The bus dropped us off at the international bus station in Tirana early in the morning. A large uncovered parking lot with ticket stalls advertising destinations all over Europe, from Greece all the way to Germany. I dared not think how long a journey from Tirana to Berlin would take. We decided to walk to the central square, Skanderberg, less than a kilometer away, to stretch our legs after the 10+hour journey on the bus.
The first thing you noticed about Tirana was the coffee shops. Every street, every corner, everywhere, people were sitting outside drinking coffee and smoking. And by people, I mean men. Someone later told us that this was not a reflection of the country’s coffee culture, these were unemployed men seeking to pass time. They would rather sit around drinking coffee – alone or with friends – than be depressed at home. We of course wondered, “And, what about the women? Where are they?” We haven’t gotten our answer yet.
The waiter at the coffee shop where we had breakfast told us we could take a bus from the bus stop in front of the shop to the guesthouse, but despite our best efforts at repeating the name of the neighborhood to the bus drivers, they all shook their head. Either not the right bus or they couldn’t understand what we’re saying. After a while, we gave up and decided to walk the 1+ kilometer.
We crossed a large public square, Skanderberg square, where the national museums, opera and library were located, and a large statue of Skanderberg, the Albanian hero. I was immediately struck by how clean and neat the square is. What a contrast to Greece, even though I know that Albania is supposed to the “poorer” country. But I wouldn’t be able to tell looking at the streets and the public spaces.
From the square, one could see a few large minarets of the Great Mosque of Tirana – currently under construction. Like many, I associated Albania with Mother Teresa and therefore, Catholicism, forgetting that Islam – not Christianity – is the largest religion in Albania, an enduring remnant of the Ottoman period in the 15th century.
It took us another hour before we found the guesthouse. The owner forgot to send us the check-in instruction so we walked around the neighborhood trying to locate the address. A few local men tried to help us – one even brought us to the nearest police station and asked the police to assist us – but they were equally stumped by the address listed on the Booking.com page.
Finally the owner responded on WhatsApp and sent us the picture of the house from the street. It’s the tall silver gate we’ve passed by three times! She told us where the keys are and our rooms. Make yourself at home, she said. My mom would come by in an hour or so to show you where everything is.
When we opened the gate, we were greeted by two dogs, a black mutt and a golden lab, and a cat. We later learned that the lab was the owner’s, named Mobi. And the mutt was the neighborhood’s stray dog (there are many of them in Tirana) named Lufi, who liked to cool off by digging a hole in the narrow plant bed in front of the house and lying down in it. I never learned anything about the cat.
The property was somewhat run-down but perfectly adequate. The room was spacious with a large bed and springy mattress. The tile floor felt greasy to the touch and the furniture reminded me of a 1970s decor. The sheets and towel looked old but clean. We were just happy to have a bed and a quiet room. After 12 hours of Albanian folk music on the bus, we badly needed a nap.