The Dog Attack
At last we leave the mountain villages behind and ride on a winding mountain road through a forest. On our left is a large fenced property with two huge and aggressively barking dogs that jump up and down the fence like crazy (luckily the property is fenced off!) Relief as we ride around a bend, leaving the property behind us. But this feeling only lasts for an instance.
Suddenly I see a small black boxer-like dog out of the corner of my eye. A short moment later, a larger sand-coloured dog jumps out of the bushes next to me, baring its teeth. I scream at him in fright and stop my bike (this stops the hunting instinct), Joel has also already stopped behind me. The bigger dog snaps at my bicycle bag, then they both run back into the bushes.
Horrified, we (or rather I, Joel will deny being scared) ride on and Joel just says: Don’t worry about your bag, we can mend that later.
We don’t get very far, because now I’m really having a panic attack, so the little café at the side of the road comes in handy. While I calm down, we drink a completely overpriced espresso and survey the damage done: two big holes in the (once waterproof) bag. We patch up the holes with gaffa tape.
When I express my displeasure about Joel not helping me at all during the dog attack, he has a completely different memory of what happened: According to Joel, the bigger dog chased him so that he stopped. Meanwhile, the small black dog pursued me and bit my bag. Joel was able to scare the bigger dog away, whereupon the black dog also ran away. Well, as we know from every crime podcast – never trust an eyewitness!
The problem with a bad experience: It takes another 100 good experiences before you feel safe again in a similar situation. All the way to Elbasan we encounter a few more stray dogs, none of which are aggressive, but my pulse still races every time. Otherwise, the descent into the valley is accompanied by lots of cows, sheep and donkeys as well as a breathtaking view.
Elbasan itself is not a gem of a town, but Landi, the owner of the small campsite, is incredibly warm and hospitable, just what we need. His wife cooks us a great dinner of salad with feta, sausages and homemade chips. We pay only 20 € for tent and board (inc. 2 beers). In the evening, I briefly freak out again when I notice that the dog’s bite has also punctured our sleeping mat. Fortunately, the manufacturer has supplied a repair kit.
Espresso and Sweets
The next day we plan to ride up to the border of North Macedonia, but unfortunately there are no campsites in the area and booking.com doesn’t show us any bookable hotels either. Because of the recent dog encounter, we don’t want to camp in the wild.
We set off in the morning without knowing where we will sleep that evening. On a quiet road with a slight incline, we ride for a few hours along a small river in a wide pebbly riverbed. In the afternoon we stop in a small café and drink an espresso – for 50 lekë (about 40 cents) – of course we order a second one! At around 3 p.m. buzzing with caffeine, we reach Përrenjas, the last town before the border pass to North Macedonia.
Përrenjas doesn’t impress us very much, so we decide to continue over the border.
Joel buys sweets from our last lekë, while I guard our bikes in front of the shop (exactly, that’s the impression Përrenjas makes on us – although as a German I’m always rather overcautious, of course). Our last money – about 10 euros worth – is enough for several bars of chocolate and countless sweets in the supermarket, of which Joel stuffs himself with – he’s hangry again. Why didn’t he buy any crisps? He wonders this himself after all the sweets give him a terrible stomach ache…
With Adrrrrenaline over the Border Pass
I am highly motivated, for on the other side of the border pass, Lake Ohrid awaits us.
But there are still 400 metres of altitude between us and the border. The pass road winds up the massive mountain in countless serpentines and we sweat while the passing cars and trucks honk or cheer in recognition. My thighs are shaking like jelly, but I’m pumped with adrenaline and not tired at all! Joel, on the other hand, is visibly struggling, probably because of the overdose of caffeine and sweets. But of course he would never admit needing a break, normally I’m the slow one of the two of us.
Two hours later we have actually made it: at 5 pm we arrive at 994 metres altitude at the Qafë Thana border crossing at the eponymous pass. A nice border official ushers us past the waiting cars, a quick glance at our passports and we have arrived in North Macedonia!
Bye bye Sweet Home!
