Do Expats Dream of Misfit Sheep?: The Hitchhiker's Guide to Albania Part 3: The Beach at the End of the Universe

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.

Perfectly Normal East
The American expression, "road trip" is frequently used to describe an overland journey made in a private vehicle, but it makes two fundamental assumptions which render it useless in Albania. First, it presumes the necessity of a road. Ancillary terms and expressions such as "trail", "goat path", "that reasonably flat stretch over there", and "I think the curb is low enough to drive over" must all be incorporated into the lexicon of the Albanian traveler. Second, the word, "trip" implies a movement of relatively short duration between two fixed points, designated A and B. This idea must be wiped completely from one's mind while traveling through this region of the western Balkans. Anomalies along the space-time continuum are common here, and not even Google can aid the traveler who finds themselves caught unexpectedly in 1894. Additionally, Point B exists in only a handful of realities that may or may not be one's own, thus calling into question the ability to arrive at one's stated destination. As a result, the editors of The Hitchhiker's Guide to Albania encourage the substitution of "road trip" with the term, "adventure," and leaving subtleties of tone and eyebrows to do most of the leg work.

Other terms must be discarded as well, but for entirely different reasons. For example, the Latin term "Manic Purgamentum" is the most common idiom used to describe "the abject inability to enjoy oneself due to a ferocious and all-consuming need to find a toilet." In such instances, the Romans were also heard to use the phrases, "stercus accit" (shit happens), "nulliam prandium est" (no such thing as a free lunch), and, to the confoundment of etymologists, "non sum pisces" (I am not a fish). In order to have any kind of expression, however, there must be a corresponding and pervasive experience among the constituents of the language. Albanian fails this test. By all observations, there seem to be no coherent regulations regarding inappropriate receptacles for defecation, nor for where one is permitted to stop their car. Thus, the frenetic search for a roadside bathroom is rendered obsolete, and the phenomenon of Manic Purgamentum remains unknown to the region.

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The Albanian Car Rental System
Albania has much to discover away from the beaten paths of public transportation, and renting a car makes most of the country accessible for a weekend getaway, even if on less-than-ideal roads. By late fall last year, Cary and I were feeling brave enough to embark on just such an adventure, and went about learning how to rent a car. The detailed process is described below:

1) Look for a place that has pictures of cars out front.
2) Show them your driver's license and pay 25 euros in cash for each day that you want the car (credit cards not accepted).
3) Wait 10-100 minutes for the car to be delivered, get in, and drive immediately to a gas station, as only fumes have been left in the tank.

Voila! Our ticket to the whole country was punched. Previous experiences with furgons and trains allowed us to skillfully ignore the nagging questions about how this rental system could possibly function, and we threw a bunch of bags and a 6-year-old junior adventurer into the trunk and backseat. Respectively, of course.

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Roles and Duties of Albanian Adventurers
A streamlined system with defined responsibilities must be established to return from an Albanian Adventure in mostly the same condition as one left for it. Some of the basic roles are as follows:

1) The Pioneer: Strictly speaking, "Driver" does not quite cover what is required in order to get around here, and implies far too much control over the situation. "Pilot" gets a little closer, as one may find potholes large enough to bounce the vehicle momentarily off of the ground. This must be done calmly and in such a way that lands the automobile still oriented in the proper direction. Pioneer is the best fit, though, as paths must sometimes be found, forged, or bushwacked, and surprises must be recognized and addressed around each turn.

2) The Cartography DJ: Due to the situations described above, the commonly used "Navigator" falls short for the adventurer who finds themselves in the passenger seat. "The Map is Not the Territory" is a poignant saying to bear in mind, and it is often advantageous to ignore a map altogether in order to better accept the reality before one's eyes. Cartography DJs, then, must be constantly creating and comparing mental maps of where the adventurers have been so far versus where they are intending to go. This skill is sometimes referred to as having "metal boogers", which seem to magnetically pull the team in the right direction. In addition to literal mapping, they must also plot an appropriate musical playlist of between one and six hours in duration.

3) Junior Adventurer: The primary responsibilities of this adventurer are to provide comic relief and cuteness. Overwhelmingly, their time is spent coloring, napping, snacking, and asking if they are there yet.

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Trip to Kruje
The itinerary for our first Albanian driving adventure was to head to Kruje on the first day, and Mt. Dajti National Park on the second. Historically, Kruje was an important stronghold for the famous Albanian nobleman and general known simply as Skanderbeg. Or Skanderbej. Or, sometimes, Skanderbeu. Regardless of which one you choose, the guy needs just one name, like Prince, or Madonna. His regional rockstar status is due to his famous 25-year defense of Albania and the wider Balkans against invading Ottoman Turks in the 15th century, and today his name is found everywhere from city squares to commercial vineyards.

