Loose gravel gently slid down from the top of the earthen embankment along the road. It was the “heads up!” prelude to a small herd of goats scurrying down the slope to cross the road ahead of us. The last to cross was a young yearling goat, unsure of his footing. It was a transition day for us. We had left Lin, on the shore of Lake Ohrid, near the border with North Macedonia, earlier that morning to drive to Durrës, on the Adriatic Sea. The journey of only 90 miles, 142 km, was our longest single drive in Albania, and can be accomplished in three hours, if so desired. But with us there is always something that piques our interest and requires a detour or U-turn.
Much of the SH3 highway that connects Lin, through Elbasan, to Durrës traverses a sparsely populated remote region of Albania. Occasionally, in what seemed the middle of nowhere, we passed enterprising farmers who had set up temporary produce stands perched atop the road’s guardrails, their donkeys tied nearby. Sadly, factories abandoned after the fall of communism littered the countryside. In Prrenjas though, the artist Eljan Tanini whimsically covered the towers of a defunct nickel mine with 1,380 charming ladybugs, a symbol of good fortune and hope for the future.
On the outskirts of Elbasan we stopped for a snack at the Elita Grill, a newly opened restaurant. It was a very attractive, contemporary space, which stood as a nice counterbalance to the rustic region we had just driven through. The pastries and coffees were very good, and the prices budget friendly. Across the street, the dome of a larger-than-average Cold War era concrete bunker inched above a mechanics shop.
Entering Elbasan we passed the Xhamia e Nazireshës mosque. Across the street from it, a dreamy street mural of a child playfully dancing amidst clouds graced the side of an apartment building. Unfortunately, the traffic was too congested in this spot, and we didn’t stop. An abandoned train track paralleled most of our route from Prrenjas to Elbasan. The rail line once carried nickel ore to the Kombinati Metalurgjik, a huge industrial complex that was built with cooperation from Chairman Mao’s Chinese Communist Party in the 1970’s. The site, easily seen from the highway, now lies in ruins and is a popular spot for amateur industrial archeologists. But at its height it employed 12,000 people and produced the iron, steel and cement for Albania’s 173,000 military bunkers ordered built by the paranoid communist dictator Enver Hoxha, who feared invasion from everyone. We were getting hungry as we reached Tirana. While there were numerous lunch options available, we wanted something with easy on and off access, close to our route. With a quick google search we chose the restaurant Xhafa, which had an outside patio on a hillside that overlooked Tirana. From our experiences across Albania we found that the food was delicious no matter where we stopped. As it was here. Leaving the restaurant, we noticed a large futuristic metallic head in front of an office building next door. We are not sure, but we think the sculpture can be accredited to the Albanian sculptor, Ilirjan Xhixha.
We continued our westerly drive along SH3 until signs for Durrës directed us onto SH2. We wished we had been prepared with our cameras for what emerged next. Across the highway, the most unusual building crowned a small hill. It was seven stories tall, with a neoclassical birthday cake-like façade. On the multi-level corners of the building larger than life statues of the Illyrian Kings stood, as if they were surveying the landscape. Centered atop the colossal building was a mammoth sculpture of the great warrior Skanderbeg, the famous 15th century commander who united Albanians to rebel against the Ottoman Empire. This grand building, with its Las Vegas-type schmaltz, was the Amadeus Palace Hotel. If you enjoy quirky, off-beat things, this might be a place to check out.
We arrived in Durrës late in the afternoon, just in time to see a passenger ferry from Italy enter the harbor, as we drove along the waterfront. Parking with a rental car is always a concern, but we had asked the hotel, Ventus Harbor, where to park. “During the April shoulder season there is plenty of free parking available close to the hotel,” was the response. We are always skeptical of these easy answers, and there was street parking a short distance from the hotel. Though there was an informal parking assistant waving to drivers coming down the street, pointing as to where to park or wait as a cement truck driver readied a delivery to a construction site. We tipped him and hoped for the best. At the reception desk we told them where we left the car, and they said it would be okay, but we could also park on the pier which led to the floating hotel if we preferred. While that option was closer, it required driving through a small, pedestrian-filled shopping mall. The car stayed where we left it and was fine for two days.
Though the futuristically designed Ventus Harbor appears to float above the Adriatic Sea like a spaceship, it is in fact built securely atop pilings pounded into the seabed and connected to shore via a narrow, 300ft long suspension bridge. The hotel’s refreshing uniqueness, which contrasts so distinctively with the stone castles and villages of rural Albania, was our main reason for choosing to stay there.
Towards sunset we headed to the promenade along the seafront and were engulfed by families and friends enjoying the xhiro, the Albanian tradition of an evening stroll to relax and socialize. Fishermen cast the last lines of the day into gentle waves as we walked towards the setting sun and the Sfinksi, a small concrete step pyramid where folks gathered to watch the sun dip below the horizon as the sky faded from a fiery orange to the blue of the evening.
The city’s night skyline slowly awakened with lights, before the stars shined. It was a warm April evening and we slept well with the door to the balcony open, listening to the water lap against the pilings below us.
After breakfast we walked along the promenade into Durrës’ historic old town, which has been centered around the harbor since time immemorial. It has been Albania’s economic engine and vital link connecting Europe to Asia Minor since Greece established a trading colony there in 7th century BC. An Illyrian Kingdom followed in the 4th century BC. But it was the Roman Empire which left the most significant impact. The Romans turned the ancient town, now Illyricum, into a vital trade and military hub with the creation of the Via Egnatia, a cobbled road that crossed 700 miles through the rugged Balkan mountains to Thessaloníki, Greece, and Constantinople. Troops, merchants and religion flowed across its path. The Apostle Paul traveled this route to Durrës in the 1st century, a time when Christians were still thrown to the lions for entertainment in the coliseum across the Roman Empire. Upon the Western Roman Empire’s collapse in 476, the Byzantine Empire filled the void until the tumultuous Dark and Middle Ages brought a succession of invaders to the region. Visigoths, Huns, Bulgarians, Slavs, Normans, and Venetians conquered and fled until the armies of the Ottoman Empire arrived in the 15th century. Austria ruled for a time during WWI. Mussolini’s Fascist troops landed in the port at the start of WWII. The Albanian’s communist partisans defeated their opponents after WWII. In 1967, as if needing to put a sword into the heart of any remaining hope the people of Albania had, the communist dictator, Enver Hoxha, banned all religions, and proclaimed, in the city where the Apostle Paul preached, that Albania is “the first atheistic state in the world.” The city and country has had a turbulent history to say the least.
“Walk a little, and the café,” is a philosophy we like to indulge in, and after our stroll along the promenade past statues of gladiators, liberation fighters, and modern art we needed a break to savor a fine Spring day before reaching the ruins of the city’s ancient Roman amphitheater. The amphitheater was the largest in the Balkans and capable of holding 20,000 spectators.
