The Wild East

"we were heading to Bajram Curri – a place regarded as the most violent and lawless area of Albania"

Headed on our familiar route towards the bus station along the railway track and picked a bus at random to go for a day trip. The bus dropped us in a little village and we explored what we could.
As usual we got some curious stares off the locals as this was about as far off the beaten track as you could go. We started walking into the fields, but when the path deteriorated into almost nothing we turned back. The village had a particularly good example of the ubiquitous pill-box structures, of which I was getting steadily more and more obsessed by.

The Bradt guidebook gave a pretty good description of how the system worked – all pill boxes could be manned at short notice and could be seen by a large control pill box where an commanding officer could organise the resistance. Then there were several thousand super pill-boxes which were permanently manned.
It was our last night in the Philadelfia and dinner proved to be as interesting as ever. James Davy was as surly as usual and there were some younger muscular looking guys with close-cropped hair who looked like they were probably people/drug smugglers – we immediately christened them the KLA contingent – and they looked like they possessed military experience.

Later we decided to splash out and went to the hotel with the live singing that was always busy. An extremely camp waiter minced over and gave us our drinks. There was only imported beer available, a sign it was going to be very expensive. The music was good and MT was up for having another drink, but I wanted to see what the prices were for the last two. The damage was over 4quid – easily the most expensive drinks of the holiday. Marple Phil’s suddenly didn’t seeem quite so expensive and we headed over there.

Tuesday
We left the hotel for the final time and told Dogsbody we were heading to Bajram Curri – a place regarded as the most violent and lawless area of Albania – but she didn’t seem to show much interest or offer any advice. We headed back on the bus to Tirana.
This time we managed to get a hotel for 20Euros, a saving of 10 Euros over the going rate (though they switched the air-conditioning off unless a further sum of 10E was paid, so it wasn’t really a saving at all). We went over to explore the Qemel Staffa stadium where England had scraped a hard-fought 1-3 win here in 2001. Unusually for an Eastern European stadium it wasn’t possible to get onto (or even see) the pitch. We had a drink in what looked to be the supporters bar and looked at the scarves – there was even a Chelsea one. Headed out towards a park where there was an attractive lake. I was once again amazed at how compact Tirana is – it’s only a 15min walk from the centre to the edge.

Early in the evening after the anarchical rush-hour had died down we headed towards the 25storey sky bar. A stoney-faced bouncer looked unimpressed at our slightly ragged appearance and pointed us back towards the door, though after we spoke in English to him and he realised we were foreigners he was all smiles and let us into the lift. Drinks were pricey but not extortionate, though we simply admired the Tirana skyline – prior to 1990 there hadn’t been a building more than 4-stories tall.

We sat out at a few more bars and with all the scooters revving, and masses of people out on the streets, we could have been in Spain, Italy or Greece. Not for the first time I wondered how communism had held on for so long here, it certainly seemed a million miles from the hard-drinking, slightly threatening drinking dens that you sometimes feel in other parts of Eastern Europe. And it didn’t have that empty, deserted feel that British towns often have at night.

Wednesday
It was time to head towards Macedonia again, but we weren’t leaving Albania just yet. After a bit more asking bemused locals where the Korca buses went from we eventually struck gold. I assumed that we’d have to pass through Pogradec again, due the extremely mountainous terrain and the lack of roads, where we could bail out if necessary.
The drive was again through deserted valleys and spectacular mountains – The Land of the eagle.

The roads must’ve improved hugely in the last 10 years (I saw lots of EU-funded road improvement signs, even though Albania isn’t in the EU. And will the EU crack down on all the stolen cars?). Every so often we went past a newly built smart little service station that had sprung up by the side of the road. Hoxha was probably turning in his grave.
Arrived in Korca in the south, late afternoon. The sky looked ominously black and it was only a matter of time before the heavens opened. The rain came just before we got to the terminus, we dived off and headed for shelter near a local building site. There was a Greek tourist there (who we later discovered had been to Stockport) who was sheltering with us. After the worst of the rain subsided we headed out to find some accommodation for the evening. The roads were like rivers and the going was slow.

Korca is high up in the mountains and is Albania’s 3rd biggest town. Bradt gave it good reviews, saying it was a thriving university town on a traditional trading route with Greece. But I’d say it was an impoverished, boring backwater. The day brightened up and we headed up into the mountains. The surrounding scenery was outstanding with rugged mountain peaks everywhere. The path we were following became rougher until it petered out into nothing by a lake. A curious shepherd leading his flock wandered past. The Greek border was still a good 20km away. I wondered how many Albanians had tried their luck at getting across the border during the past 50 years or so. If the border guards didn’t get you, the weather probably would. We had dinner in a café before heading back to the ‘hotel’ for a breather. My bed had a huge crater in the middle making it feel like lying in a giant gutter.
Tango and Cash played on the TV. Around 9.30, before Taylor got ‘too comfortable’ I made sure we went out on what would be our last night in Land of the Eagle. It was already dark and it quickly became obvious that Korca wasn’t like Tirana or Durres. The streets were empty and dark. The only sign of life was a slowly driving police jeep. The place had the same sort of threatening atmosphere like Shkoder.

Albanians rarely travel at night, a legacy from the 1996-99 period when the roads were ruled by car-jackers and armed criminals. Suddenly we spotted a cocktail bar and headed in. I enquired about prices. It was expensive and after counting a wad of grubby notes realised we didn’t have enough money for two drinks. WE apologised to the barman and shuffled out. Cackle after cackle of laughter directed towards us could be heard for minutes later. I didn’t get what was that funny.

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