The Hitchhiker's Guide to Albania Part 2: So Long, and Thanks for All the Furgons

Author's note: All stories and other nonsense herein are meant as homage to both Albania and to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.  I adore them both.  However, I offer my apologies in advance to the former for being a smartass, and to the latter for being a shamelessly inferior exploitation of a classic.  The sections in italics are asides representing (mostly fictional) reference articles from "The Hitchhker's Guide to Albania".  British accents are encouraged.    

So Long, and Thanks for All the Furgons
According to the research department for the "Hitchhiker's Guide to Albania", a furgon is a van or minibus that carries passengers around the country in quadruple the time one would reasonably assume it should take, and at a third of the cost the principles of capitalism should allow.  The research department believes this is possible due to the fact that these vehicles are a holdover from communist times when people were not permitted to own their own private cars, and are somehow now "grandfathered" into logic.  While the guide's editors have insisted that neither logic nor capitalism work this way, the research department has the actual existence of furgons on their side.

To catch a furgon, one must find the designated part of town where they are parked, listen for people shouting the names of cities that available furgons are departing to, and give a best guess as to which one they should board.  Once seated, passengers will shiver or sweat, as dictated by the season, for anywhere between 30 seconds and 40 minutes while waiting for the vehicle to fill up.  The driver of the furgon will then somehow manage to whisk its occupants both recklessly and very slowly to their destination.  

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My first month in Albania was about gaining comfort with my new surroundings, figuring out where and how to get things, and practicing some language basics such as "hello", "thank you", and "may blood wash over you".  That last one was a bit of an outlier, but I happened to be with a friend who was learning to curse in Albanian when he got his car booted.

One big way I've found to feel more comfortable in a new place is to figure out its transportation system, and for Albania, that mostly meant learning about furgons.  For anyone foolishly using this blog for practical travel tips, I give you this link.  You may stop reading now.

By far the most frequent route for furgons is between Durres and Tirana, just 40 kilometers apart from one another.  Though these contraptions are sometimes difficult to endure, they provide a lifeline for residents of Durres suffering from small town claustrophobia to the nation's capital where they can find a variety of restaurants, a few movie theatres, an escape room, a bowling alley, some live music, and bars and clubs that stay open past midnight.  Though in typical Albanian disregard for copyright laws, one of these places is called Duff Sports Bar.  They didn't even bother to change the logo.

Photo Credit

Image Credit

The lack of any kind of real schedule can make using the furgons annoying, and the fact that they stop running at about 7:00 pm remains perplexing, but they don't come anywhere near the mind-boggling rail system that operates out of Durres.

Actually, calling it a "system" may have been an overreach.  At first glance (and second, third, and fourth...) the Durres train station appears to be nothing more than a mechanical graveyard. The parts of its forlorn passenger trains not covered with graffiti are sun-bleached and rusting, and very few unbroken windows remain on their cabins. When I boarded one this past October to travel to Elbasan with my friend and her daughter, the trip took us four hours instead of the normal one and a half hours by furgon.  As we tried not to sit on anything sharp, we ambled and swayed rhythmically through the sunny Albanian countryside, taking in the rolling hills and abandoned, communist-era factories.  Willow periodically walked down the center aisle for the Albanian grandmothers on board to pinch her 6-year-old cheeks, smile, and say "bukur" (beautiful).  Despite the dilapidated conditions all around, the usher kindly reminded us not to put our feet up on the seats.  Kids outside watched stoically as we passed through towns before switching to maniacal grins as they chased us and threw rocks at our caboose.  The darkness as we passed through tunnels was velvety and complete, indicating the total absence of electricity in our cabin.  And as for the bathroom, I can only assume it consisted of going to the back of the train and performing some kind of "trust squat" over the edge with a reliable and non-judgmental friend.  When we reached our destination, we were plopped onto a platform with no discernible station nearby, in a place that I'm not sure could actually be called part of modern-day Elbasan.

I loved it, and highly recommend it to those with the time (and perhaps large enough bladders) to spend on the journey.  One thing you won't have to spend much of on the journey is money.  I think the whole trip for three people cost less than 500 leke, which comes out to about $3.50.  As you may have guessed, this is not connected to any larger European rail system, and can't be used to travel the wider region.

Photo stolen from Cary Markin

Other than Tirana and Elbasan, though, I didn't start exploring Albania properly until much more recently.  I did just enough to feel comfortable, and I was out of here!

What else is a vagabond to do when placed so close to Istanbul and Dubrovnik? And what about little Montenegro? Oh, and Berlin! And if I'm going back to the US for the summer, I'm basically passing through Spain again, right? And I can't forget about Macedonia...

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As demonstrated by the author's descent into wanderlust*, the phenomenon known as the "traveler's paradox" helps to explain why some people will move to work in a foreign and exciting new land, only to insist there is nothing to do there, and spend all of their free time trying to escape.  