We passed through a gate in the last remaining section of a defensive wall that once encircled the city. The city’s first ramparts, which stood 40ft tall and stretched for three miles around the core of Durrës, were built by the Byzantine Emperor Anastasius I, a native son, in the 5th century AD. The walls were later expanded and improved upon by the Venetians with stones repurposed from the amphitheater after it suffered irreparable damage from a devastating earthquake in 1267. During the Ottoman era homes were built over the site. Surprisingly, they were rediscovered in 1966 by archeologists surveying the area to identify sites that might be of interest to western tourists. Based on the size of its ruins, the amphitheater must have been magnificent. Sadly, the site has not been improved, and sits surrounded by apartment buildings, but it is on the short list of sites for future inclusion in the UNESCO World Heritage program. Oddly, archeology and building concrete bunkers across Albania were two of Enver Hoxha’s passions.
From the amphitheater it was only a short stroll to the Bulevardi Epidamn, Durrës’ prettiest avenue. It’s not a particularly long street, but its pleasant five blocks are lined with stately palm trees, that give it a splendid Costa del Sol vibe.
We followed it until we reached a well-preserved Venetian Tower, that was once part of the defensive wall that encircled the city, across from the harbor. It was an interesting plaza with more statutes commemorating partisan heroes and a gleaming metal sculpture of Redon, the Illyrian god of the sea, which was strikingly similar to the statue in Tirana. This statue, which nicely blends modern technology with the historical past through its use of materials, was also created by the Durrës-born artist, Ilirjan Xhixha.
Before returning to the waterfront, we detoured back towards the amphitheater, where earlier we had passed a tiny window-in-the-wall bakery, confidently named Bule’s Best Byrek in Town, and single handedly run by the formidable Bule. We bought several byrek and enjoyed them as we picnicked along the coast. The cheese and spinach ones were our favorites, and indeed were delicious, and so inexpensive. Go early, as they sell out quickly.
It was still the Spring shoulder season, and many restaurants stayed closed until the warmer weather in May arrives. We had crisscrossed Albania for two weeks by this time and were familiar with prices, but the night before we choose to dine at slightly upscale establishment, for a nice seafood dinner, that received good reviews. While our dinners were tasty, the portions were smaller than what’s typically Albanian. And it was the first time that we felt there was some tourist price-gouging happening.
For our last night in Durrës we decided to go no-frills. After much hemming and hawing we entered the Hepta Grill, a Greek fast-food restaurant, located at the base of the walkway that led to our hotel. The place was lively, the staff was nice, and the food was perfect. We left thinking we could enjoy living in Durrës.
Our planned route for a 3-week trip around Albania looked like a large numeral 6. After starting in Tirana, we’d head south to Berat, and Sarande, before cutting across the southeastern part of the country to Gjirokaster, Leskovik, Korçë, and Lin, on Lake Ohrid. Of course, there were numerous other stops and detours along the way, which we wrote about in our earlier blogs. But the road from Korce to Lin passed through the small city of Pogradec on the southern shore of Lake Ohrid, only 9 miles from the border with North Macedonia. From there the 10th century Monastery of Saint Naum was only minutes away. “It’s so close, and we have the car. It’s an opportunity we’ll regret not taking.” Let’s go, we both agreed. Many day trips to the monastery originate in Tirana, but if you have a rental car, it’s less expensive than taking an organized tour. Albania and North Macedonia are not part of the European Union Schengen program, which permits unrestricted passage through member nations’ borders without stopping at a border checkpoint for a passport stamp. Traveling between Albanian and North Macedonia is done the old fashion way. Not all car rental companies in Albania allow their cars to be driven into North Macedonia. Notify the car rental company when making the reservation that you want to drive to into North Macedonia, as there are some documents needed from the car rental company: a Green Card, which is proof of international car insurance; permission from the car rental country that they are allowing the car to be driven in North Macedonia; and an International Driver’s License in Latin characters in case it is requested. At the border be prepared to show all travelers’ passports and pay a Border Crossing Fee.
Grey skies hung low over Pogradec as we headed east along SH64. Occasionally we passed abandoned Cold War era concrete bunkers along the lakefront. These were remnants of Albania’s communist dictator Enver Hoxha’s paranoia, which convinced him that Albania was surrounded by enemies, and that Pogradec would be prepared to resist an amphibious attack.
The border crossing at Tushemisht – St. Naum went very quickly, with only a few questions about our intended destinations and length of stay in North Macedonia. Minutes later we entered the manicured grounds of Saint Naum’s Monastery. Our first impressions were that we had arrived at a resort or theme park the way the souvenir shops and restaurants lined the midway as we headed to the ancient monastery.
It was built by Saint Naum, in 905, during the later part of his life, after he had spent decades spreading Orthodox Christianity and literacy throughout the Balkans as a follower of Saints Cyril and Methodius. Past the souvenir shops, boat rentals were available for rowing on the amazingly clear waters of the Black Drin spring. Its waters emerge through an underground stream from Lake Prespa, located higher in the mountains, before they flow into Lake Ohrid.
Getting closer, we crossed a footbridge and encountered our first of several splendid peacocks, roaming freely about the complex. Then there were only directional signs pointing the way around the multistory, three-star Hotel Saint Naum, which encircles the monastery on three sides, and obscured any distant view of the monastery, which commands a small knoll on the lake edge. Saint Naum is recognized as a miracle worker and healer who cured the sick as soon as they looked him in the eye. This belief in his ability to heal has inspired Christian and Bektashis Muslim pilgrims to visit the site since his death in 910. The veneration of the saint’s relics is believed to help those suffering from psychological and fertility issues.
Eventually, we found a very ancient door into the courtyard where the monastery stands overlooking Lake Ohrid. Little remains left of the original monastery. After five centuries, the current church was built atop the old monastery’s original foundation.
The interior of that 16th century church survives, but the exterior design and brickwork has been renovated numerous times over the years, and hardly shows its age. Unlike the ancient churches nearby in Voskopojë, Albania, which still carry every wound inflicted upon them over the centuries.
Inside the chapel is quite small, but richly decorated with warmly polished, intricately carved woodwork, and a gilded iconostasis created by local Macedonian craftsmen in the early 18th century. The religious frescoes that adorn the walls of the chapel were painted in 1806 by Trpo Zograf of Korçë. Many of the lower parts of the murals have been worn away by the touches of the faithful seeking blessings.
Leaving the site, we descended the knoll in a different direction and happened upon the Church of Saint Petka at the base of the hill. It’s a charming petite chapel that serves as the monastery’s baptistry. Brilliantly colored Orthodox iconography covers every inch of the walls from floor to ceiling in a celebration of faith. A comparison between the two churches was inevitable, and led us to reflect upon what the interior of the older church might have looked like ages ago.
The restaurants at the monastery complex were too overpriced for what they served, so we headed back to Pogradec for lunch. During the high season, mostly Albanian vacationers are drawn to the city’s long sandy beach along Lake Ohrid, the largest on the lake, and support a thriving hotel, and restaurant scene.
But in late April many were still closed, and some of the ones which were open didn’t have any customers. So, we opted for lunch at Pizza Restorant Artist, on Rruga Reshit Çollaku, across from the waterfront. The place was fairly busy, and to our great joy they offered an amazing variety of Italian dishes and pizza. It was some of the best Italian food we’ve had outside of Italy, and very budget friendly. Parking on the street was a little unusual as there was an authorized parking attendant that watched several blocks and ran up to us to secure payment when we pulled into a space. He gave us in return a receipt for display on the dashboard. After lunch a window display in a shop next to the restaurant caught our attention. It was the workshop of Pirro Icka, a fourth-generation woodcarver, according to the plaque in the window. Unfortunately, the shop was closed, but the window display featured some wonderfully intricate carved pieces, which would have been the perfect Albanian souvenir.
