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Trip to Albania by Philip Garrison The recent troubles in Albania reminded me of my own brief visit there in the summer of 1995. I was on a singles holiday in Corfu and one of the optional excursions on offer was a day trip to Albania travelling by boat from Corfu Town to the southern Albanian port of Sarande. As we approached Sarande by sea, the breathtaking ugliness of the place slowly became apparent. The town mainly comprised high rise concrete blocks of flats in an advanced state of dilapidation, against a backdrop of bleak and sinister mountains. As our boat pulled into the harbour, we were welcomed by a few small boys swimming alongside us, practising their English: "Throw me money!" The bureaucratic hassles of entering the country, which included obtaining a visa for 30 US dollars or equivalent, had been dealt with during the crossing so here were no further delays here. On stepping ashore we were herded onto some ancient coaches and driven through the town. What an experience the few shops appeared filthy and window displays, where they existed, comprised such things as tractor engines, surely not an everyday purchase for the average Albanian piles of rubbish were everywhere, spiced up with the occasional dead car. There were few "live" cars and those which did exist were mainly BMWs and Mercedes, which presumably belonged to senior party officials. We were taken to a pleasant outdoor cafe in what was evidently the better side of town and, whilst we consumed our drinks, money changers converted our Greek drachmas into Albanian leks. Then it was back on the coach, where we were driven southwards out of town The countryside was mountainous and had a certain stark beauty about it. The standard of the road was pretty poor, although I have experienced worse. Quite spectacularly out of place were isolated high rise blocks of flats in the middle of nowhere, usually surrounded by untidy chicken runs. We eventually reached the objective of this drive, which was some Roman remains. This site was quite extensive and well-preserved, perhaps partly due to Albania's recent history of isolation from the outside world. After a guided tour, we were bussed back to Sarande and lunch. This was acceptable and served in a restaurant which was clearly purpose-built to cater for tourists. Our desire to sample Albanian wine was frustrated as only Greek wine was on offer. After lunch, we had some free time to explore the town on our own. This was when the strangest experience of the day happened. One of my three companions was Bill, an extrovert and likeable Glaswegian. "Let's have an adventure," he suggested, so we headed off down the street in search of local colour. We soon found a bar which looked reasonable, It was fairly full but we found a large round table to ourselves, sat down and ordered rakis. Raki is the local firewater, a colourless fluid that tastes like rocket fuel and has similar effects, as we discovered later - apparently it is not related to the Turkish aniseed drink of the same name. While ordering, Bill asked the waiter if he could tell us the Albanian word for "cheers". The waiter ignored us, presumably not understanding. But two men seated at the next table raised their glasses to us and shouted a word in Albanian. Thinking that these men were answering our question, we raised our glasses in return and loudly shouted the same word back, priding ourselves on our ability to promote international relations. What happened next was that all the other customers in the bar, in unison, got up and left. There was nothing casual about their departure: it was an immediate mass exodus. We were stunned. I shall never know the meaning of the Albanian word we shouted, but I can only assume that it was one of the language's worst obscenities. In due course we also left the bar - we were evidently bad for business. We wandered through the litter-mounded streets, dodging holes where drain covers were missing. We all agreed that our worst nightmare would be to miss the boat and be stranded here for the night. One of my well-travelled companions said it reminded her of the Bronx. Bill said it reminded him of certain parts of Glasgow. Eventually, we entered another bar, smaller than the first one, and empty when we arrived. However after we had ordered our drinks, groups of men started wandering into the bar and hanging around rather threateningly. We soon decided it might be diplomatic - not to say life-prolonging - to leave. As we did so, I smiled an acknowledgement at what I took to be the proprietor. He shot me a look of such hatred that I jumped back in shock. After this, we decided to return to the more tourist-friendly area at the quayside. Most of our fellow day-trippers were here, spending their remaining leks on various trinkets that free-marketeer stallholders were selling. In due course, we returned to the boat and then back to Greece. So would I return to Albania? I have to say it's well down the list, but I would recommend the day trip from Corfu as an experience. If you go, my advice is: take care stick with a group and...be careful what you say in bars. First
published in VISA issue 25 (summer 1997) |