Traversing Albania in a 'furgon'

Having travelled the length of Albania to see Butrint we decided to make the most of the Indian summer southern Europe is experiencing when we discovered a tranquil beach with crystal clear waters gazing over towards Corfu.  The sunset was incredible every night and sent the sky scarlet as we watched the hydrofoil speed rapidly across the bay towards the Greek Islands.  After two days relaxing we set off for Macedonia, bracing ourselves for another experience on the Albanian furgons (any battered van available to transport people) across the country.  Arriving 2 hours early for the furgon (timetables are not widely used in Albania yet) we sat in the park, watching the old men set the world to rights and sell sunflower seeds to passers-by.  When the furgon to Elbasan appeared we were not disappointed with its quality as a truly decrepit vehicle groaned towards the stop.  As a man dressed as Captain Birdseye loaded our bags into the ‘boot’ we sat down on our chairs that were nailed to the floor and set off.  As we trundled out of Saranda two middle aged women proceeded to communicate via a combination of shouting and volatile gesticulations from across the one foot gap in the seats whilst a 300 year old man sat getting ever more nervous with an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth that he sucked on wistfully.  Occasionally the driver would join in the shouting match but he was more preoccupied with smoking (I am sure to further increase the old man’s pain as he would glance in the mirror at him and laugh as he lit up whilst stopping him from doing the same) and making sure that at police checks we all had a ticket distributed for tax reasons to avoid a fine.  As we put on our headphones to drown the women out (2 hours into the journey and still shouting) the countryside changed from the dry, baron lands of the south into green, rolling hills rich with agriculture in the north of the country.  Alongside the road however was just piles of rubbish as it is Albanian culture to throw rubbish anywhere but a bin. We were however kept engaged by the country as the extraordinarily clear waters of the Shkumbin River ambled past supported by the beautiful countryside as the road twisted up the valley towards Elbasan. 

Approaching Elbasan was how I had always imagined Eastern Europe from reading far too many Cold War fiction (and non-fiction) books than is necessary.  The  valley was now engulfed by a huge industrial complex that dominated the entrance into the city with looming brick chimneys intermittently breaking up the giant warehouses and railway tracks.  The now abandoned factory was named the ‘Steel of the Party’ and was unsurprisingly built with Chinese assistance in the 1970s with the twined effect of economic stimulation and environmental obliteration. Due to the dumping of the heavy waste into the river the land down the valley is contaminated up to 50 cm deep from the factory and now all of the agricultural produce is equally contaminated.  Even now despite protests, the various companies operating in the valley apparently only use the air filters in the mornings  (Elbasan, the polluted city).   Now abandoned, the monstrous scale of the factory provided an eerie feel to the city as the setting of the sun also put pay to our plans of making Macedonia in one day. We booked into a hotel that equally looked like part of the communist style surroundings; not in so much for its aesthetic appearance but in the sheer scale of the property that appeared to have only one other guest.   The town itself could not have been in more stark contrast to its outskirts however with more apparent wealth on the main boulevard than we had seen in the rest of Albania combined.  As we went searching for dinner though it became apparent that Albanians (later verified by a local) do not eat; they drink espresso laced with sugar and make the Italians look like amateur smokers.  As we struggled to find a restaurant it was hard not to be impressed by the transformation the city has undergone with regeneration projects of the apartment blocks, football stadium (now the national stadium) and castle giving the city a far more western European feel than we had previously experienced in the country.

The following day we boarded another furgon to take us (as it later transpired out of the way for all the other passengers) to the border.  A young local lad, Clyde, explained about the national park we passed through and life in Albania, as well as explaining that the numerous hung teddy bears we passed on the unfinished houses were to scare off evil ghosts.   Having filled up our water bottles at one of the many road side mountain springs we were unceremoniously dumped at the border and headed on foot across no-man’s land towards Macedonia, refusing the (as usual) aggressive taxi drivers trying to screw every passer-by out of money.  We were greeted by an official who initially mistook us for Russian due to the whole page Russian VISA in our passports. He passionately pumped his chest and shouted ‘PUTIN’ at us and was visibly disappointed to discover we were in fact British.  At he other side of the checkpoint we were able to negotiate with a man posing as a taxi to take us to the nearest town and we were taken at break neck speed down the road towards Struga on the edge of Lake Ohrid.  From here we were able to eventually complete our journey in a collectivo (shared taxi), arriving in the beautiful lakeside town of Ohrid in time for a swim in the clear lake waters.