Late in the afternoon we arrived at Lin. It’s a small, isolated village on a headland that protrudes into Lake Ohrid, like a thumb up on a closed fist. We took a few minutes to scout along the narrow lane that runs the length of the village and passes a mosque and church, before it dead ends between homes near the tip of the headland. We had passed the arrow pointing to House 1960, our lodging for the night, but did not know where to park. The village seemed empty, and we had not encountered any other cars along the lane. So, I waited while Donna followed a walkway between homes and returned a few minutes later with one of our hosts, Emory. His wife, Merita, was waiting for us when we arrived at their home, an older village house, that the couple had renovated with help of their adult sons. The inn was very nice and our room stunning with a high cathedral ceiling. Accented with gorgeous blond wood trim, it was bright and airy. In late April all the small restaurants were still closed, but Merita offered to cook meat or lake fish, caught that morning, for our dinner. The Lake Ohrid brown trout accompanied with homemade pickled vegetables was delicous.
Fishermen from Lin and other villages in Albania and North Macedonia, which surround the lake, set out early every morning in small boats to catch trout, which has been considered a delicacy, and a staple in the local communities since ancient times. Recently discovered submerged archeological evidence of a community that lived in stilt houses above the lake dates to 6500 BC, and confirms Lin as one of the oldest communities in Europe. The weather still hadn’t cleared as we went to bed, but we kept our fingers crossed for better conditions in the morning.
A brilliant blue sky greeted us and prompted a quick decision to trek to the far side of the headland before breakfast. The trail started where the lane dead ended and wove between several homes before we were out of the village. Walking along the lakeshore, the blues of the lake blended seamlessly into the sky. On the landward side the headland towered over us as we rounded the shoreline. The path was only as wide as our feet and somewhat treacherous at certain points, when a section required a rock scramble across it. The shoreline between the lake and the headland eventually widened to reveal farm plots, separated by rows of rough stone walls. Our host had mentioned the evening before that the folks of Lin pride themselves on being nearly self-sufficient. That it was an ethic and skill passed down over the generations, because of the village’s remote location. It’s a beautiful but not a particularly easy trek to the farm plots on the lakeshore, and yet we saw several older villagers carrying their tools on their daily trek to their garden plots.
Continuing back to the village we worked our way to the apex of the headland, where the ruins of a 6th century Byzantine church are cordoned off to protect a very large and well preserved intricate floor mosaicfrom an earlier Roman temple. Signage on the fence details the site and mentioned that the mosaics, which are unprotected from the elements, are currently covered with sand to protect them from further deterioration. The information plaque also mentioned that the mosaics are uncovered twice a year for public viewing and included the phone number of the local caretaker.
The panoramic views out over the lake from the top of the peninsula were amazing. The lake’s clear water sparkled, and dozens of small fishing boats rocked gently on small waves that rolled across its surface. No wonder Lin and its surroundings are part of the Natural and Cultural Heritage of the Ohrid Region, an UNESCO site, which recognizes the importance of the unique aquatic ecosystems surrounding the clearest and deepest lake, reaching depths of 945 ft, in the Balkans. Lake Ohrid is thought to be one of the oldest bodies of fresh water in the world, and supports a diverse variety of 1200 different plant and animal species, 200 of which are endemic to the lake.
Walking downhill back through the village we stopped to photograph a scene. It was only when we started walking again that I caught some motion in my peripheral vision and saw the freshly slaughtered cow hanging from a sturdy tripod stand, with three villagers attending to it, in front of a store that had a coffee shop sign above its door. They waved. A little farther down the lane, we passed an older woman walking up the hill carry small buckets of milk. She must have been 15 years older than us, but she was a hearty soul and ended up lapping us three times. When we returned to the inn Merita had some freshly baked bread and muffins waiting for us, along with a fig jam, made with the fruit from the tree in the front yard, feta cheese, butter, yogurt, and eggs sourced from various neighbors. We enjoyed our short time in Lin and wished that we had made plans to stay longer.
Back on the highway, the road rose into the mountains and we pulled over for one last look. In the fields outside the village a row of Hoxha’s bunkers sporadically emerged from the soil like mushroom caps, near where the marine archeologists discovered the submerged village on pilings. Perhaps Hoxha’s paranoia was justified, but he was several millennia late.
“The old timers say on a stormy day like this you can hear their cries on the wind when you pass through Borove,” our host commented mysteriously as he learned of our plans to drive along the SH75 towards Voskopoja and then Korce. Evidence of Albania’s new investments in its road infrastructure to support tourism in southeastern part of the country were visibly apparent, with bridges being repaired, as well as sections of the road being widened, and repaved along our serpentine route through beautiful, forested mountains. The mountains finally receded behind us as we coasted downhill into a wide valley with gently rolling hills.
As we rounded a bend, a tall brooding silhouette loomed over the road. The statue of two resistance fighters captured in a decisive moment of attack commemorates the July, 1943 partisan ambush of a German troop convoy through the valley, near the hamlet of Barmash. The battle raged for hours and left 60 enemy soldiers dead, and numerous vehicles destroyed. Sadly, the second part of this event revealed itself several miles away in the larger village of Borove. Here stairs on the outskirts of the village quietly led to the top of a knoll and the Memorial i Viktimave të Masakrës së Borovës. This heart-rending site contains the graves of 107 men, women and children massacred the next day when Nazi troops returned to the area and set their village ablaze in retaliation. It’s a moving memorial, and we stayed until a pounding rain forced us back to our car.
Farther along we passed through Ersekë. It’s one of Albania’s highest towns, sitting at an elevation of 3,445 ft on a high plain, in the shadow of the Greece’s Pindus mountain range. This southeastern part of Albania is very remote, and the village so close to the Greek border, that during the communist era villagers were prevented from leaving the town, on the fear that an abandoned village on the border would invite Greek expansionism. The town is most noticeable for its well-maintained communist era minimalistic architecture.
Reaching Korce we turned west onto SH63 and headed back into the mountains, our destination, the ancient Orthodox churches of Voskopoja. Light rain turned into 3 inches of wet snow as we drove higher into the mountains. This didn’t particularly faze us as we both have decades of experience driving on wintry roads in northeastern United States. But the drastic change of weather did, considering 10 days earlier, when we arrived in Tirana we rejoiced in 80F weather for several days earlier in the month. The saving grace – there were literally no other cars on the road.
On a snowy Sunday afternoon in late April we practically had the whole town to ourselves. It was quite serene and beautiful with the fresh snow clinging to the trees, and tufts of spring greenery poking through the snow on the ground. We found Saint Nicholas Church and gingerly made our way down the puddled walkway to shelter under the exonarthex and shake the snow off our jackets before entering the sanctuary.
