(5) My first day in Albania

17 October 2012, Montenegro and Albania

After Montenegro, three options unfolded before my way to Sarajevo and Belgrade: going directly to Bosnia, staying in Montenegro or find another destination.

Goodbye Montenegro!

I started being intrigued by Albania in Kotor where three girls traveling in a van in the Balkans referred to it as "The India of Europe", probably as they perceived a strong spirituality in it. In the same direction, an American traveler in Kotor amazed me with the picturesque images of the Koman river in Albania. On the other hand, other people encountered on my way referred to Albania as a wretched and dangerous third-world-country. Not to mention all the ideas and prejudices about Albanians in which the Italian culture is soaked.

Okay, I thought, let's see with my eyes what it is about, so that I can form my own first-hand opinion.

On Wednesday 17 October I left Podgorica - where I had a Couchsurfing host - and headed off to Albania. After one week of rain, sun was shining again and it filled me with positive energy.

With two rides I arrived just before the border, which I crossed alone by walking. After the state line, I went along a gravel road surrounded by building sites and heaps of rubble within a desolated landscape as background. Almost everyone I came across was bewildered by the sight of me passing the frontier by foot and said something to me. An ugly man in particular took my hand, strongly squeezed and kept my fingers while screaming something I could not grasp. Finally, out of his repulsive howl I understood something like "one euro". I pulled back my fingers and went further, agitated by the first encounter in the country.

Map of Albania just after the border

I kept walking for about half an hour when a truck - one of the first vehicles I saw - stopped and offered me a ride to a town on the way to Shkoder. Sitting on the planks in the back of the truck with two Albanian men I observed the reality around me and realised that indeed it was different. Somehow it felt good. At that point I could not figure how and why, but I was sure there was something special.

Once in Shkoder I needed to know how to reach a local restaurant, where I was supposed to meet an American working in town. I asked a kid of about seventeen years old about it and he offered to escort me there, even though it was not on his way. During the walk, I was dazed by his candor. In particular, his eyes and smile struck me. His eyes were those of a genuine soul. Those of a child who had already met the sorrow of life yet still kept innocence within. This mix - sorrow and innocence - has not yet led to anger, as it normally occurs at a later stage. His smile was missing a tooth at its side but was glowing and I felt moved by his spontaneity.

After the meeting with the American, I walked around Shkoder's alleyways to find accommodation. I was approached by a man who spoke a perfect Italian and offered me to sleep at his place with his family. I was not sure if I could trust him. Common sense told me to stay away while the situation led me to surrender to his proposal. 

Giorgio - as he wants Italians to call him - and his family were lovely. I enjoyed listening to the story of his life: looking for fortune with no money in Europe and ending up married and part of the local church's choir in Shkoder.

After spending the night with Giorgio and his kin talking about family, religion, spirituality and answering all possible questions about my life, I found my self lying in bed staring at the ceiling and repeating his words as a mantra in my mind: "We should not be ashamed of telling the truth".

Astonished by the quality of experiences done in one day, I could not wait for the next day to come.

On the truck with Albanian men

The main Mosque of Shkoder