Why Albania?
"Why Albania?", asks Dustin Hoffman. "Why not?", is Robert de Niro's counterquestion. Wag the Dog's two main characters are looking for a country with whom the USA could stage a fake war. Hoffmann: "What have they done to us?" De Niro: "What have they done FOR us? What do you know about them?" Hoffmann: "Nothing".
That is about as much as I know before I cross the border to Albania - and I am not the only one. Few Europeans, let alone citizens from overseas countries, can relate to the small country on the Mediterranean sea. Completely sealed off from the rest of world for 50 years and struggling with political turmoil, mass emigrations and civil war in the decade after the downfall of the communist regime, Albania never attracted large crowds of visitors from abroad.
"Why Albania?". My Montenegran friends laugh out loud as I tell them about my plans. "We would never travel there." Everybody has machine guns, they tell me. Petrol stations are in the grip of the mafia, the organ trade flourishes. "Never do wild camping", they continue, "and pay attention to the drivers - many of them bought their driving license." Their well-meant advises are not the first attempts to dissuade me from crossing the country. A couple of American cyclists that I met in Dubrovnik did the same: "We have been advised not to travel through Albania". But I have no choice: In the end of November, the Serbian mountains are covered with snow and I have to follow the coast from Montenegro to Greece.
"Why Albania?", I ask myself two days later, standing in the dark of my unheated hotel room, the hands full of black grease from the bicycle chain I just changed. The light suddenly went off. Albanian cities have no electricity before sunset. The country depends on hydropower, and the water level in the artificial lakes are low, requiring strict energy restrictions. Even when there is energy, blackouts are common. As the light comes back and I want to wash my hands, the wash basin remains dry - there's no water in the tap. Luckily, I remember my grandma's insider tip: The Dobro Jutro margarine from Montenegro cleans my hands better than water and soap would have done.
"Why Albania?", I am cursing two days later, bouncing along a bumpy, muddy road. I had heavy headwind for the last 100km, the raindrops strike my face like nails and mix with the dirt from the street, spattered by rapidly passing Mercedes. About 8 out of 10 Albanian cars come from the German manufacturer. Locals say, that only Mercedes are capable of surviving the potholes and bumps that characterise most roads in their homecountry. I estimate that the 400km in Albania knocked off about two years of my bicycle's lifetime.
"Why Albania?", I ask two missionaries that I meet on the main street in Tirana. "Our church send us here", they answer. "Why Albania?", I ask Ariel (photo), an American volunteer working in the municipality of Vlore. "The peace corps send me here", he replies. The expatriate community is small. John, an English teacher, gives me a strange look when he notices that I am not working in Tirana: "So, Albania is actually a tourist destination?".
Why Albania? The answers to this question slowly emerge as the slight shock of my first days fades, and I start to discover the special character of the country, its peculiarities, its own sort of beauty. A cup of lemon tea in the Cafe Grand. The sound of electric generators on the streets. The brightly colored building blocks in the big cities. The unique mixture of communism, capitalism and anarchy, of Christian-European and Muslim artefacts. And I have to realize that the negative image I had of the country is essentially my own fault, based on two big mistakes:
First, I chose the wrong season. The climatic conditions of late November force me to follow the big roads in the coastal plain and skip the amazing Albanian mountains, one of the most unspoilt and beautiful regions of Europe, now blocked by snow. Proceeding quickly from town A to town B, I see the surrounding landscape through dark protective glasses covered by fog, raindrops and mud - a blurry, grey picture.
Second, I didn't learn Albanian. The few words that I pick up during the stay often aren't enough to overcome the language barrier and break the first ice, making me dependent on the foreign language abilities of the people I meet. It takes several days until I have first real conversations with Albanian locals.
And the picture changes. As the communication barrier finally breaks down, I can see Albanians the way they are. And I experience not only very hospitable and helpful persons - a group of 25 locals gathers around my bicycle as I am looking for a place to stay in Kavaje, each of them keen to give advice. I meet a very social and trustworthy people, assigning a high importance to respectful behaviour towards family members and close friends, combined with a deeply ingrained ethnical pride - without being exclusive: Outsiders that come to Albania with an attitude of basic respect are made feel genuinely welcome and quickly become part of family life and the circle of close friends. Adam, a Southafrican cyclist on its way home, puts his fascination into words: "People here just smashed all my prejudices."
"Why Albania?", an Albanian sport film team asks me on one of my last days as I gasp for breath after a 1000m altitude ascent on the coast road. And I am happy I have found my answer:
Albania, because of its beautiful nature. Albania, because of its great people. Albania, because it is so close and yet so far at the same time - geographically, culturally, mentally. Albania, because it was the most intriguing experience, the most fascinating discovery of my journey in Europe. Albania, because it is Albania.
The film team doesn't speak either German or English and I can't respond to their Albanian and Italian questions. I just hope that I could convey the main message to them and continue towards Greece.
Why Albania?
Why not?
07.12.2005 19:40h
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