(*wanderlust: meticulously documenting one's travels and brunches, particularly via social media platforms)

The accepted explanation of traveler's paradox is that if one has left home to live in a new place, that new place then becomes their home.  When a traveler finds themselves at home, by definition they are no longer traveling.  At this point, they must immediately create plans to leave, lest they be forced to redefine their identity.  New travel plans must typically be made for dates within 2-3 months of the onset of traveler's paradox in order to effectively safeguard against pesky and sometimes existential lines of self-questioning.  One may easily confirm the veracity of this phenomenon by simply mentioning a time of year in the presence of literally any traveler or expat, and listening to the resulting itinerary.  

This solution is not 100% effective, however, and the coping mechanisms for traveler's paradox may take more complex forms in some individuals.  Notable examples include the following:

Faux-ing Native: Though visiting many places, travelers do not often stay in any one spot for very long.  Yet despite the brevity of their stays, some feel that they should have more to take away from their experience, so they convince themselves that they have become regional experts.  Symptoms of "faux-ing native" include announcing loudly that one has forgotten the English word for something, or arguing with a local about matters of their own culture.  

Finding Religion: If too much doubt begins creeping in about their life choices, travelers may begin to overcompensate by discussing their indulgent wanderings in tones of reverence as the highest form of morality.  Symptoms include the confusion of novelty with profundity, as well as excessive quoting of authors such as Mark Twain and Robert Louis Stevenson, especially in the titles of blog posts.

Expats are especially vulnerable here, as they have chosen to blur the line between career and travel, and while they feel far more entrenched in their towns and cities than tourists and short-time travelers, they often fail to fully integrate into their new society even after many years.  The photo and caption below should serve as an exemplar of some of these coping mechanisms in action:

Hi guys! Greetings from Indonesia, can't you

see it in the background? Yeah, that's my life!

There is so much beauty, I just don't know 
how people can live without a passport!

Anyway, ciao...I mean goodbye...sorry, I have

so many languages in my head that sometimes

no recuerdo quien soy. Oh, there I go again.

The struggle is real! #wanderlust
#blessed #seetheworld #zekefilter

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Damn...the editors of that guidebook can be real assholes sometimes.  Anyway, here is a short recap of some of the travel opportunities that living in Albania has afforded me over the last year!

Istanbul was the first big trip I took with new friends here,
and it did not disappoint.  The Hagia Sofia alone would have
been worth the trip, as it is the building that best represents
the cities many cultural and historical epochs.

Turks take their shisha very seriously...be advised, it can
catch up with you, and you may find yourself battling
nausea on the lawn of the Blue Mosque.  You know, for example...

When school let out, I headed north to Montenegro, and what
was intended as just a stop on the way to Croatia became one
of my favorite parts of the summer.  Here, the old fortress of
Kotor looms over the new city, while a storm looms over all.

While there are plenty of actual historical reasons to appreciate
Dubrovnik, it was actually its history as King's Landing that had
me nerding out the hardest.

While you cannot swim in any of the lakes in Plitvice National
Park near Zagreb, Croatia, its beauty warrants a trip anyway.

The romanticism of Hemingway's Fiesta de San Fermin in
Pamplona has given way to annual debauchery.  Or perhaps
I'm selling Earnest's efforts short...

Either way, no judgment.  I had a great time watching these
other three run for their lives.  Though bullfights are not for me,
I'll leave the ethical debate to the pages of other blogs.

A trip to Lake Ohrid, Macedonia in September is becoming a
yearly trip to break in new hires.

One of the perks of working at a school seeking
IB accreditation: an IB History conference in
Berlin :)

Ah, Paris.  I thought you had been eluding me,
but it turns out you were just waiting for the right time.

Hiking back from Mt. Bromo in East Java, Indonesia

Finally got to go diving again! Here, off the coast of
Nusa Lembongan, Indonesia.

I did nothing to attact this monkey in Ubud.  Photo stolen
from John Lervezuk.

A ferry ride to Italy found me in the ruins of Pompeii,
with Vesuvius still lurking, though somewhat shorter.

Walking the streets of Matera in Italy, Europe's
oldest continuously populated city.  I know,
my money was on Istanbul, too.

Hiking in the Julian Alps of Slovenia over Spring Break.
Everything about this country was a wonderful surprise.

Narrowly emerging from the "Elf of Stars" escape room in
Lake Bled, Slovenia. 

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See what we mean.  It's a wonder he can hold a job.  

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Hey, fuck off, I know what I'm doing.  What kind of travel guide are you, anyway?  Keep the fourth wall up.  

Albania has certainly done this wanderer's heart good over the last year.  Not only with the travel, inside and out, but with the great friends I have gotten to take these trips with.  I look forward to those to come.  

That said, I recognize that I have fallen victim to the traveler's paradox, and have made a much more concerted effort to keep my feet on Albanian soil over breaks recently, and even (gasp!) stayed at my apartment in Durres over a long weekend.  All of which brings us to the next installment of the Hitchhiker's Guide to Albania: The Beach at the End of the Universe.  See you soon.