Land of the double-headed eagle
If you’re an idiot like me and mistake the bus terminal straight away in London, perhaps it would be better to stay home. But giving up easily isn’t really my thing. With the look of a lost lamb, I stare at the bus driver.
“You look really confused, love. Show me your ticket… My dear, your bus goes from Terminal 2, and you’re at Terminal 5. Hop in — I’ll take you there.”
So now you’re sitting on the right bus — needing a wee, with a massive headache — but whatever. Alea iacta est.
Security check. Coffee at Pret. Then you just fly. Sitting by the window, surrounded by unbelievably loud young Albanian guys. You’re not bothered — fast asleep, waking up just before landing. You see something that seriously looks like a huge shining camel. Perhaps you’re already a lunatic.
Now you have to survive until 7 a.m. at the airport — five hours of lying on a sofa, reading The Alchemist, and staring at people with obvious interest. The first bus from Tirana Airport to the city centre leaves at 7 a.m. and costs about 300 LEK. You get off early and find yourself at Tirana’s bus station, which somehow feels more like a marketplace. Your bus is first in line. Shkodër is around three or four hours away.
The city of Shkodër is surrounded by its namesake lake and the foothills of the Albanian Alps. Around five kilometres from the city centre sits Rozafa Castle, perched proudly on a hill. If you ever find yourself in Albania, stay at least half a day and walk up to the castle.
Before heading back to the hostel, you stop at a traditional Albanian restaurant — Peja Restaurant. You order moussaka. The waiters look slightly nervous at the presence of a foreigner. The food is fantastic, so you can live with the awkwardness of dining alone.
Your hostel, Mi Casa Es Tu Casa, is full of dogs, cats, and the easygoing chaos of a hippie spirit. The people there help you arrange the bus to Theth, your next destination. Despite the chatter and the warmth, you fall asleep instantly.
At 7 a.m., you leave through the hostel gate and sit down in the furgon, heading toward new adventures. Four hours later — and after surviving two British couples bragging about who’s more adventurous or successful — you finally arrive in the Albanian Alps, or as locals call them, the Cursed Mountains.
Guesthouse Pashko, with its dogs and cats, makes you feel at home immediately. The owners treat you like family, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get to try homemade grapes. The owner mistakes you for an Albanian girl and speaks to you in his language. You can’t really blame him — it’s not the first time you’ve looked like you could be from anywhere. No one ever guesses Czechia.
The guesthouse sits perfectly between local sights. Kisha e Thethit, the small church framed by mountains, is visible from your window. The scene — the stone church and towering peaks — creates the iconic image of Theth, humbling in its beauty. You feel smaller here, and somehow less important.
After leaving your monster backpack at the hostel, you set off for Grunas Waterfall — about a 45-minute walk. The weather is stunning, around 30 degrees, a welcome change after England’s gloom.
Night in the mountains arrives suddenly. You lie in bed under dozens of blankets, yet your nose is still frozen. You fall asleep to the sound of wolves somewhere in the distance.
Morning comes cold and reluctant. You don’t want to leave the bed, but hunger wins. Breakfast — eggs, coffee, and tomatoes so fresh they almost taste alive. And the coffee! God, the coffee.
After breakfast, it’s time to go. The plan: Blue Eye. Ten kilometres each way. The sun’s already up, but the air still bites. You walk and walk. Horse. Rock. Another horse. Another rock. The journey feels endless — and perfect. After a year spent in the concrete jungle of London, you’re free again.
Almost every step (perhaps you’re being dramatic) could be fatal, but you’re happy just to walk and breathe. Oh, life — life is freedom.
By midday, you reach the Blue Eye. It took about two hours, and you’ve never seen anything more beautiful. Not even that boy who once gave you a few petite morts comes close.
After dipping your feet into the ice-cold water, you start heading back. The return feels twice as long and twice as hard. But hiking alone has its perks — you can walk at your own pace, stop whenever you want, and you don’t have to pretend you’re having fun when you’re actually dying inside.
Safety briefing: It’s never a good idea to go on a mountain hike without food, a torch, or an emergency kit. What did I do? I left everything at home. But clearly, I’m still alive — and writing this article.
To be continued…