The castle at Kruje was an embattled and bloody site through much of this conflict, so naturally its leading industry today is selling trinkets to tourists. Mixed into the more typical shops with shot glasses and refrigerator magnets, though, are some serious antique stores that border on museums. Many of the "postcards" for sale are vintage photographs from the early 1900s, and the collections of old watches, traditional clothing, compasses, bayonets, and WWII-era military apparel will make you very nervous to touch anything. Luckily, this will usually be countered by the friendly shopkeepers who will encourage you to touch everything. I challenge you to get out of there without something that you absolutely don't need. Cary and I were able to get bargains on a pair of Albanian slippers and 1/3 of a rug, while Willow got a piece of free candy in every place we entered.

Albanian slippers really compliment
Ecuadorian pajama pants.

Part of the walls surrounding Kruje castle

After a little meandering and some lunch with a side of power-outage, we hit the road again. We were heading to Dajti National Park, with reservations at the conveniently named Hotel Dajti. We had only a vaguely southeastward notion to follow, but luckily we had our handy Albanian Adventure Pack.

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The Albanian Adventure Pack
Any adventure pack worth its salt must accommodate a wide range of possible trips, and should contain only items that are suitable for planes, trains, ferries, and automobiles alike (sorry knives and lighters). Typical items include but are not limited to: a towel, toilet paper, wet wipes, granola bars, spices, sunscreen, insect repellent, ponchos, pen and paper, a first aid kit, art supplies, and a wine screw.

The contents of an Albanian adventure pack, however, should include a few specific items that one might not naturally consider.

1) One-third of a traditional, loom-woven Albanian rug bought in Kruje. While the absence of the remaining two-thirds has never been properly explained, one's own portion is quite conveniently sized and may be used as a geometrically unique towel, a festive cape, or a picnic blanket for exactly two and a half people.

2) A portable speaker so that one may use their phone to listen to more than just the four most popular songs of the moment being played in a loop on Albanian radio. The Guide strongly recommends to the Cartography DJ the substitution of 90s hits.

3) A phone-charging adaptor for even the shortest of trips, as music plus Google Maps' inability to handle frequent u-turns in a sensible manner can deplete a battery in less than one hour.

4) A collection of 50 and 100 leke coins for when credit cards and large bills are not accepted, for when ATMs don't work, or for encouraging a junior adventurer to practice diving to the bottom of a hotel pool.

5) Burn cream for when said junior adventurer blisters her hands while serving flaming marshmallows on rocks found by the shore during a camping trip.

6) Headlamps that will be used at least as frequently indoors as out.

7) An Albanian Bingo card (pictured below) for keeping up one's spirits.

The Albanian adventure pack also has some notable exceptions. These items are typically thought of as useful, but are rather pointless to carry along in this particular region of the world

1) A can opener. In a strange turn of convenience, all cans have pop tabs.

2) Coffee. While instant coffee may be recommended for camping trips, the nationwide average distance between cafes is less than 50 meters.

3) Travel games. One is either a) already playing Albanian Bingo, b) cannot safely divert their concentration from pioneering and/or cartography duties, or c) have plenty outside of the window to keep them entertained. A live goat on the back of a moped near Shkoder, for example.

4) Flares. They won't save you, so please just get out of the road.

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A Day on Mt. Dajti
We reached Hotel Dajti and discovered that the hotels have similar practices to the car rental companies. You show your ID, pay twenty-five euros per day in cash, and are treated to just a faint whiff of gas left in the room. From here, our impeccable research told us that in the morning we could easily drive to a cable car that would take us to a scenic overlook. The attendant at the reception desk had other information, however, and between tips from hotel staff and online research, the locals will almost always prove right. We were told it was closed for "the season", and indeed it was. While "the season" remained only vaguely defined, and though November in this region doesn't typically require much more than a stiff windbreaker and a plucky spirit, never underestimate the mere threat of winter to the Albanian psyche.

No matter. We had all of Sunday set aside for exploring, so we drove into and through the park on our own. No serious weather was encountered, but as we drove over the mountain and deeper down into the park, much of the road and a few bridges were washed out. We were alerted to these and other obstacles through a series of yellow signs bearing a simple, yet effective, exclamation point. Its mental effect was jarring, causing whatever objects or features that followed on the road to be internalized as a scream: U-TURN! ROCK! GOATS! And so on. The road proved passable if you went slowly, but each hazard crossed on our descent into the valley raised increasingly legitimate concerns about getting back out, especially if "the season" actually arrived to slicken the path. Thankfully, it did not.

At some point in all of this, Willow managed to fall asleep. Cary and I noticed this only when we got to a clearing and parked the car for a picnic. We decided to let her keep sleeping while we set up a blanket a little ways down the road. We found the right spot, spread the food and snacks around, and went back to retrieve Willow. Rather than needing to rouse her, though, we arrived to find her wide awake and bawling, with tear-streaked chocolate melted all over her mouth, cheeks, and hands. In her perceived abandonment upon waking, she had quickly found one of her candy bars to dull the pain, and I assume ate at least some of it. There was nothing in the Albanian Adventure Pack to remedy this. Luckily, after getting her out of the car, we found the area surrounding our picnic blanket littered with acorns and fallen leaves, and she tasked herself with collecting as many as could fit in the belly of her shirt. Even the moments of solitary, sugary anguish of just moments before were no match for the unbridled joy she found in collecting (and individually naming) those miscellaneous items of nature.

