Albanian Odyssey
Terroir has recently returned from a group trip to Albania, with a side helping of Montenegro, Serbia and an unexpected day in Kosovo. We can’t quite remember why we chose this particular combination – the excursion was booked well over two years ago – but it was probably something to do with knowing nothing about Albania and because Montenegro and Serbia host one of the world’s most spectacular train journeys. This blog will be about Albania. We’ll get to the trains another time.
Right: Skanderbeg - Albania’s national hero - in Tirana’s Freedom Square
First of all, we must confess that we flew from London to Tirana. The view of Albania from the plane was, thus, a guilty pleasure and appeared to reveal a landscape made up entirely of rectangles and what we believe are technically known as rectangular prisms, ie shoe box shapes. Tirana appeared to be built completely of brown, grey and beige shoe boxes set on end, and surrounded by rectangular green and brown fields.
This perception of rectangularity proved to be not entirely false. To western European eyes, the flat roofed, reinforced concrete and rendered brick structures of Albania’s communist period hit us hard and for a few days we wandered around searching, rather pathetically, for an older, more vernacular form of domestic architecture.
Below: shoebox apartment blocks in Tirana
As Albanian history is intensely complicated, we coped by simplistically dividing the country’s past into three phases: before Communism, the nearly 50 years of Communist dictatorship, and after Communism (from around 1992 onwards).
Pre-communism was dominated by the Ottomans, followed more briefly by the 20th century Balkan Wars, independence, nationalism, King Zog (pause for sniggering from British school children) and a number of feisty British men and women who travelled, dabbled, supported or fought for Albania (the latter with the partisans in the WW II).
Communism in Albania wasn’t like that experienced by say Poland or Czechoslovakia, within the Soviet Union, or the former Yugoslavia under Tito. Albania’s Communist dictator, Enver Hoxha, took an impoverished, post war Albania down a different route, sided with Russia when Yugoslavia broke away in 1948 and withdrew from the Warsaw Pact in 1968. Those of us who had been to other post-communist states – the bright lights of Dubrovnik, the rebuilt Warsaw, historic Prague, the playground which is Slovenia or even the slightly tense atmosphere of Mostar - had to re-set our frames of reference. Albania still appears to be playing catch up.
So thank goodness for Mr G. One of the many advantages of a group trip is the ‘local guide’. Born into Communism, a student at the time of regime change (how amazing/frightening must that have been?) and an adult in the post Hoxha era, Mr G’s guidance was unbelievably valuable. No question was too challenging for him; all were answered with thoughtfulness, good humour and a hefty dose of realism.
So, lets get back to that rectangular theme.
Central Tirana offered welcome, if somewhat unexpected, rectangular variety, starting with its Italian influenced architecture of the 1920s and 30s.
Below: left - Tiranan’s Italian Cultural Institute and right - a newly decorated Italinate offering in a very unexpected colour scheme; anyone for Battenburg cake?
Nearly a century later, Skanderberg Square, the central hub of the capital, has once again been redesigned. And once again, it is strong on straight lines and right angles (including the litter bins and benches). It does, however, provide a massive, contemporary, traffic free space, with its shiny modernity softened by planting
and enlivened by all shapes and sizes of humanity, including a glimpse of the suited and booted mayor and his entourage, energetically pedalling through on their bicycles to the nearby city hall.
On the residential front, angles are beginning to soften and colour is becoming more vibrant. But, despite investing in modern art (yes, we assume the bus is intentional, below right), sustainable urban drainage is still a thing of the future. One can only hope that the ‘Go Green’ logo is a promise of things to come.
And finally, a wonderful capital city moment: an architectural ensemble of 18th century mosque, 20th century Italian design and 21st century modernity.
Further afield we began to get a feel for that massive, pre-communist, chunk of history. According to our guide book, early 18th century Voskopoja, in south east Albania, was “the largest city in the Balkans, bigger even than Athens or Sofia” (Albania, the Bradt Travel Guide, Gillian Glover, 2018). Today it is a tiny, remote village, but enough remains to give us a flavour of the Albanian end of the Ottoman empire. Of the 24 orginal churches, only seven remain and even fewer are in a condition to be open to the public, but it’s still a real eyeful.
Local stone and timber have created magnificent structures. Even the restored agricultural building (right) with its string courses and less traditional corrugated iron roof and wire-scape, is a delight. Other cottages and farm buildings in the village were romantically tumble-down. In Britain they would be snapped up and restored; the growing tourist industry may have the same impact here.
The ‘beautiful and austere’ town of Gjirokastra (Bradt Guide again) ‘spread downhill from its castle in the 13th century’. Unlike Voskopoja, it is still very much a town to be reckoned with, built in grey stone and slate, its modern suburbs oozing out over flat valley bottom in startling white, buttoned down by the occasional red tile roof. Here we saw our first souvenir shops, a wider choice of cafes, and steep, block paved roads obstructed by cars trying to access our traditional, Ottoman style, hotel.
North east of Gjirokastra lies Përmet, perhaps 30 km away as the eagle flies but over double that by the road, which must travel the long way round from the valley of the Drin to the valley of the Vjosa. The River Vjosa, which gives this small town its raison d'être and its identity, is described by the Bradt Guide as ‘one of the lovelist rivers in Albania’, a description which Terroir is happy to endorse. If the balconies of the shoe box flats were sporting gernaiums rather than carpets and washing, one could be forgiven for thinking we had strayed into Austria.
Our final destination for this particular blog is Korça, perched high up between the Greek border to the south and Lakes Ohrid and Prespa to the north. It is the home of good beer and the first Albanian language schools. Its architecture is equally diverse, ranging from the modern (such as the National Museum of Medieval Art, left) to a far more traditional vibe.
Next time, we’ll take a look at rectangular agriculture!