Some Myths and Shites in Albania

One of the most striking things for me about visiting Albania has been the sheer volume of building projects throughout the country.  Nothing has amused me more since we entered the country than driving past crudely spray painted signs stating proudly ‘Shitet’ (For sale) and its plural we were told being, ‘Shite’ accompanied strangely by hung teddy bears from points on the unfinished buildings.  In a country that could be considered as isolated as North Korea until 20 years ago, the progress towards a more developed state is remarkable but the country is captivating more for the often eccentric sights, sounds and smells than the change towards a democratic nation.  At no other point when visiting parts of Europe have I passed through towns and encountered a women walking 10 turkeys on leads down the centre of the high street; horse and carts parked alongside new Audis; and women offering to weigh you on a dilapidated set of bathroom scales from the 1940s whilst you stroll along the promenade for the evening parade on the waterfront. Many areas of the country are still clearly not influenced by the influx of western goods and Albania still remains one of only 3 European nations with no McDonald’s!  As we headed south from Berat these contrasts and eccentricities continued apace. We passed, for me, the most picturesque area of Albania as we followed a path of swollen rivers along the bottom of wide valleys flanked by dramatic mountains that would not have been out of place in the Lord of the Rings.  The mountain towns themselves highlighted the confused nature of Albanian planning perfectly with an assortment of half-finished concrete structures dotted along tracks and helpfully stating the obvious to all who passed through- they were Shite.  As the bus wound along the impossible winding road we negotiated cows, goats, donkeys and some authentic Albanian driving at break neck speeds and we emerged alongside the Adriatic coast.  We continued to head south towards the Greek border in search of a ruined city that claimed Greek, Roman, Byzantium, Ottoman and Venetian ruins all under one roof called Butrint. 

Saranda (our base to explore Burint from) is advertised as the jewel of the Albanian coast, a small town set around a horse shoe bay looking out towards the promised land of Corfu.  We arrived and fell into the age old trap when we stepped off of the bus.  We were immediately accosted by an impossibly dishevelled looking man showing off his poor swollen ankles and begging us to take a room in his hotel.  There is only one reason that hotel owners meet you off of the boat/bus/train… it is because their hotels resemble a poor Eastern European detention centre from Stalinist Russia (but without the basic amenities provided) that everyone else passes on their way into town hoping it won’t be where they have to sleep for the night. By the time common sense had prevailed and I was beginning to communicate my worst fears to Hannah we had already walked 10 minutes up a hill under the intense midday sun following a man looking (and sounding at this stage) that he might not be alive by the time we reached the detention centre.  As we rounded the final corner my worst fears were realised but our worry as to what a rejection would do to the owner drove us to hand over the 20 Euros and set up camp in our cell for the night. Saranda is not quite up to the shiny standards of western European seaside towns but complete with its classic ’shitet’ Albanian town planning and shimmering blue waters it was possible to see definite potential growth in the area.  A mix of Poles and Ukrainian’s seemed to overrun the local inhabitants in the town and we stayed out as long as we could before returning to our cell for an uncomfortable night’s sleep.

A big reason for the jaunt through Albania had been to reach Butrint. We escaped the detention centre early in the morning to move to a new shiny apartment. Having survived the night we sat down to what was actually a very well intentioned family breakfast time accompanied by the owner making chitchat whilst brandishing a giant knife as we enjoyed their home made fig jam and grapes from the garden. We caught the local bus to Butrint, some 30 minutes south.  The archaeological area was well worth the distance travelled and the setting of the ruined town surrounded by turquoise water from the sea and inlets on either side made for an astonishing backdrop to the remains of the city.  Along with a lot of towns we have visited in the region the unusual logic for founding the city amused us.  Butrint was built here on the basis of a bizarre myth which came as no great surprise to us, in this case the struggle ashore by a wounded, sacrificial ox that subsequently died on the land and hence was viewed as a good omen for a city.  In reality the strategic position of the peninsula on the Adriatic may have been a more logical basis for the establishment of a settlement but it somehow does not quite hold the same mystic. The ruins themselves were an excellent microcosm of Mediterranean History that we enjoyed exploring before returning to Saranda to make the most of the sun.