Tirana - Albania

The Albania border crossing immediately lowers my expectations of this country of which I have so little knowledge.

Customs want five euros extra for doing their job. Fortunately and happily I can show the 'professional officer' an empty wallet. He looks at me like I have just soiled myself, turns away in disgust and waves me away. Not such a 'Welcome to Albania' insight.

Immediately Hoxha's turrets hone into view. Mr Palin points out the Hoxha, pronounced Hodger, built 400,000 of these as a defence and a reassurance to the Albanian people. A statement - they will never be conquered again. I, in my ignorance, thought they were just for sea defences. I am about as far away from the sea as I can get while still being in Albania, and I have about 50 turrets in front of me. What is worrying is that they all can see me. Narrow slits staring at me. I suddenly feel like I should have paid the five euros!

The road to Tirana takes me and Suzi on the crest of several mountains. The landscape is so different since the last time I was 2,000m high. It's rocky, craggy and much fewer trees. The earth is the colour of their national flag, a deep red.

I make a friend on top of a mountain. While taking photos I nearly step on a tortoise. I have never seen a wild tortoise before. the last one I saw was in a Loughborough pet shop. I name him Tabs and set off. Next stop Hostel Albania, Tirana.

Once the tent is up right among copious amounts of drooping orange and lemon branches, I am invited to try the first bottle of raki that Hostel Albania has produced. In front of me is a rudimentary process which looks complex in its simplicity. An elderly gent, is overseeing the procedures, he turns out to be a neighbour who has been brewing his own raki for the last 50 years. It needs constant attention and just the right amount of heat and I feel years of experience. I pass, as the sights ahead will require a clear head.

Skanderberg gets about. He has a whole square dedicated to him. The museum talks longingly about his legacy and the feats he achieved. The National Art Gallery portrays his story through paintings. Mother Theresa, by the same merits, also gets about. A square and a section of the museum are dedicated to her by the Albanian people. I find this interesting as only three nights ago I was standing looking at a plaque which stated Mother Theresa’s birth place was a matter of minutes away. That was in Skopje, Macedonia.

I get drawn to another 'interesting' art display. A disused hotel for about 20 years has thrown open its doors to art students who specialise in film and moving art. I wander around more interested in the dilapidated building. Paint flaking off the walls and holes where bathroom suites used to be gives off a very eerie feel. At first I think I am in an old school, but the marble floor gives it away. As for the art, I will stick to simple art. A pretty painting telling an obvious story is more my cup of tea than having to work out and question my inner demons to try and decipher the meaning of the 'art' in front of me.

As I sit in a recommended traditional Albanian restaurant I feel as stuffed as the peppers I have just consumed. Trying to translate the menu was harder than I wished. In the end I asked the very friendly waiter, who can’t understand why I don’t like football, to assist me. I am glad I did, as bravado could have seen me with a plate of intestines or sheep’s skull on the table.
I opt for something traditional and sure I can keep down. The peppers were excellent and something I will try and recreate for dinner guests when I get home. The only question is when will that be!