Almost no one knows anything about this country right in the south eastern part of Europe. It's small, it's sunny, it has beaches, mountains and friendly people, nice things to eat and wine and beer too.
We try to discover Albania, a small ghost under the all the nations on earth. By feet, of course, to have some adventures in Albania on mysterious ways - on rocky paths and empty places to the balcony of the Balkan.
It wasn't too long ago that travel to the Balkans was only for the very brave. And only the craziest among them dared to go to Albania, a small state on the Adriatic Sea that was sealed off from the whole world like North Korea nowadays in the decades after World War II. No one was allowed in, no one was allowed out.
That has changed in the meantime. But still the country with its population of not even three million is a piece of mysterious terra incognita in the middle of Europe. Part 1 of the story is here, part two here, three here
The morning of Kuc, a small village in the middle of nowhere, shines from low-lying mists. This place in Albania also has its own special charm. It is a piece of land cut off from modern times, forgotten by history, by progress. It doesn't even bear its own name anymore, because the village was incorporated a few years ago and since then it's been called Himarë.
Forgotten places
But here, where a separate dialect called "Labëria" is spoken to this day, nobody cares. The last time anything new was done here was a few hundred years ago. At that time, the Turks conquered the country and at least some of the inhabitants converted from the orthodox Christian faith to Islam. Since then the clocks have stopped.
You eat what grows on your own fields. You drink water from the well, wine from your own vine and home-made schnapps. The eggs come from the hens that chase between our legs at a unbelievable breakfast.
A contented, quiet and unobtrusive life that looks pleasant as long as it is sunny, warm and dry. But our host family also talks about winter, which can be tough. About the long distances, about the lack of doctors, about the young people who want nothing more than to move to the city. Or much further away, to Germany, Italy or the USA, where milk and honey flow without you having to milk and collect it yourself.
Rebels with a cause
That Kuç 1847 was part of a rebellion against the Ottoman Empire is not mentioned. But the inhabitants here always have expressed Albanian nationalist sentiments and during the Balkan War in 1912 Greek troops burned down the village for this reason. After the interwar Kuç was in feud with nearby Greek speaking villages to its south of the Himarë area. They always had their own mind, even against everyone else.
Our way to Qeparo begins with an endlessly long ascent, partly in the shade, partly over rocky paths, up to a secluded high plateau. On the way, a hiker in front of us got much too warm, he hung his rain jacket over a wire fence. And forgotten there. That must be decades ago, too, because the garment has all but disintegrated in the many seasons that have passed since then. It's still hanging over the fence out of habit, tired and faded.
Land of sheeps and emptiness
Nobody wants to end up like that, because this is definitely not an area where you want to hang dead over the fence, as a German proverb says. During the summer months shepherds stay here with their flocks of sheep, but these are only a few people. It can be hours or even days before one comes by.
Very slowly we keep going, measured steps, because the sun is burning and it's almost 30 degrees again. It doesn't seem to harm the vegetation. Where the lawn blooms between the endless stone surfaces, it is lush green and looks very healthy. A few dogs followed us, quiet guys, but not so handsome it seems. On a few corners it smells like the dogs left meal for another day under a bush. Rotten death taste. Puuuh.
But at some point we do reach the highest point of the hike, the "Balcony of the Riviera" at 1,400 meters. Suddenly the view opens down to the Adriatic Sea, which shines azure blue and reflects the sun. There are breathtaking views of the coast on one side, but also to the villages in the highlands and to the snow-capped peak of Nemercka, the king of the mountain range at a proud 2,482 meters, on the other.
Downstairs from the balcony
A wonderful reward for the sweaty ascent, but he's only half the work. A bit of food for refreshment, a few sips of water and after a short break we descend to the village of Kudhes, another empty spot full of ancient monuments to long-forgotten heroes of noble battles for valleys, mountains and gorges who no one outside knows anymore.
There is even a soccer field here, squeezed between two revolutionary honorary groves and visibly worn down by the passage of time. The gates are rusted, the fence is trampled on, the artificial turf has holes. Even the ball, which a few children have forgotten, is struggling to hold the air inside.
A cafè in the middle of nowhere
Yes, oh wonder!, a café in the middle of nowhere is open, it's probably the only pub within a four hour walk. There's beer, coffee and cola, ice cold, and the old men who sit next door at little tables with tea and cigarettes, like old men here always and everywhere sit with tea and cigarettes at little tables, left their card games beside for a moment and ask curiously about the destination of the unexpected guests.
It's difficult with languages, understanding needs a lot of hands and feet. "I'm Muslim" says one of the grandpas clearly, "I'm a Christ" replies a hiker. And the grandpa: "Me too". I'm sorry, what?
Then someone who has been paying close attention points to the old man's pearl necklace, which has a cross hanging from it. A Muslim with a Christian prayer chain? Brief irritation. Funny explanation: His name is Muzli and he is a Christian. How did we laugh!
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