Whenever we book a holiday, the weather forecast says it is going to rain. Usually, we ignore it, but as the hail pelted my windows in Tirana and the thunder rumbled overhead, we ummed and ahhed quite considerably about whether to risk it. After a few tantrums and a lot of stress, we left Tirana, loaded up with my boyfriend’s mothers byrek and some traditional Albanian music on the stereo to get us in the mood.
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As we took the road out of Durres, I was struck by how the landscape had changed since I had last been there. Gone were the colourful rose bushes lining the road, instead replaced with a carpet of powder blue blooms and delicate white flowers, the name of which escapes me. The once lush green foliage had taken on a more golden hue, and fields of corn lined the side of the road, reaching up into the sky like straw coloured spears. These fields of corn stretched as far as the eye can see, flanking our route as we twisted and turned through the lowlands. The farmers selling their wares by the side of the road still remained, but instead of cherries and strawberries, their stalls were weighed down with bulbous melons in colours of yellow, green, and everything in between.
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We stopped to buy a muskmelon from one farmer just outside of Fier; as the knife sliced through its flesh it the most pungent and intoxicatingly sweet smell. Devouring it in a matter of minutes, refreshed we continued our drive.
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We drove through Fier- a mass of abandoned industrial buildings and brightly coloured apartment blocks- and made our way towards Apollonia. It is said that the Ancient Greek city was build in 588BCE by Greek colonists from Corfu and Corinth.
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They founded their settlement on the banks of the Aous river on a site that had been used by native Illyrian tribes. After the Greeks, it flourished during the Roman period and it was home to a famous school of philosophy before its decline in the 3rd century AD.
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Today Apollonia is recognised as an important site by UNESCO and you can freely explore what is left of the churches, monasteries, theatres, and Acropolis.
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As we wandered around the site, retracing the footsteps of the Illyrians, Greeks, and Romans that walked before us, we stumbled across a little tortoise taking a nap in the hot midday sun.
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Small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, his shell was the most brilliant lime, yellow, and dark green, and I had to convince my boyfriend that taking him home was not a good idea as he seemed perfectly happy where he was. The sound of crickets in the oak trees was incessant, a constant reverberating that followed us as we explored.
Heading back to the car, we continued our journey south. The air was hot and dry, the earth scorched, and we passed a seemingly endless number of sleepy villages full of handpainted signs and men sipping frappes outside quaint coffee shops.
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As we neared Vlore, we stopped at the salt lagoon near Panaja. Here the water was the most incredible shade of bubblegum pink and it settled in stripes against the golden hues of the earth and the bright blue of the summer sky, only pausing to be punctuated by the occasional mound of white salt and the orange of the JCBs that harvest it.
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Entering Vlore, it seems like any other tourist town. The bypass took us around the outskirts before depositing us on the main strip- lines of highrise apartments and hotels and a narrow strip of beach lined with multicoloured umbrellas fluttering in the breeze.
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What makes Vlore beautiful is the incredible view that you get as you gaze out over the ocean. Hazy blue mountains shrouded in mist lurked in the distance, and threatening grey clouds passed overhead.
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We stopped for lunch at a lido on the outskirts of the city- white curtains flapped from wooden posts and a cacophony of seagulls circled overhead, ever-hopeful for a stray morsel, or the entirety of our dinner given half a chance. As we ate, we gazed up at the Llogora Pass rising menacingly behind us- shrouded in white and grey wisps, the contrast from the blue skies and sea in front of us was almost enough to deter us from continuing.
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Leaving the crashing waves and ravenous seagulls behind us we started our long and winding journey up into the mountains, passing multicoloured beach houses as we went. As the car chuntered and puffed up the narrow roads and hairpin bends, it is not hard to understand how a Greek unit managed to defend the area from the Ottoman attacks towards the end of the Ottoman empire.
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These mountains are unpenetrable and unforgiving with vast chasms that threaten to doom any unwitting explorer should they even put one foot wrong. The air is fresh, cool, and crisp and we could feel a definite chill as we continued our ascent through the towering pines. Here, the mountains roll like pine-studded mounds of flesh, rising and falling with no summit in sight as thick grey clouds saunter past, enveloping everything in their path.
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At the top of Llogora you could be fooled into thinking you have ended up in the middle of winter- the air is wet and cold with an unforgiving wind that chills you to your very core. But then, as the greyness begin to overcome you, almost out of nowhere, rays of sunshine begin to penetrate the sky.
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As we passed over the top of the Ceraunian Mountains and stopped to pick up some sherebela honey from a roadside vendor, we were rewarded with a view of the turquoise sea and white sand of Dhermi.
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The drive down from the mountain range feels like a race- you want to leave behind the cold and unforgiving bleakness of the pass to bask in the hot sun and warm waters of what lies below.
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The roads here were still perilous, weaving and winding almost back on themselves as they cut through the ochre clay.
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As we reached Dhermi, I felt like I had arrived in some Sardinian gulf or hidden coast in the South of France. The water here is the most incredible colour that has to be seen to be believed and the white houses with blue shutters match perfectly with the colour of the sand and water. It is a picture perfect place- even the rows of palm umbrellas and the over-excited continental-European tourists do little to deter the mood that descends on me here. It is truly beautiful and it is not hard to see why those that have been here call The Albanian Riviera one of the most beautiful places in the world.
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After 6 hours of travelling, I deserved a glass of wine so we sat by the water and drank in the surroundings as well as the sweet, floral and perfumey taste of some local grapes.
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In the last leg of our journey, we decided to plough on to our bed and breakfast. Located just below Himara Castle, Alex Bed & Breakfast is a family run business and we received a warm welcome. Presented with glasses of homemade sweet but strong raki, (It is a tradition for each guest to drink it) we sat in the garden under a walnut tree, chewing the fat of life in Albania with Alex the owner and some French tourists.
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The French couple and their daughter had been enticed to Albania through reading various blogs and seeing a number of articles on the country in the international press. Spending ten days here, they have travelled through Shkodra, Korce, Butrint, Berat, Sarande, and now Himare before making their way to the smoggy vibrancy of Tirana before going home. I asked them what they loved most about this country and they said without hesitation that they had never experienced such a level of kindness and hospitality from everyone that they had encountered. That and the incredible food, good weather, and beyond breathtaking scenery, they seemed to be in love with Albania as much as a tourist can be.
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The bed and breakfast is a renovated mountain house with half of the rooms consisting of rock and mountain, and the front half having been built onto it. With whitewashed walls, blue shutters, and chickens clucking around outside, it is exactly what I wanted- somewhere quiet, picturesque and just a little bit authentic. Breakfast is served to overlook the ocean- the eggs are fresh from the friendly chickens, the grapes were picked from the bush next to me, and the raki was made by the mother in law of the owner. It is a perfect place to spend a few days.
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