Serendipity
Albania 3
All countries reveal quirky and unexpected glimpses of themselves to those who travel through or spend some time there. These glimpses can often be surprising, puzzling or amusing, but always revealing and sometimes challenging.
What follows is a pictorial tour through Albania through the medium of the quirky and the unexpected. And don’t worry - this is the last Albania blog!
Transport is certainly a mixed bag. Of course there are modern cars, motor bikes, taxis and buses. But push bikes (above and below) are still part of the psyche.
Agricultural transport can be pretty varied too.
Railways are struggling - but colourful.
In a country of rivers and lakes, ferries are important but idiosyncratic.
Below left: a rope ferry, connecting communities across an inlet; the fare is equivalent to a few pennies
Centre: the Lake Komani stopping service - a bus body on a boat’s hull
Right: the view from the Komani Lake vehicle ferry; part tourist boat, part freight lifeline; both uses are illustrated - just - in the bottom right hand corner of the photograph
Of course, where there is water, there are also bridges. These are a long standing feature of the Albanian landscape but design, function, size and materials vary dramatically. The photograph (left) is the best image we could get of the Roman bridge and aqueduct which crossed the Vivari Channel and linked Roman Buthrotum (now Albanian Butrint) with the Straits of Corfu.
The subsquent Ottoman bridges are one of the great symbols of Albania, adorning the landscape, and all Albanian guide books, with their simplicity, curvature - and unexplained items of metal work.
More recent bridges are of a less curvaceous form of engineering, with a metal superstructure and stone buttresses.
Below left and centre: this one features hardware from Middlesborough (M ˑ BRO), and
Below right: some dodgy timber planking on a bridge to a former mill.
Both are slightly scary, in their own way, crossing narrow gorges of foaming mountain waters - very much a feature of Albania.
Many railway bridges are similarly meccano like (nearer bridge, below left) but what appear at first glance as modern road bridges, do reveal more historic supporting structures (below left and right). We don’t think the Ottomans went in for fancy metal balustrades.
This is the Balkans and the concept of nationalism is never far from the surface. The Luftetari Kombetar or national fighter is remembered and memorialised in many statues around Albania. These representations are sometimes war like in stance but many stand in a more watchful pose, garlanded with ammunition, shod in traditional Albanian footwear and appearing surprisingly well built. Malnutrition or even a lithe, lean look does not seem to be part of the sculptors’ lexicon.
Sadly, the most obvious, physical, memorial to the Cold War years seems to be a collection of concrete ‘mushrooms’, actually the outward manifestation of a system of underground bunkers sufficient, apparently, to give shelter to every Albanian man, woman and child, should the nuclear threat become a reality.
The bunker below this ‘mushroom’ (left) has been converted into a museum charting the history of the Albanian police force. It starts innocently enough with the story of the 1920s, Dutch trained, Gendarmerie but all too soon progresses to the far darker and scarier repressive years from 1944 to 1991.
Religion was banned, and faith leaders persecuted, during the Communist dictatorship. “In 1976, the Party of Labour even declared Albania to be the first atheist country in the world, putting a ban on religious belief in the constitution and imposing punishments for participating in religious ceremonies and possessing religious books” (https://balkaninsight.com/2019/08/28/how-albania-became-the-worlds-first-atheist-country). Mr G, our guide, described it as a complete vacuum in scoiety, with religious buildings demolished or repurposed, and two generations brought up with no faith or spiritual related input. In the 21st century, we found a very relaxed approach to religion throughout Albania. The population is a mix of Muslim (mainly but not exclusively Sunni) with a significant minority of Christians (Catholic and Orthodix). Nearly 10% identify as either atheists or of no religion.
As tourists we didn’t see many shops. Even tourist shops were hard to find, which was actually quite a relief. But spot the upmarket bric-a-brac shop, below!
Albanian craft products are also hard to find. Albanian carpets, fabrics and embroidery are a feast for the eyes, but shopping is challenging if you don’t want red or white! Silver filgree work is also making a modest comeback.
Of course, any journey will ‘throw up’ some linguistic jokes.
But here are our favourite quirky insights into Albania.
In third place, an early encounter with a restaurant toilet door. Such an attractive and homely welcome.
In second place: a traditional Albanian broom - and yes, it’s made out of a broom plant, in flower too.
First place:
this is what Albania is all about - good coffee, good beer, and a very warm welcome
Rectangular Agriculture
Albania 2
After Terroir’s take on Albanian architecture, we promised you something more rural. Field patterns, seen from the air, initiated the angular theme. Here you can see why:
Agriculture, we were told, is still very important to the Albanian economy. We decided to check this out and see how Albania compared with its neighbours and some of the world’s big players. Using https://www.statista.com (for no better reason that it’s easy to use and seemed to produce roughly comparable figures to other websites we looked at) we discovered that around 20% of Albania’s gross domestic product (GDP) does indeed come from agriculture – rectangular or otherwise. As an aside, a further 10% comes from remittances sent from abroad by the Albanian diaspora.
