We packed our bags and headed to the bus station to take a furgon (minibus) to Shkoder (pronounced shko-draaah in Albanian), our gateway to the Albanian Alps. As soon as we approached the terminal, which was nothing but a small dusty parking lot behind a storefront and a tiny shelter for waiting area, a man asked, “Shkodra?” I didn’t even think he waited for us to answer and quickly ushered us towards one of the vans.
The driver, a man in his fifties, took our bags and informed us in Albanian that the van would leave at 11am and it would cost us 400 lek (USD 4) each. We paid him and took our seats in the cramped van. We quickly learned that much like the bus from Athens, people used these vans and buses to transport goods from city to city. I could see how the postal service was probably unreliable and slow, whereas DHL/UPS/Fedex was too expensive, so here’s a reliable and fast courier service. The driver took a shipment of three air conditioners, which he piled up high next to us, leaving almost no room for our legs. “Let’s hope he’s a good driver,” I mumbled to myself, not wanting to imagine what would happen if these heavy boxes tumble over during a hard brake.
The van finally left after twenty minutes or so past the hour with a somewhat full van. The driver left the back door open and drove slowly for the next kilometer, trying to get a few more passengers on board. He had somehow produced two stools out of thin air that could serve as extra seats in the van.
Outside the city limits the landscape turned into farm lands: corns, peppers, olive groves. Large new mansion-like houses, some bearing American flags. These are new developments most likely built after 1991.
Somewhere along the way, the driver had just let a passenger out without pulling over and suddenly he’s getting pulled over by the police. I thought I caught him cursing under his breath in Albanian but I couldn’t be sure. It’s that kind of short burst of exasperated cursing we’re all familiar with when life caught us in our most unfortunate moments. After getting his papers, the police ordered the driver to follow behind. It seemed that instead of sitting idle while processing his citation, here the police completed the paperwork while driving and made the driver followed them around. I wasn’t sure if tickets here also meant financial penalty but I could sense that the driver became even more aggressive and motivated to collect passengers along the way. He took out a plate from the glove compartment with “Shkoder” on one side and “Tirana” on the other and asked the passenger sitting next to him to fix it on the window. His effort was somewhat successful. At some point there were more passengers than there were seats but people didn’t seem to care. They were either going a short distance or they thought it was better to be uncomfortable than to wait on the side of the road for a ride that might never come under the scorching sun.
The rest of the trip to Shkoder was uneventful. The driver dropped us off at the main roundabout and we walked ten minutes to the hostel. The girl at the reception told us that they could help arrange transport to Valbone for 2200 lek per person. That seemed like a fair price for a journey that involved a 2-hour bus ride, a 3-hour ferry, and another hour of bus ride. Another good news: we could store our bags at the hostel for free in case we’re not taking everything with us to the Alps.