The walls of this covered porch area were painted with illustrative religious stories designed to visually educate the illiterate, warn the sinners, and inspire the devout, before entering the church. Sadly, the frescoes show the scars from being vandalized during the Ottoman era, but their beauty is still evident.
We had expected a caretaker to be present, though no one was around, but the door to the church was unlocked and we entered. The ancient cavernous space was barley lit with only two bare bulbs and the light from several small windows, but it was enough to see that every surface of the whole interior was beautifully illuminated in ancient orthodox iconography.
Liturgical music was faintly audible in the background as we admired the artisitic vision and faith that inspired this moving creation. Constructed in 1721, the frescoes are attributed to the painter David Selenica, and his assistants, the religious brothers Constantine and Christos.
This team also famously painted religious iconography in the monasteries on Mount Athos. It’s amazing the church survived several centuries of turbulent history, only to be atrociously used as a storage depot during the communist era. The church, as beautiful as it is, was also a little spooky with centuries of candle soot covering the walls and gilded wood-carved iconostasis. Afterwards we headed to Kisha e Shën Mëhillit, the Church of Saint Michael, 1722, just on outskirts of the village and found it surrounded with scaffolding. Though disappointed, this was an encouraging sign that restoration was under way. Unfortunately, the road leading to the Church of St. Elija, the last church built in Voskopoja in 1751, was under repair and a muddy mess that deterred us from reaching it. But we did get to view the Shënepremte Church perched on a hill above an old Ottoman era bridge. By mid-afternoon our stomachs were growling and we feared there wouldn’t be a place open to eat in the village. (This is an issue during off-season travel when many establishments close. It’s wise to bring snacks along.) Luckily, we found the Taverna Voskopojë open, and full of activity that Sunday afternoon. Their lakror, a pastry-style traditional Albanian pie, filled with ground meat or vegetables, is common to the Korçë region, and was delicious. The house wine was also very good.
First mentioned in 14th century historical records, Voskopoja was once one of the largest cities outside Istanbul, and the most important trading, cultural and religious center in the Balkans from the 1600’s to the 1800’s. It was during this height of prosperity that the city had an estimated population of between 30,000 – 60,000 and supported 26 Orthodox churches richly decorated with Byzantine frescoes; the only printing house in the Balkans; and a New Academy or Greek school. Its influence and wealth stemmed from metal smithing, wool processing and tanneries. Merchandise from these industries supplied the traders that traveled along the Tsarigrad Road. The road was an old caravan route that connected Rome to its colonies in Sofia and Plovdiv, Bulgaria, before reaching Tsarigrad, the Slavic name for Constantinople. In later centuries the route passing through Voskopoja connected it to the Venetian ports on the Adriatic Sea and Belgrade.
The armies of Rome, the Huns, and the Ottoman Empire also followed this route through Albania and in the process brought new ideas and religions with them. During the Middle Ages the Christian Byzantine Empire encouraged the spread of the Eastern Orthodox religion into the Balkans along the ancient trade route, which was most famously followed by the early evangelists Cyril and Methodius. They made tremendous inroads with the pagan Balkan tribes by leading Mass, not in Latin, but in the Slavic language, an act many church leaders in Rome considered blasphemous at the time.
Voskopoja flourished peacefully under the Ottoman Empire’s millet system, where “Christians and Jews were considered dhimmi, protected, under Ottoman law in exchange for sworn loyalty to the state and payment of the jizya, a religious tax on non-Muslims,” until the 1768. Then the Russian-Ottoman war fueled an anti-orthodox sentiment and the government in Istanbul allowed Voskopoja in 1769 to be sacked and burned by Muslim tribes from the Dangëllia region around Përmet. The city was rebuilt, but twenty years later it was attacked, and razed to the ground again by the notorious Albanian warlord, Ali Pashë of Tepelena in 1789. After this the town never recovered its former glory and folks moved away to Korce and Berat, or farther afield into Bulgaria and Romania. It received additional damage during World Wars I & II. The final blow came in 1960 when a massive earthquake leveled many of the centuries-old churches, leaving only 5 standing in various states of disrepair. Today, the surviving churches are listed on the World Monuments Fund’s Watch List of 100 Most Endangered Sites. Only 600 year-round residents live in Voskopoja now, but this hidden gem is slowly being rediscovered and recognized as an interesting tourist destination for its many cultural and outdoor activities.
We drove back towards Korce under clearing storm clouds which dramatically revealed freshly snowcapped mountains dappled in sunlight. Situated in a wide fertile valley surrounded by the Morava mountains, Korce and the lands surrounding it were once the property of a feudal family in medieval times. Like Voskopoja, it benefited from trading with the caravans that trekked across routes to Thessaloniki in Greece, Istanbul and Southern Russia.
Traces of this industrious past can still be found along the cobbled lanes in the town’s colorful, old bazaar section, where deep-rooted merchants and craftsmen now share the lanes with cafes and chic shops.
A short walk away is Albania’s second oldest mosque, the Iljaz Mirahori. It’s named after the founder of Korce, and dates from 1496. Its original minaret was taken down during the communist era and not rebuilt until 2014.
The wide pedestrian mall, Bulevardi Shen Gjergji, which runs through the center of the city, along with the town’s many parks, helped Korce earn the moniker as “the Paris of Albania,” after the city was occupied by French troops during World War I.
With French support the local region existed briefly as the Republic of Korçë, from 1916-1920. In 1887, Mësonjëtorja, or the Albanian School, opened its doors to students on Bulevardi Shen Gjergji and taught students the Albanian language. This was a milestone in the Albanian National Awakening movement of the late 1800’s because until then giving lessons in the Albanian language was done in secret since Turkish was the official language under Ottoman rule.
Across from the pedestrian mall the Katedralja Ortodokse “Ringjallja e Krishtit,” aka, the Orthodox Cathedral “Resurrection of Christ,” grandly commands a plaza. Constructed in 1995, in Byzantine Revival-style, it is the largest orthodox church in Albania and replaces the St. John Church, which Albania’s former communist regime destroyed in 1968. It has a splendid interior covered with vibrantly new, orthodox religious imagery.
Anchoring the far end of the plaza, like a lighthouse on the ocean, is a modern seven-story skyscraper, the Sky View Hotel. It is the tallest building in Korce, and its architecture is very incongruous with the rest of the city, but that difference makes it very refreshing, and symbolizes Korce’s progressive future. It also had the best vantage points from its top floor restaurant, and our room, for taking pictures of the church and the surrounding snowcapped mountains. During our stay there we were surprised to learn that we were the hotel’s only guests on a Sunday and Monday in late April. Our room was very comfortable, and we enjoyed our stay. Additionally, it was very budget friendly, free parking was available on the street, and the staff was very nice.
The next morning, we drove into the foothills above Korce to the small village of Mborja. It took only 8 minutes to get there, but when we entered the Church of St. Mary it seemed like every minute of travel time transported us back a century. There is not a definitive record of when the Church of St. Mary was built, but it’s believed the small church was first constructed in 896 to honor Pope Clement I, and is the oldest Orthodox church in Albania. Later renovations were added in the 14th century.