Looking simply at agriculture, here are some interesting comparisons which do, indeed, confirm the importance of this sector to the Albanian economy.
We started investigating what Albania produces as part of our attempts to identify the many fruit trees which were in flower – in orchards, in back gardens, beside roads and tracks, and in a whole variety of plots which didn’t fall into any of those definitions. The angularity theory was already becoming eroded.
We spotted apple, pear, plum, cherry and lemons but were temporarily discomforted by these enthusiastically large and curvaceous blossoms. Quince, of course: soon to become buxom fruit, alongside their more familiar companions.
One could be forgiven for dividing Albania’s countryside into three main geographies: absolutely flat; very hilly; vertiginous. Google Translate insists that the Albanian for undulating is ‘valëzuar’, but I bet no one ever uses it.
It was the ‘absolutely flat’ that had started my obsession with the rectangular nature of lowland Albania. Valley bottoms and some more extensive plains are characterised by small, oblong plots separated from each other by narrow ditches. On the assumption that the ditches fulfill either irrigation or drainage functions (some were indeed carrying water) then there must be a gradient but this is invisible to the eye of the passing tourist. Fences and hedgerows hardly feature at all.
We did occasionally see larger areas of pure wheat, but most of these small rectangles grow a variety of different crops: wheat of course, but barley, oats, potatoes, grass, vines and olives were also obvious. Many plots were tilled but still bare, presumably awaiting the planting of a rich variety of vegetable crops, a selection of which we were eating every evening. Herbs are also highly valued in Albania – for medicinal use as well as for cooking and cosmetics - and fields of sage or lavender were also spotted.
For days we didn’t see any form of mechanisation, just families with bent backs either sowing vegetables or cutting grass with scythes. Eventually we began to spot small tractors but in hilly areas, ponies, mules and the occasional donkey were also visible, kitted out in their pack saddles, waiting to be allocated an errand or a load. Cattle were also taken out to graze, either tethered or accompanied by a herdsman/woman/child.
The ‘very hilly’ landscapes seriously weaken the ‘rectangular agriculture’ theory in all aspects except one: hills appear to rise from the valley bottoms with an almost explosive suddenness. Albania does rivers big time. They carry silt and gravels which they deposit with remarkably evenness across the valley floor. The hills, however, are made out of tougher stuff which is anything but horizontal. The break of slope, where hill meets vale is nothing if not hard, sudden and dramatically angular.
These uplands are rich in deciduous woodland with an ample ground flora which kept the group’s botanists very happy – and, at times, puzzled. As Albania is well endowed with limestone uplands, it reminded us a little of the chalk and limestone habitats of home – but on steroids. The abundance of wild phlomis (below left) was also a clear statement of the proximity to the Mediterranean.
These hills are also the domain of sheep and goats, of bells and of shepherds. Who needs fences when the shepherd and perhaps a dog are constantly on duty and who will return the flock to the shelter of the farm before dark?
Hills can also be productive if they are terraced. But terracing requires considerable labour, to convert a sloping hillside into a stepped one, and a willingness to wait while the crop of olives or fruit trees, or whatever can survive this tough environment, matures sufficiently to bear a crop worth harvesting. One of our Albanian references postulated the use of slave labour (apologies for being unable to find the quote at the time of writing) and in a way this may be true, as a story, told by our guide - Mr G - demonstrates:
When Mr G was at university, the students spent their summers at camps, but not in the sense with which we are familiar. This student labour force was, well, ‘used’ to build terraces and plant trees in areas which were otherwise underproductive. Despite having little choice in the matter, the students did have a wonderful time, working during the day and larking about (Terroir’s word not Mr G’s) in the evenings. Mr G was very proud of the trees which he had planted and revisited them from time to time. But, by the time these trees were mature enough to bear fruit, the regime had changed and land was being redistributed to private owners. Many, many of the terraces we saw were no longer in productive use.
And the future? New uses for rural land will inevitably include tourism. Already the coast and some lake sides are very popular and already have, or are in progress of constructing, the necessary infrastructure.
But holidays in the ‘vertiginous’ landscapes are developing more slowly. Albania’s mountains, and their role in Albanian history and culture, are quite extraordinary. Possibly the best description which we have read to date is Rose Wilder Lane’s ‘Peaks of Shala’ - a record of a journey made in 1921, and available for free download via The Project Gutenberg. Others may have met Albania’s mountains via the activities of Britain’s Special Operations Executive during WWII or, more peacefully and more recently, via Robin Hanbury-Tenison’s book, ‘Land of Eagles’. Today, visiting hikers are increasingly exploring the mountains during the brief summer window when such activities are relatively safe, and new hotels are being constructed at the ends of the few roads which penetrate the world of these craggy horizontals. Good for Albania but less so for the wilderness which they represent.
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!