If you had told me one year ago that I would be on the back of a Harley Davidson, driving through the mountains of North Albania, I would have thought you were crazy. But here I was with the hot, lavender-scented air in my face, sun beating down on my sunblushed skin, and the vibrations of the engine reverberating through my core.
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“This is what freedom feels like” I thought to myself as I took my hands from his waist and stretched them out either side of me, my eyes closed and my head back as the world rushed past me.
I opened my eyes and took in the world around me; pastel coloured houses with terracotta roofs, velvety mountains that rolled like mounds of soft flesh, and a winding river that cut through the greenery like someone had slashed it open to spill the silvery turquoise liquid within.
My heart was in my mouth and a wide smile spread across my face; I felt free and content; this is where I belonged; a country that made me feel small, a country with wide open skies, vertiginous mountain ranges, and waters that go on forever- nature just seems bigger here and it has the power to make you feel so insignificant, but in the most wonderful way.
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We were in the county of Shkodra; stretching from just north of the capital of Tirana, to the borders of Montenegro and Kosovo. Iit is a place of outstanding natural beauty and I called it ‘fairy tale land’ because of its almost mystical qualities as well as the pure and unbridled wildness that runs throughout it. Years pass, armies come and go, dictators rise and fall, but this land stays the same- the constant beating and pulsing of nature that cannot be quelled . There are some things that we cannot ruin and these mountains, lakes, and rivers have the awesome power outlive, outgrow and out-wonder anything us mere humans could ever dream of.
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Our destination was Theth, a small village nestled in the middle of the Shala mountains, it is only accessible by a 25km stone track that hugs the sides of the mountain, snaking up and down the imposing peaks and threatening death to anyone that strays from its path.
I asked our driver to tell me about Theth and in broken English he replied;
“We all descended from one person, Ded Nika, and we first settled there 350 years ago. They wanted to protect their Catholic faith and to protect it from the Ottomans, so they moved to one of the most remote places in the country.”
But this is not just a land ruled by the long tendrils of the Vatican, as the Kanun of Leke Dukagjini was once prevalent here as well. A set of traditional Albanian laws, they governed every aspect of society from the family, to settling the scores between warring factions. It is from this code of conduct that the blood feuds originated; based on the concept of “an eye for an eye”, it instructs its followers to engage in a lengthy cycle of retaliatory killings, to the point that some villages in Albania, are devoid of men, leaving only women to carry on the family name.
Whilst blood feuds all but died out in Theth during the time of communism, some distant memories of this bloody time remain. One such artefact is one of the last remaining lock-in towers, located at the bottom of the valley. It served for many years as a historical form of protection for families that were “in blood”. Here they could seek refuge from those that sought them, whilst either a resolution was sought, or an escape plan was devised.
As we jolted and crawled up the winding roads, a feeling of immense anticipation rose within me, at the same rate that we climbed. What would await us? I did not know what to expect, but I felt like we were travelling to some place of legend, an isolated paradise full of wonder and mystery.
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Up here the air was so much cleaner and I devoured large lungful’s of its freshness, whilst trying not to look at the sheer drop that fell for hundreds of feet below us. I looked at our drivers in the front seats; two young men, no more than 25, blasting gangsta rap on the stereo. My life was quite literally in their hands and this was not a thought that filled me with much confidence.
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Finally, we reached the summit and began the descent into the valley below. Red roofs pierced the greenery and vast craggy cliff faces framed our destination. I felt like I was descending into a vast green, crater that would lead me right into the heart of the earth. This was a place that remains largely untouched by the hands of the world; completely impenetrable during the winter months, I felt overwhelmed and excited by the almost total isolation that awaited me.
Our destination was an old communist holiday complex that had been turned into a guesthouse; a large rectangular block painted orange, it would have looked ominous had it not been for the chickens clucking and scratching in the driveway. We checked into our rooms and seeking some solace, I wandered up the overgrown garden to a viewpoint that jutted out over the valley.
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Sitting on the remnants of an old building, I breathed in the cool, damp air, marvelling at the relief that it brought my tired body. The silence was only broken by the occasional tinkle of a cowbell, or the conversation of the sheep in the field below. As I took in the folds of foliage, sprinkled with dwellings of various colours and sizes, I wondered what it must be like to live here.
I cannot comprehend the kind of peace that this place would bring to a person’s soul- a simple life with simple food and simple things, a world away from the bright lights and sounds of Tirana. I found myself longing for this kind of peace, being able to switch off and remove myself from the hassles of existing in such a fast-paced and unforgiving world. I found it fascinating and my soul ached for the relief that this place could bring, and I felt it slowly creeping into my being, removing the anger and incompleteness that plagued me.
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That night we dined on fresh meat, vegetables and cheese. The electric flickered on and off and as we sat around the table, lit by candlelight, but I could not focus on the conversation of world politics and the danger of local wolves and bears. instead, I removed my mind from the chatter and listened to the pitter-patter of the mountain rain and drank in the atmosphere around me in the hope that I could preserve this feeling when I returned to the reality of my existence.
Then, in a moment, I snapped back to reality as he demanded my attention with a soft squeeze on my knee.
“Are you ok my love?”
“Of course,” I replied, smiling contently with one of those smiles that makes your eyes feel small.
One of our party was regaling us with tales of his scrapes and mishaps in the Middle East, before asking me which I preferred; the roads of the north or the south of Albania.
“The north, without a doubt!” I exclaimed, my voice and enthusiasm amplified by the rich and fruity red wine that I had thirstily devoured in a way that only an English woman can.
“What?” My friend exclaimed- hailing from Vlore, he found my words offensive and could not understand why I preferred these perilous roads to the winding ways of the Albanian Riviera.
“Look,” I said, “Yes you have mountains and the sea in the south, but the mountains here are a million times better. They feel ancient and untouched, green and fertile, and I feel like I am flying when we drive along them. Yeah, Vlore is lovely but here tastes like freedom.”
“It’s not the bears and wolves you need to be careful of tonight”, he said gripping his knife in jest as a large, toothy grin spread across his face, “it is me, after that comment!”
After much laughter, food, and wine we retired to our rooms and I fell into a deep sleep, soothed by the flickering candlelight and the sound of a freshwater spring in the grounds below us.
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