Prologue:

 

2am, Tiriana, Albania, Slightly wired, I step off the bus into the night, hoisting my trusty backpack onto my shoulder. As I plop unceremoniously onto the pavement, I stop, somewhat bewildered..this doesn't look like the Tiriana City Centre I remember. 

 

Oh shit, I must have got off at the wrong stop.

 

After consulting Google Maps for the 100th time I realise I am mistaken - an impressive main square has risen from the ground, replacing the crazy car filled, deathtrap roundabout from my visit 10 years previously. 

 

Tiriana does not waste time. Perhaps it could teach my Wizz Air flight a few things?

 

Chapter 1 - ‘Have You Tried Switching It On And Off?’

 

Having voluntarily grounded us on the runway for 2 hours, the pilot cheerfully reassures us of a ‘navigation failure’ on the plane, resulting in us missing our air traffic control take off window.

 

I attempt to get comfortable in my seat and initiate small talk with the two Albanian Brit ladies in the seats beside me, longingly eying up the frustratingly stationary drinks trolley. The pilot employs the cunning classic IT helpdesk notion of ‘switching it on and off’ and finally we’re on the move.

 

The drinks trolley edges excruciatingly closer to our row (at this stage I’m praying it’s not a mirage). I order two beers (just to make doubly sure) and zone into a trashy Netflix series. Before I know it we’ve touched down in Tiriana.

 

After whizzing through customs, I exchange some cash and locate the coach stand with a cool 10 minutes to spare. This is after having swatted away several offers of a private ride into Tiriana. One Albanian local informs me he is the bus station manager. Yes of course you are Hasan,and I am the pope.

 

I trot briskly through a rather dubious neighbourhood, entrusting my life to Google Maps. As I turn a corner, the hostel looms up ahead of me (I hear that angelic choir ‘aaaaah’ in my head). I swiftly check in and bed down for the night, excited to see what Tiriana has in store for me this time.

 

Chapter 2 - ‘Coffee, Rivers & Lakes’ (sadly not one thing)

 

After a few measly hours of shut-eye, I stumble bleary-eyed from the dorm into the bar/lounge where my new pal, Argentine volunteer, Juliana, thrusts a tasty homemade omelette into my hands. 

 

Whilst the hostel breakfast is banging, my morning coffee has clearly been drained into my cup via Tirana’s sewage system.

 

Incidentally, one of my absolute favourite travel hacks is taking along my own Taylor’s coffee bags - anywhere with a kettle can garner you a decent cup of coffee, to help stave off the inevitable sleep deprivation that comes with staying in a hostel. Yes, I’m not just a pretty face.

 

I spend a hot and sticky afternoon meandering through the hectic city streets and stop at a cute cafe (Futz'a Vogel) by the riverside for artisan coffee, people watching and journaling. There are some snug style seats outside and the coffee was soooo good! 

 

One ever present staple of former communist countries is a selection of elderly men sat on chairs chilling on the pavement (seemingly blissfully aware of the endless stream of pedestrians trying to get from A to B). 

 

Back at the hostel, I befriend a group of Canadian lads in their early twenties and spend the afternoon swigging a beer and learning (and instantly forgetting card games - along with their names).

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I stayed at the wonderful Trip N Hostel - the reviews were amazing, the staff were so friendly and helpful and on arrival there was a box of kittens in the bar/lounge - what more could you possibly want???

A quick note about the hostel management whilst I have your attention. Balkan hostel owners/ managers are usually notoriously gregarious and outgoing and all business must be done by partaking in a shot of the local tipple, Raki. Tiriana is no exception. 

 

Our host is called Orget (I have affectionately named him ‘Orgy’ for short).  It seems Orgy and staff member, Sara’s roles are to ensure the guests are topped up with Rakia throughout the day. Orgy emerges from behind the bar at intervals throughout the day, clutching a huge water drum full of the wonderful poison, lovingly splashing the contents, haphazardly into shot glasses for the guests. 

 

I’m beginning to wonder if it might make more sense to be hooked up to a raki drip at this stage - maybe a suggestion for the 5* review? After a few more beers we head off to the hostel’s sister venue for a late cameo at their BBQ/ social evening. 

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I realise in my red jacket and black t-shirt I am dressed as the Albanian flag. Well, at least I am on brand.

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By the way, if you're looking for a budget option for something quick and tasty, it's well worth heading along to Manna - it's a short walk from the hostel I stayed at.

 

Chapter 3 - The Waking Tour That Never Was

 

I spend my second full day exploring Tiriana’s artificial lake (from the lakeside as opposed to getting in it, which I’m informed wouldn’t be very wise).

 

After getting hopelessly lost a few times in the afternoon heat, I finally locate the path to the viewpoint and settle down by the lakeside to take in the city from the lake. It’s a time to gather my thoughts and scribble some more notes in my journal.

 

Arriving back at the hostel I have made some new friends to my liking - Anna (Anna Banana from Israel) and Paul (from Kent). We have commandeered a table on the terrace and according to the hostel owners and volunteers, have become a much loved part of the furniture.

 

The following day we spontaneously attempt the City Walking tour. Our walking guide has an impressive grasp of Albanian history, I’m wishing I had an equally impressive attention span.

 

I’m not entirely sure whether it’s the after effects of the freeflowing rakia from the night before, coupled with the coffee deficit, but I can feel my eyes glazing over.

 

We’re two minutes and one stop into the tour and Paul has already been politely told to hush by the tour guide. We attempt to stifle our giggles and I focus my attention to the ground.

 

After getting as far as stop number 3 on the Walking tour, Paul has become the first casualty of the day, having ‘accidentally’ sat down and ordered a beer by a nearby bar.

 

By stop number 4 I can no longer concentrate so head off to join Paul for a beer and an late afternoon pizza at a cool restaurant off the main square, Pizzarte. You’d be forgiven for thinking you were sat in Napoli as the pizzas are definitely in the same league! Well worth a visit if you’re a vegetarian like me.

 

As the evening wears on we’re all back on the hostel terrace putting the world to rights. I am in my travel happy place - a comfy chair on the hostel terrace with my feet up, swigging back beers, munching on snacks and chatting s*it to people from all over the world.

 

I’m getting much better at learning to go with the flow and paying attention to my mind and body.

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I’m realising that if I don’t stay in the moment, I won't end up remembering all the wonderful details of my trips.

 

Albania has been immense fun and not even the child kicking the back of my airplane seat on the flight home is enough to dampen my good mood, nor dull the tang and burning sensation of Raki from my lips.

 

Well done Tiriana, you’ve left me in good spirits.