Those windows are painted on...I have no idea why

Stop. Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me
these questions three, ere the other side he see.

Junior adventurer fulfilling her role

GOATS!

Late Fall in Albania

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Macedonian Girl Nuts
Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the of the western spiral mountain range of the Balkans lies a small unregarded lake. This "Lake Ohrid" finds itself along the migratory path of the Albanian expat community once a year, during the part of their annual cycle in which they are highly social creatures. They hop in their cars and drive in file to the neighboring country of Macedonia, where they purchase enough spirits to tranquilize a hovercraft full of eels* and dine in groups of no less than fifteen (always insisting they pay individually, to the chagrin of workers in the local service industry). The weekend is then leisurely passed on boats, in the water, and playing a rather odd game involving silly hats that prompts its participants to consider such hard-hitting questions as whether they would rather never trust their seat, or never trust a fart. They are a sophisticated lot.

Moreover, there is the recent and curious tale of a small expat cub who quite accidentally came upon the rarest of natural wonders indigenous to the region. After being sent by her mother on a mission to count as many different plants as she could along the shore, she instead returned bearing two acorn-like objects in the bottom of her bathing suit. "Look at my girl nuts!" she innocently proclaimed, having no doubt given them female names and, lacking pockets, placed them inside of her swimwear. As of the publishing date, the guide's research department confirms that this is the last known sighting of the elusive Macedonian Girl Nuts.

* Bingo!

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The Beach at the End of the Universe
We returned safely home to Durres from that weekend excursion to Kruje and Dajti, and explored many other places in and around the country during the year and a half that followed. However, the trip that most captured the spirit of an Albanian adventure was our journey to the Cape of Rodon that same winter. According to the map, the cape is located less than 40 kilometers up the coast from Durres, but getting there required us to take a very circuitous route on the highway that would have tripled the distance. Being in the mood to ignore the advice of Google in favor of a direct route, we decided to forego the map entirely and just keep the sea on our left.

In hindsight, this plan was obviously doomed to comical failure, but we were filled with the confidence of a crisp Saturday morning. We drove north out of Durres along a main-ish road, which beyond city limits evaporated into a 2-track path, which soon after narrowed into a 1-track suggestion, which then concluded abruptly at a chain-link fence. We turned and followed the fence to its end, where we spotted a decent-looking road on the other side of a creek bed. Gingerly, we coaxed and sweet-talked our rented Toyota Yaris over the rocks and divots of the dried-up stream, and drove a few kilometers to the entrance of a wood. To this day I'm not sure if the road really continued through this forest or if the trees were just conveniently spaced, but either way, we drove on through to more and more implied pathways.

Hours passed, with Cary providing tunes and following her metal boogers, until reluctantly we consulted our phones to bail us out. This was a mistake, though, since what we most needed at this point was a place to stay, and Google insisted on many options that were either closed for "the season", still not completed, or outright imaginary. By this time it was getting dark, and we had been treading the same road, back and forth, for over an hour. We had passed a restaurant called "Fishland" 6 times, which as it turns out is exactly the number of times it takes to evolve from a joke into a realistic option.

Finally, enough was enough, and we stopped at a giant "Hotel-Bar-Car Wash-Restaurant-Pizzeria-Gas Station" thing that we had been actively avoiding in hopes of staying in a place that was maybe a bit more specialized. Other than the taxidermy in the main lobby (which seriously rattled Willow), it turned out better than we thought. We showed our IDs, paid 25 euros, and enjoyed our slightly gassy residence for the night. We went downstairs to check out their dinner options and despite advertising both a pizzeria and a restaurant, there were only two menu options: pizza with meat and pizza without meat. The type of meat was never clarified. After eating we retired to our room, drank a little bit of wine (juice for Willow), and laid down for some long-awaited sleep. The coffee was naturally on point the next morning, and we got an early start, finally reaching the Cape of Rodon in the daylight.

It was like someone had photoshopped every natural possibility into a single field of vision.

For me, this has epitomized my experience here: nothing goes as planned, which is fun at first, but then frustration begins to loom just before I'm smacked right in the face by something beautiful. Sometimes it's snow-capped mountains towering over the Adriatic Sea, alerting me to the fact that "the season" might be a real thing. Sometimes it's the goofy, stumbling exchanges in broken English and my terrible Albanian, leading to a serious case of the giggles with a stranger. Sometimes it's a 6-year old bringing me her Macedonian Girl Nuts from the shore of Lake Ohrid. You just never know, but I'm glad I'm still around for awhile longer to see what will happen the next time I grab my Albanian Adventure Pack and hit the road. Or path. Or whatever.