Albania has always seemed to me be rather an exotic location, a legacy of the days when Enver Hoxha turned it into The “North Korea” of Europe, keeping it in isolation with a military state and peasant economy .Most people know the story that Norman Wisdom was a national hero ,his films being the only ones from the West allowed.They have been free of all of that 20 years now and I have heard that the pace of change is very rapid and that the country is trying hard to establish itself as a tourist destination, and is very welcoming. So I was interested to find out if there is any difference now between Montenegro and Albania.Certainly they share the same scenery.I decided to break myself in gently and travel the 50 km from Ulcinj to the city of Shkoder,which is Albania’s 4th largest city with a population of just 90,000,and sits on the southern end of the lake I visited yesterday from the Montenegrin side, which is called lake Shkodra in Albanian, lake Skadar in Montenegrin.
On the route I took up from Ulcinj,I felt as if I might have been driving through Wales.The high mountains had dropped away here,and I drove a narrow road through little hills and gorges, with little meadows surrounded by well layed hedges, with the spring flowers out.
This felt a bit like entering Albania from the back door,although in the past there never was a front door.I heard that in summer there is sometimes a 3 hour queue at the main border crossing with Greece,but where I crossed there was just one lane and I was virtually straight through.It is the first time that someone actually came out of their booth and got into my van,to check it was a camper.Once they realised,I was waved through without further issues.As I did when I had to enter Montenegro,I had to produce my green card at the border,If you haven’t got insurance they make you buy it at the border.Today,when I saw the row of dilapidated shacks selling “Insurance” just over the border,surrounded by a group of 20 Roma women and children squatting against them, I was glad I already had insurance !
On the route I took up from Ulcinj,I felt as if I might have been driving through Wales.The high mountains had dropped away here,and I drove a narrow road through little hills and gorges, with little meadows surrounded by well layed hedges, with the spring flowers out.
This felt a bit like entering Albania from the back door,although in the past there never was a front door.I heard that in summer there is sometimes a 3 hour queue at the main border crossing with Greece,but where I crossed there was just one lane and I was virtually straight through.It is the first time that someone actually came out of their booth and got into my van,to check it was a camper.Once they realised,I was waved through without further issues.As I did when I had to enter Montenegro,I had to produce my green card at the border,If you haven’t got insurance they make you buy it at the border.Today,when I saw the row of dilapidated shacks selling “Insurance” just over the border,surrounded by a group of 20 Roma women and children squatting against them, I was glad I already had insurance !
Some examples of the bunkers seen all over Albania. As well as the ones by the side of the road, there are more up on the slope ahead. On passing the border into Albania the quality of the road dropped just a little but it was still in a good state. The big change was that there was some horse drawn traffic as well as vehicles, and I passed a couple of people leading pack donkeys.Quite a lot of houses seemed to have one cow,a flock of chickens,and a dog on a chain. Almost immediately after the border crossing I saw some of the now abandoned mushroom shaped bunkers that were built by a paranoid Enver Hoxha to guard even the most minor bits of infrastructure all over Albania .These are everywhere,sometimes in twos and threes, sometimes in great groups of 20 or more. The story goes that the designer, briefed to create bunkers able to withstand direct hits from artillery shells, felt duty bound to demonstrate their functionality to his leader by being inside one while it was bombarded.
It was just a short run down to the city of Shkoder,but I passed one police check at the roadside .They had just flagged someone down to examine his papers; I will watch my speed carefully.Otherwise,several locals waved at me,and everyone seems very friendly.
It was just a short run down to the city of Shkoder,but I passed one police check at the roadside .They had just flagged someone down to examine his papers; I will watch my speed carefully.Otherwise,several locals waved at me,and everyone seems very friendly.
 Rozafa castle, on a rocky hill just outside Shkoder |  Shkoder,with the Albanian alps behind:the view from Rozafa castle. |
The experience in Albania was so far not a major culture shock. It did , however, hit me hard as I arrived at the city. To get to the campsite I was aiming for, on the shore of the lake, I had to drive straight through the city. And it was very, very scary. As I went round the first roundabout ,admiring the Rozafa castle, a medieval fortress on top of a small crag overlooking the city, I was cut up by a Mercedes shooting out in front of me and I had to take evasive action. First lesson-there is no right of way at roundabouts. Once you have found your way onto one, expect traffic to pull out in front of you from all junctions, sometimes very fast. Fortunately the road through the city was wide, with dual lanes, but it needed to be .
Basically, I quickly learned that other than the fact that vehicles drive, broadly speaking, on the right, there are no other rules. The streets were thronged with pedestrians and cyclists, who often ride the wrong way up the road, even on roundabouts. So as you inch your way onto the roundabout and jostle for a position that will get you out at the right exit, trying to look in about ten directions including your satnav, and trying to avoid the car that shoots out from the right ahead of you, you are suddenly faced with a knot of cyclists coming towards you the wrong way round the roundabout. At one stage I had to avoid a man pushing someone else in a wheelchair walking in the road towards me round the roundabout. Standing observing all of this are traffic policemen who blow their whistle occasionally, though what extreme driving infraction you have to commit to deserve that rebuke I have no idea. The bad driving is apparently the result of that fact that under the communist regime only a few party officials were allowed cars. When that collapsed, suddenly everyone was allowed one ,with little in the way of driving experience needed for a licence.