We had entered the small, fenced yard that surrounds the church only to find its door locked tight. Luckily, two local women were walking by and acknowledged our dilemma with that global twist of the wrist, as if opening a door with a key. They motioned for us to wait and then headed downhill to the small produce shop we had just driven by. A few minutes later the guardian appeared. An elderly gentleman, he silently unlocked the door for us and invited us in. It was a small space, made even smaller by a solid stone wall with a half door in it which led to the altar.
It was difficult to bend so low, but I crouched down and entered. Donna followed. Whack! Ouch! “What happened?” “I cracked my skull on the door jamb!” Sympathetic to her injury, I tried to comfort her and divert her attention. “Babes, that was the kiss of God.” “Really!” “Yes, it’s in recognition for those twenty-four years of devoted service as a Methodist minister.” “Go away.” “Remember the Lord does work in mysterious ways.” A gentle elbow to my gut silenced me. Low doors were a common design feature of ancient churches built in areas prone to conflict.
The feature was used to prevent an invader from entering the sanctuary on horseback and defiling it. The compact interior was dark, but there was just enough light to see iconography on all the walls and the dome. The frescoes in the church are believed to be from the late 1300’s, and are in remarkably good condition, but the painter is unknown. The church is also an Orthodox pilgrimage site on Christ’s Ascension Day.
It was still well before noon when we reached to Kryqi Moravë, the Morovian Cross, which dramatically commands a mountain ridge above Korce. We had spotted it from miles away the other day as a ray of light caught it just right through clearing clouds. The parking area for it was only a 15 minute drive from Mborja. But the steep climb to the large cross and small chapel of Saint Elias on the ridge top took another 20 minutes.
The panoramic views over Korce, its valley, and the freshly snowcapped mountains were fantastic. You could literally see for miles all around. Back at the parking area we warmed ourselves with delicious cappuccinos at the Restaurant La Montagna. It’s a popular spot for folks to eat after spending a day hiking in the mountains.
On the way back downhill, we stopped at the Martyrs’ Cemetery on the hillside above Korce. It’s a beautiful location high above the city. The slope is lined with the simple graves of Albanian partisans who fought around Korce in WWII for the liberation of the country from German occupation. All the graves face west toward the setting sun. Many of the gravestones only contain a first or last name, and the year of death, the fighter’s year of birth unknown.
At the foot of the cemetery a monumental communist-era statue of a resistance fighter, with arm raised and fist clenched, stands victoriously over the city. It’s a powerful reminder of the ultimate price the partisans paid for what they thought would be a better future. These propagandistic communist statues can be found all around Albania and portrayed the communists as liberators, not the oppressors they truly were, who sent any political opposition to forced labor camps on trumped up charges of treason, and shot citizens who tried to escape the hardships of the regime for a better life elsewhere. It’s possible to walk from the city to the cemetery up a long stairway that starts at the top of Rruga Sotir Mero. Though the better way is to take a taxi up and walk down the stairway.
On the way back into the city for lunch in the old bazaar, we passed the Birra Korca. It’s Albania’s oldest brewery, capping its first bottles in 1928, and miraculously survived the communist decades as a state-owned business, though they ignored the old adage, “We know God loves us because he gave us beer.” The brewery and the city also host an annual Korca Beer Festival every August. It’s a week-long, city-wide event that draws thousands of folks to Korce.
In the old bazaar we sat outside at Taverna *Pazari i Vjeter* in a warm afternoon sun, and ordered, of course, two Korca beers, and some traditional dishes. Afterwards the waiter brought us Shahine plums. They are small sour green plums served as a digestive, and they were very tasty, much like a green apple. It was the first and only time they were offered to us in Albania, but if you have a chance to try them, go for it.
Traveling north or south in Albania is easy, as the roads follow the lay of the land between mountain ranges that run parallel with each other. Heading east away from the coast towards villages and small towns farther inland is a bit more difficult. Destinations that appeared relatively close on a map, from a bird’s eye view, often became a driving marathon following routes north or south until the rugged massifs conceded a mountain pass that was suitable for a road to be constructed across. Road tunnels did not exist during the communist dictatorship of Enver Hoxha. Though tunnels were extensively built across the country as part of Hoxha’s “bunkerisation” program, which constructed an estimated 173,000 military bunkers across the country. Fortunately, as tourism has blossomed, Albania has invested in its roadway infrastructure, and our route to Gjirokaster from Sarande benefited from it. We were able to traverse our way across the deep gorges of the Mali i Gjerë range along the recently opened Kardhiq-Delvin road and scoot under the 7,000 foot high massif through the mile long Skërfica tunnel. It was a beautiful and dramatic stretch of roadway with expansive views at every curve.
There is nothing subtle about Gjiokaster; it’s a gorgeous place. The ancient town’s beauty startled us like a slap across the face, as soon as we turned off the main road. The town rose from the Drino River valley up the steep eastern flank of the Mali i Gjerë mountains. Large fortified tower houses, known as kullëh, dating from the 17th and 18thcenturies, followed the topography and were built randomly across the slope, as if they were stepping stones across a river. These small family fortresses were built to protect against foreign invaders and violent feuds between Albanian clans.
Gjirokaster Castle centered the landscape atop a long thin ridge that protruded from the lower slope of the mountain. At the castle’s apex the red and black flag of Albania blew full out in the wind, its colors vividly contrasting against the verdant hillside.
Little is known about Gjirokaster’s early history, though archeological evidence suggests that the area has been inhabited since the 5th century BC, and that a smaller fortification in the 2nd century BC existed where Gjirokaster Castle now stands. Gjirokaster isn’t mentioned in any historic records until 1336 when a Byzantine chronicler noted it. By the early 15th century, the region was under Ottoman rule and Gjirokaster was an administration center. The town’s residents prospered from their industriousness in embroidery, silk, wool, flannel, dairy products, and livestock. The notorious Albanian brigand, warlord, and Ottoman governor, Ali Pasha of Tepelenë – more about him later – acquired control of Gjirokaster in 1811 and built the magnificent castle/fortress that crowns the city.
We were able to find parking on the street near the castle’s entrance, just after the site opened. Unfortunately, we were in the ticket queue behind a large student group on a school outing. But the line went quickly, and the students soon vanished into the cavernous lower level. Its high arched ceiling resembled the interior of a medieval cathedral more than any fortress we’ve toured previously. This was the ancient storeroom, barracks, and stable area. Today the open undercroft is used to display a collection of antiquated artillery pieces, tanks, and antiaircraft guns, that have been used in the conflicts of the past 200 years that have engulfed the country. Farther on there are rooms with exhibits about Albania’s complicated history over the centuries, the WWII resistance and folklore heroes. Especially moving was the tale of legendary Princess Argjiro, who, with her young son in her arms, is believed to have jumped from the castle wall to their deaths, to avoid imminent capture by the Ottomans.
Not wanting to miss anything, we climbed stairs in the museum and followed signs to a small military museum, that had an extensive collection of ancient swords, rifles and pistols. But, on our return walk we noticed a small discreet sign that pointed to the prison.
This part of the fortress was added in 1932 by King Zog, who ruled Albania from 1922-1939. The later communist regime under Hoxha filled it with political prisoners. It was a chilling experience walking the hallways and entering the cells where prisoners slept on the floor, without blankets, through the cold winter months.
