Bunkered Down
With just days to the start of a new year, we decided that Shkodër might not be the most happening place in the world to ring it in and so we made the short journey southwards along the exceedingly bumpy E762 highway to the capital: Tirana. Brought under communist rule after the Second World War before decades of brutal governance under Albanian Voldemort Enver Hoxha, older Tiranas have witnessed more change in their municipality than most. One of the sunniest and wettest cities in Europe, the brutalist architecture of the 20th century is now slowly being replaced by glass facades while magnificent new mosques are in construction almost everywhere, the city appears to be rapidly growing and modernising. Certainly, the suicidal traffic jams we got caught up in on our way to the hotel would suggest so.
Slightly disappointed with our low-scoring ‘Spot the Bunker’ game Lowri and I had been enthusiastically playing since our arrival in the country, we made a beeline towards Bunk’Art: a museum of history and art located inside an underground Communist-era nuclear fallout shelter, because where else? Unfortunately, the museum was closing as we arrived although we saw enough of the bunker’s buxom-domed interior to add another point to our score. Up to three. Seven hundred and fifty thousand to go.
At the beating heart of Tirana lies the enormous Skanderbeg Square. Named after a national war hero whose statue takes pride of place overlooking the plaza, the vast space had been transformed into a Winter Wonderland amusement park complete with a grand stage in preparation for the New Year celebrations. I wonder what old Lord Skanderbeg would make of the giant Santas and inflatable snowmen adorning his formerly intimidating square? Or, indeed, what Hoxha would make of the Budweiser beer stalls and countless Pepsi stands doing a roaring trade right next to the location where his communist regime ruled from? He surely couldn’t be mad for long after sampling a cocktail or two from the scores of ornate bars that have popped up inside the walls of Tirana Castle. Quite delicious.
From the enormous Toptani Mall to Mother Teresa Square to The President’s Office and beyond, we strode every backstreet, lane, and alley in the city, thoroughly impressed by it all. We fuelled our wanderings with routine beers and spinach bureks before returning to a now bustling main square for a rather claustrophobic New Year countdown. As the clock struck mesnatë, all manner of flares, fireworks, and various other explosives were set off from within the excitable crowd, prompting our swift retreat to a nearby park from where my frail old brain could safely watch from a distance. Say what you want about the Albanians, or don’t if you’re a Tory voter, but they certainly know how to put on a hell of a pyrotechnic display.
The following day involved a lot of snoozing, paracetamol, and Albanian soap operas in order to recover our weary heads. After twenty episodes of Albanian Phil Mitchell telling youths to sling their hooks in the local language, we felt fully prepared for our next leg. The drive to our subsequent nation, North Macedonia, was only scheduled to take a little over two hours although this was soon a pipe dream as the road surface gradually began to resemble the skin of a pimpled adolescent while the altitude relentlessly increased, slowing our hefty van down. It wasn’t long before anything further than a few metres ahead became shrouded in mountainous mist forcing our speed down to mobility scooter levels. Kept company by the bold, Balkan truckers who had no issues navigating their articulated eight-wheelers around countless hairpin turns and tight corners we finally escaped the fog as a grim, rundown border post magically appeared in front of us. Our penultimate Balkan nation was just beyond the barrier.
Given that every piece of news about Albania that you read or hear in the UK media is negative, it was absolutely certain that the reality would be the exact opposite, and so it proved to be. We had a magnificent week exploring the lakes and castles of the north as well as spending a New Year’s night in a capital city that was far more vibrant, diverse, and intriguing than I ever thought it would be. While its sun-kissed Mediterranean beaches may be the main draw, a bit of bunker hunting while discovering its communist past shouldn’t be overlooked. On to North Macedonia…
J