Basically, I quickly learned that other than the fact that vehicles drive, broadly speaking, on the right, there are no other rules. The streets were thronged with pedestrians and cyclists, who often ride the wrong way up the road, even on roundabouts. So as you inch your way onto the roundabout and jostle for a position that will get you out at the right exit, trying to look in about ten directions including your satnav, and trying to avoid the car that shoots out from the right ahead of you, you are suddenly faced with a knot of cyclists coming towards you the wrong way round the roundabout. At one stage I had to avoid a man pushing someone else in a wheelchair walking in the road towards me round the roundabout. Standing observing all of this are traffic policemen who blow their whistle occasionally, though what extreme driving infraction you have to commit to deserve that rebuke I have no idea. The bad driving is apparently the result of that fact that under the communist regime only a few party officials were allowed cars. When that collapsed, suddenly everyone was allowed one ,with little in the way of driving experience needed for a licence.
 A very quiet roundabout,by Shkoder standards |  The policeman just watches the chaos |
As I left the city it immediately became easy again; the road was wide and new. The campsite is 10km up the road, an oasis of peace and tranquil beauty on a lawn on the lakeshore that is a world away from the one I just left. It is run by a couple, the wife English, and it is probably one of the best campsites I’ve been on. There are just four vans. A German couple are here with young children in a caravan. I’ve no idea how they got that here unscathed.As I walked across the lawn a snake of some sort slithered rapidly past me so I’ll watch my step if going to the toilets at night !The fields around are quite attractive,lots of wild flowers,and in the distance there are the snow covered mountains of the Albanian Alps, scenery which is apparently now a big draw for tourists.
 Lostintransit installed at "Lake Shkodra Resort" |  On the track down to the campsite |
No way was I going to try to go back and park the van in the city (although I do have to drive back through tomorrow) but I wanted to go in to have a look round.I was briefed that the way to travel into town is by furgon, private minibuses, that make up the majority of public transport. There are buses and taxis, but furgons take you everwhere,short and long distance.You stand in the road and when you see a minibus you flag it down.On the way back you walk to the side of town on the road in the direction you want to go ,find one pointing in the right direction and ask if it’s going where you want to go. They go when they’re full. Half full furgons were parked up in groups round the city ,the driver calling out he was going to Tirana,or wherever. The campsite changed a few Euros for me(you can’t bring Lek in,nor change them back once out of the country).I walked up the dusty track from the lakeside towards the main road,a distance of about a mile .This was a pleasant walk with the fields ablaze with wild flowers.Just before the road the owner of the campsite drove up. He gave me a lift half a mile down the road to a roundabout which he said was the local picking-up point, and there was a decrepit minibus waiting there, half full of customers. He helpfully explained to the driver that I wanted to go into town .He had told me that the going rate for town was 50 lek(about 25p)Despite this ,I wasn’t too surprised that the moment he left I was slightly ripped off and charged 100 lek instead .
There is a small old town area within the city, quite pleasant, with a few wide pedestrianised streets, brightly painted restored 1920’s buildings, with some cafes with tables outside. Otherwise the streets are very busy, with nondescript architecture, but a have colourful street scene.I called in to a bakery to buy a couple of savoury snacks to eat, and some bread for later.
There is a small old town area within the city, quite pleasant, with a few wide pedestrianised streets, brightly painted restored 1920’s buildings, with some cafes with tables outside. Otherwise the streets are very busy, with nondescript architecture, but a have colourful street scene.I called in to a bakery to buy a couple of savoury snacks to eat, and some bread for later.
 The restored old town precinct |  colourful street scene |
 Lots of mosques |  At least the locals speak some English... |
When the time came to head back to the campsite I walked back to the street where I had earlier seen a row of furgons waiting. There was just one there now, but was pointing in the right direction. I had an initially tricky discussion with the driver as to where I wanted to go, and a couple of men came over to try to help as well, but their English was no better. What solved the problem was my showing a photo of the campsite sign which I had taken earlier as a precaution. The furgon was empty so I wasn't quite sure if I was going to get private ride and have to pay a taxi rate, but no sooner had I got in, than 8 cheerful girls squeezed in with their shopping as well. The driver then asked me for a 1 Euro coin, a little dearer than my ride in but I wasn’t going to haggle over this .These vans seem packed with friendly locals and feel safe, apart from the fearful driving at high speed and the thought that they have probably only had the most cursory of mechanical checks lately.
Furgons waiting for custom
This does all seem a different kind of world.As I type this up this evening, I can hear across the fields, like I did in Mostar,the Muezzin calling to evening prayer ,and a farmer has just brought his herd of 20 goats,with jangling bells,home past the campsite
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