The top level of the castle features a clock tower and also offers a fantastic 360-degree panoramic view of the Drino River and the Mali i Gjerë mountains.
Oddly, on display is the fuselage of an American fighter jet, whose pilot flew off course while flying over the Adriatic Sea in 1957 and violated Albanian airspace.
The pilot was forced to land at Tirana airport by two Albanian jets that intercepted it. These were the Cold War years, and the incident fueled Enver Hoxha’s paranoia that the West was going to invade Albania at any moment. He also used the event to further justify his “bunkerisation” of the nation. The castle is also the amazing venue for Albania’s National Folklore Festival. This event is held every five years and was first orchestrated in 1968 to celebrate the despot’s 60th birthday, in his hometown. An Albanian postage stamp, with his portait, issued in1968 also commemorated the occasion. After the castle we walked a short distance towards the mountains, to lunch nearby at Taverna Tradicionale Kardhashi. The restaurant is just 200ft past the intersection where several restaurant hustlers tried to steer us to different establishments. The owner was a gregarious fellow, and delights in sharing the tasty Albanian specialties that his nënë and gjyshja must have created in the kitchen. Our lunch was wonderful and very reasonably priced.
After lunch it began to rain as we headed to check-in at our lodging for the night, the Hotel Bineri. The hotel is conveniently located near the center of the Gjirokaster’s old town, and we specifically chose it because they offered parking. A huge part of Gjirokaster’s charm comes from its meandering archaic footprint that follows the natural lay of the land, but driving to the hotel along the town’s ancient cobbled alleys, that were built for horses drawing farm carts, was a nerve-wracking experience. Our mapping app was totally confounded by the one-way roads, and lanes wide enough to start down but then ended at a set of stairs or required K-turns to negotiate. We tried multiple routes. The fact that it was raining didn’t help. The one saving grace was we did not encounter any cars coming downhill as we were going up. This was such a relief as there was no room to pull over, and it would have required us to back down the alley. The lane ended as we reached the hotel. It was not obvious where to park, and we didn’t want to get ticketed, so Donna trekked up a tall flight of stairs to reception to inquire about it. It seemed the hotel was short staffed during the shoulder season, and the cleaning staff was manning the front desk. Eventually it was conveyed that Donna should inquire at the bar, across the street from the bottom of the stairs. “No problem, park behind my SUV over there.” But this was a difficult task that required us to pull forward and then reverse up a switchback driveway that paralleled the alley we had just driven up. There was barely enough room to squeeze by the SUV and there was no wall to prevent me from mistakenly putting two wheels over the edge. And did I mention it was heavily raining?
The Bineri is a very stately hotel, and our room was very nice, with great attention paid to fine woodworking throughout. However, we were dismayed when we realized a rambunctious student group shared the floor with us. After dinner the rain had stopped, and we wandered along the cobblestones of the five lanes that converge in the center of the old town. The stones still glistened from the earlier rain and reflected the lights of the shops and restaurants still open. The clock tower at the castle was illuminated against a royal blue night sky.
I’m hard of hearing, but Donna is a very light sleeper, and we inquired about a room change to avoid the loud students, only to be told the hotel was full. They graciously offered us a bottle of white wine and delicious orange peels soaked in honey for dessert, which we enjoyed in the restaurant until it quieted upstairs. Considering the price of our room, we are not sure if this was fair compensation for a poor night’s sleep. It was the third week of April, and overnight the rain had turned to snow on the higher elevations of the mountains around Gjirokaster. They brilliantly glistened in the morning sun. A week earlier, when we landed in Tirana, it was 80F for several days.
Very often gas stations along the roads in Albania are attached to a restaurant, and sometimes there will be a hotel too. These are not the iconic American greasy spoons, associated with truck stops. We found them to be surprisingly nice places to dine, especially if their parking lot was busy. The BOV station on the way to the Castle of Tepelena, was an exceptional place to stop. We enjoyed coffee on their patio which had a tremendous view of the confluence of the Drinos and Vjosa River.
The Castle of Tepelena dramatically commands a cliff face above the Vjosa River Valley. It’s a supremely strategic location with views of the valley extending for miles north and south. The flat river plane was a natural highway that has funneled invaders into the Balkans since antiquity.
A Byzantine fort first occupied this spot and was later expanded by the Ottomans and Ali Pasha. Ali Pasha was a figure in Albanian history, with an interesting background story. He was born in 1740, nearby in the small hamlet of Beçisht, into a family of notorious brigands. He followed his family’s business plan until the Ottomans, who embraced a philosophy of if I can’t defeat you, I will employ you, hired him into the administrative-military apparatus of the empire. A savvy and talented individual, Ali rose through the ranks and was eventually appointed Pasha of the region, the Ottoman equivalent of a governor, in 1788. He benefited from Albania’s remoteness from Constantinople and governed the region as an autonomous despot intent on enriching himself and his clan. He was intelligent, charming, charismatic, ruthless, and brutal. Captured enemy leaders were roasted alive. Men from rebellious villages were executed, the women and children sold into slavery to intimidate other villages into submission during the day while he entertained the likes of British poet Lord Byron and the French diplomat François Pouqueville in the evenings. He was a political opportunist who allied himself with anyone he thought served his interests. By 1819 Sultan Mahmud II had had enough of Ali’s deceit. Ali was captured and shot after a long siege of Ioannina, in Greece. His head was sent to the sultan and was publicly displayed, on a platter, in the sultan’s Constantinople palace.
Sadly, only the defensive walls that encircled the 10-acre fortress remain. Its mosque, barracks, and stables, along with Ali’s palace, which Byron one described as “splendidly ornamented with silk and gold,” have been lost to earthquake damage, and battles during WW1 and WW2. Now streets lined with small homes course through the site. Tepelena itself is a quaint town that’s worth exploring.
We had gotten off to an early start, as our destination for the end of the day was the Melesin Distillery in Leskovik, near the border with Greece, which also offered stylish, luxurious rooms. It was only 56 miles, 90 km, from the Tepelena Castle, but with a break for lunch and a stop at the Kadiut Bridge in the Langarica Canyon, it would take all day.
From Tepelena we followed the winding SH75 south along the Vjosa River Valley. It was a beautiful stretch of road, and we stopped many times to take landscape photos along the way. The valley narrows near the village of Këlcyrë, where in 198 BC the battle of the Aous raged between armies of the Roman Republic and the Kingdom of Macedon. It was an epic confrontation, and “the river ran red with the blood of 2000 dead and wounded.”
Aous is the ancient name for the Vjosa River which originates in the Pindus mountains of Greece, but from the Albanian border to the Adriatic Sea it’s called the Vjosa. The 168-mile-long waterway and its many tributaries are among the last free-flowing, wild rivers in Europe. And since March 2023, 50,000 acres have been protected as the Vjosa Wild River National Park to ensure that the rivers within its boundary will never be dammed, mined, or dredged.
