How does it feel to live in a country everyone calls by the wrong name? How does it shape the nation’s psyche? Is Albania Alba, white in Latin? Some of the rocks indeed are. A land of dawn, as the name could be interpreted in medieval Latin and its descendant languages? Not likely; its coast faces west, making sunsets particularly appealing. But for dawns, Apollo, that poor old fellow, needs to crawl over mountains that allegedly named the land centuries before the eagle people appeared at their feet. Yes! Surprisingly enough, Albania may be a sister to the Alps when it comes to names. Same root, a completely different tree growing out of it, though. Fortunately, linguistics is no botany.
Shqipëria. The land of eagles. Nobody calls it that except for speakers of the rare, orphaned language of the Shqiptars. Bloody red; definitely not white.
The southernmost fringe of this little country hovers somewhere between Albania and Shqipëria. It feels as though it is searching for itself, grasping for its own identity. A means to stand tall beside the regional hegemon, Greece. Just across the water from dolce Italy. What is it, truly, that these throngs of mostly European visitors seek? Another Ibiza? A bargain-bin Greece? Glittering affordable resorts with private beaches echoing Egypt or Turkey?
Yet, the most fascinating side of Albania we stumbled upon was Shqipëria. A modest family café above an auto shop, run by a matron who would have happily waved us off without a bill. A histrionic waiter in a taverna who swore everything he served was the best in the country (and from his home village, of course). Dinner in a private courtyard hosted by a lady relying on old recipes she learned ages ago, only to find that people absolutely love it. Before insisting that we take the very last bottle of wine from last year's harvest, simply because this year's batch isn't ready.
Hoxha’s bunkers are everywhere
And speaking of the wine: the Albanian kind is genuinely fantastic! We had only two; the second came from a supermarket and cost a small fortune by Albanian standards, but it was damn good. Although Albania is de facto a Muslim country with a slight Islamic majority, drinking here is entirely commonplace. Mainly rakija, of course. After decades of an atheist communist regime, the once-explosive cocktail of local religions (a hundred years ago, Albanians even invited Prince Wilhelm Friedrich Heinrich from the far side of Europe to become their king just because his Protestant faith made him a neutral compromise) has faded into a rather peaceful landscape where faith is merely a cultural ornament. The religious theater of the past was swapped out in the 90s and 2000s for a whole host of other traditional pastimes. Like pyramid schemes, blood feuds, and the like. But apparently, that’s all ancient history now, and Albania is more than ready to welcome you into one of its holiday resorts!
Those few Albanian days were well worth it, but they were exactly enough. And not just because of the first earthquake I’ve ever lived through, which cracked the plaster right off our balcony. Enough to make us strike Albania from our bucket list for at least a few years.
Still, those few Albanian days will probably fuel about half a dozen posts. I’ll look forward to seeing you for the next one!