Across the river, overnight snow had covered the Nemërçka mountain ridges, and the pure white snowcap gleamed between a deep blue sky and verdant mountain slopes. On the other side of the road, we spotted the green domes of Teqja e Baba Aliut, a Bektashi (an Islamic Sufi mystic order,) pilgrimage site in the remote mountaintop village of Alipostivan. The site commemorates Baba Aliut, a ledendary figure who is believed to have ridden a white horse from Mecca to Albania, to save the country from paganism. Key supporters of the the Albanian National Awakening Ba Baba Abdullah, and Baba Dule Përmeti are also buried at the site. Knowing about the shrine now, I wish we had included it in our plans.
We reached Përmet around noon and headed to Guri i Qytetit, a very large bulbous rock that protrudes from the terrain along the river, like a wart on a witch’s nose. It’s a geological feature unique to Përmet with stairs that lead to the top, where we interrupted two young teenagers sharing their first cigarettes as they sat on the ruins of an ancient watch tower. There was a great view of the Vjosa River and the town.
Nearby we found Sofra Përmetare, a small restaurant that was booming with a Saturday lunch crowd, and we needed to have our coffee outside before an inside table was ready. Our lack of Albanian didn’t faze the owner, and he proudly called his son over to explain the menu to us. His English was excellent, explaining that he studied it in school and watched American TV programs. We really enjoyed Albanian food, and appreciated that vegetable dishes were always available, and that French fries didn’t automatically accompany every meal. In the more rural parts of the country it’s important to carry cash, as many restaurants, shops, and gas stations do not accept credit cards.
The side road cut through a wide valley planted with orchards and field crops. We were headed to the Ottoman-era Kadiut Bridge, built in the 1600’s across the Lengarica River as part of a caravan route that connected the Albanian coast through Përmet to Korce, Thessaloniki, and Constatinople. Locally, oxen laden with timber cut in the mountains hauled their loads to Përmet, the quickly growing regional center, over the bridge.
The old stone Ottoman bridges are truly graceful with their high arch design. But the real draw for folks to the bridge are the Llixhat e Bënjës, thermal hot springs at its base. Even in mid-April there was a sizeable crowd in various stages of undress enjoying the warm water.
On the Saturday afternoon that we followed the SH75 to Leskovik there was very little traffic, but we did notice a number of roadside memorials to the victims of car accidents. While Albanians are very friendly, they are extremely aggressive drivers who, I speculate, pour raki on the driver’s rule book, set it afire with a cigarette, and toss it out the window while they are driving. A newly paved roadway rose into the mountains and we stopped at a scenic overlook, where a historic plaque noted another Battle of the Aous was fought in the valley below the towering Nemërçka mountains in 274 BC between the armies of King Pyrrhus of Epirus (Greece,) and King Antigonus II Gonatas of Macedon.
The road wound, zigged and zagged, climbed, and fell through tall pine forests that covered the mountain slopes before it summited and continued its winding descent to Leskovik. The drive along the river and through the mountains was beautiful and the area is full of potential for outdoor enthusiasts to enjoy rafting, camping and hiking in the Vjosa Wild River National Park.
Under a stormy sky when we arrived, it was difficult to believe that the Ottomans established Leskovik as a summer resort for wealthy officials who owned estates in the region when it was under their control. Fortunately, we were pampered with a wonderful stay at the Melesin Distillery, truly a five-star boutique hotel in the wilderness of southern Albania. Its eight guest rooms upstairs are well designed, and nicely appointed with stylish furnishings, and great amenities.
The distillery makes raki with locally harvested grapes, and gin flavored with juniper berries hand-picked in the mountains. Grapes have been grown in the region for centuries and the area’s wineries were productive and known for producing a strong red wine from Mavrud, an indigenous grape varietal, during the communist years.
But after the fall of the regime in the 1990’s and the economic collapse that followed, many people moved away to find work abroad, and the vineyards surrounding Leskovik were abandoned or destroyed. The Melesin Distilleryalong with theMax Mavrud Winery are hoping to reinvigorate the area’s historic winemaking tradition. Our dinner was excellent, as was our breakfast the next morning. On the plaza in front of the distillery there is a fountain shaped like a wine cask at the base of a stately tree, and a statue of Jani Vreto renown as an important figure in the Albanian National Awakening in the 19th century, and his epic poem, Histori e Skënderbeut, History of Skanderbeg, dedicated to Albania’s national hero.
The Melesin Distillery in Leskovik was the perfect way station before we continued onto Voskopoja for its Orthodox churches, and Korce.
Till next time, Craig & Donna
P.S. We only scratched the surface of GjiroKaster, and should have planned for a two night stay in the beguiling town.
With his eyes still focused on the newspaper spread across the steering wheel of his Mercedes, the caretaker acknowledged our presence, and his ambivalence to our disturbing his quiet routine, with a slight nod. His left index finger barely raised off the steering wheel confirmed the direction through the gate. He sipped from his thermos before turning to the next page of the Gazeta Panorama.
From Upper Qeparo we had made good time driving south along the Albanian coast, only stopping occasionally, as it was a grey day, to admire the dramatic, refreshingly undeveloped coastline. And by the time we walked around the exterior of the church at Manastiri i Shën Nikollës, Monastery of Saint Nicholas, in Mesopotamia, the caretaker was unlocking the ancient door to the sanctuary.
Built in 1224, above a 3rd century BC Greek temple, the church incorporated some of the ancient structure’s still-standing walls in a unique twin apse design, that accommodated Orthodox and Catholic religious services. Light cascading through pigeonhole venting high up on the exterior walls illuminated the interior and gave the wall’s ancient blue paint an ethereal patina. Sadly, the blue paint was applied over original frescoes during the Ottoman era when the church was converted to a mosque and human figures were no longer allowed in religious sites.
After 800 years the church is showing its age with cracks in the walls. A newer cinderblock column stood amid its arches to support the sagging roof. Gold and silver rimmed the icons hung on the carved wooden screen that separated the nave from a remarkable surviving frescoed altar.
Carved stone relief sculptures on outside walls of serpent dragons with their twisting tails tied in knots, as well as a lion, are attributed to the church’s ancient Greek builders.
The church and nearby foundation ruins of the monks’ living quarters are all that remain from what was once a large monastery, surrounded by a defensive wall with seven towers. Its stones were carted away long ago to Mesopotamia, and other nearby villages. We had planned to visit the Blue Eye, a crystal clear natural spring, only 30 minutes down the road, but a darkening grey sky deterred us.
Clearing skies greeted our late afternoon arrival at the Harmony Hotel in Saranda. While the freedom a rental car offers during the day is fantastic, the rental often becomes an expensive ball and chain when considering overnight parking options.Fortunately, during the mid-April shoulder season, the Harmony Hotel had plenty of parking right out front on a street that was as steep as those in San Francisco. Concerned that if the parking brake ever failed the car would roll downhill into the Adriatic, I curbed the wheels, a concern the receptionist thought was unwarranted. The local folks never curb their wheels, and no cars have rolled away to a watery grave. Still. The hotel is run by a wonderfully enthusiastic and friendly extended family that exudes hospitality. The sister-in-law guided us upstairs and down a freshly painted hallway, touching the walls every so often to make sure the paint had dried, to a crisp, all white room, with a balcony and a distant view of Corfu, Greece, on the horizon. It was the perfect romantic spot for two nights.
While we prefer touring in the shoulder season to avoid the crowds and heat of the summer months, one of the compromises we often encounter is the closure of many restaurants that would otherwise be open. Fortunately, the hotel’s restaurant was open, and surprisingly it was an unexpected fine dining experience that became one of the highlights of our vacation! We dined there both nights of our stay because the locally sourced seafood and vegetables were extremely flavorful, excellently prepared, totally delicious; Grilled octopus accompanied with a puree of eggplant and pistachio, Albanian Tuna with carrots and asparagus, and local Butrint mussels with fennel were beautifully presented. The restaurant deserves to be a destination in itself. We still remember these dinners as some of the best meals we’ve ever had. If you are staying in Sarande, head to the Harmony Restaurant – you won’t be disappointed!
After dinner our gregarious host joined us. And as we sipped raki, or rakija, together he explained this is powerful stuff with an alcohol content of 45-50%, or as high as 80%, especially if its homemade. Since it’s a traditional Albanian drink, many households pride themselves on their home distilled raki. He went on to explain that many countries have a strong distilled spirit: Mexico with its tequila, Italy has grappa, Greece ouzo, and Russia Vodka. But Albania’s raki is legendary and went on to illustrate it with a story. Three groups of friendly mice hailed from different countries. The mice from Mexico drank tequila and happily partied till morning singing Mariachi songs and dancing. The group of Russian mice, imbibing vodka all evening, became sullen, and eventually fell asleep with their heads on the table. But the Albanian mice, deep into their glasses of raki, become feisty and boisterous, and yell, BRING US THE CAT!! They proceed to chase the unlucky feline around the bar all night. There was also some speculation that Albanian raki might have fueled the first Russian space flight.
The next morning, we watched from our balcony, as the fast ferry from Corfu sped across the water as it headed to dock along the Saranda promenade. We followed it there after breakfast. The Saranda promenade is along a lovely part of the Albanian Riviera, where the coast bends like the crook of your elbow. The views of the beach, water, mountains and city were spectacular, with the sky speckled with cumulus clouds.
Fishermen sold their morning catch from the bows of their boats tied to the quay. A super-yacht cruised into the harbor and dropped anchor, not far offshore. Our “walk a little, then café,” philosophy brought us to the outdoor tables at Bar Restaurant Limani, on the waterfront.
Later that morning we headed south towards Greece and stopped in the beach town of Ksamil, on the Ionian Sea, to specifically visit that iconic swing set in the ocean, that’s symbolic of the area’s laid-back vibe and tranquility – at least during the day anyway. It’s set in the surf directly across from the Poda Beach Bar if you need a landmark.
The horseshoe shaped beach was a brilliant white, with gentle waves caressing the sand. The water was an inviting aquamarine that faded to shades of cobalt blue as the water deepened. Dipping our toes in the still cold Ionian Sea was as far as we got. In the background the Ksamil Islands separated us from nearby Corfu.
An easy 15 minute drive from Ksamil, we arrived mid-afternoon to the Butrint National Archaeological Park, a UNESCO site since 1992. Parking was easily found near the entrance, by the small car ferry.
Folks who want to see the old Venetian Castle across the waterway, and those traveling farther south to Greece, need to use the ferry to cross the Vivari Channel, which feeds water to Lake Butrint, really a salt water lagoon. For several millennium it was a vital artery, protected by fortresses on both sides of the waterway, for ancient shipping fleets that sought a safe anchorage in Lake Butrint.
The lake is surrounded by Butrint National Park which was established in the 1990’s to protect the wetland area that is internationally recognized as a supreme habitat for many different bird and fish species. Today the Vivari Channel’s nutrient rich waters continue to support many mussel farms that raise the unique Blue Butrint mollusks. Favored for their high nutrient content, mussels were an important food stock during the lean communist years. A great place to try them is nearby at the Mussel House, run by entrepreneurial Husein Mane and his family. Proudly it’s recognized as the 19th free enterprise business registered in Albania after the fall of communism.
Located on a bulbous peninsula, almost completely surrounded by water, this small defensive hill has been trodden upon since the bronze and iron ages. Later an Illyrian tribe left their detritus. it’s believed the first substantial improvements were made when Greek traders from nearby Corfu established a colony on the hill and built an acropolis in the 8th BC and called it Buthrotum.
The ancient ruins are spread across a beautiful park-like setting, with dirt paths following the riverfront, and winding between the monuments, under tall shade trees. It’s the perfect locale to release your latent Indiana Jones or Laura Croft. It’s obvious from the wonderful aesthetics of the landscape why a succession of civilizations have settled the land, and why the UNESCO literature describes the site “as a microcosm of Mediterranean history.”
After the Greeks, the Julius Caesar arrived in 48 BC and called the city Bouthrotos. I can imagine Caesar atop the hill standing next to Pliny the Architect and asking, “Pliny, what can you do with all of this Greek rubble?” Emperor Augustus renamed the city Colonia Augusta Buthrotumhe. The city thrived under several centuries of Roman rule, its coffers full from trade with the Western Roman and Byzantine Empires. It was during this period of prosperity that a bridge and aqueduct across the Vivari Channel were built. The aqueduct, a testament to Roman engineering, spanned the waterway and continued to a fresh water, mountain spring four miles to the east. Many substantial buildings include a Forum, Roman Baths with heated water, Capitolium, a Gymnasium complex, and a circular Baptistery with a splendid mosaic floor. The floor is covered with sand to preserve it, but it is occasionally revealed for several days each year. Temples dedicated to mythological gods were eventually replaced with a Christian Basilica. Villas of the wealthy dotted the lake shore.
Charles I of Anjou of the Angevin dynasty, aka the King of Sicily, who later named himself King of Albania too, wrestled control of Bouthrotos away from the Byzantines in 1292. The Angevin dynasty ruled the city for nearly 100 years before the Republic of Venice said, “let’s make a deal,” and purchased the city in 1386. This strategic decision gave the Venetians nearly total control of the Adriatic Sea. They reinforced their intent with the construction of a Castle, now the archeological museum, atop the ancient Greek acropolis, at the highest point of the hill. Defensive walls and towers along the shoreline, and a fort across the Vivari waterway were built to help protect their new possession, Butrinto, and harbor. Three hundred years of near continuous conflict followed with the Ottoman empire as it fought to spread its reach across eastern Europe, Greece and the Balkans. The city finally fell to the notorious Ottoman Albanian warlord Ali Pasha Tepelena in 1799, but was soon abandoned as the marshes around the peninsula were infested with malaria carrying mosquitos. Shepherds and their flocks wandered amid the ruins until the first archeological excavations began in 1928. The dig was funded by Italy’s Fascist government headed by Benito Mussolini, with the aim to extend Italy’s historic ties to the region, and support a case for Italy’s bid to annex Albania.
We enjoyed a wonderful afternoon exploring the ruins, and after also visiting the Apollonia Archaeological Park, we must say Butrint is a larger, and far more interesting site, w hich two thousand years ago the Roman writer Virgil described as being as beautiful as the ancient city of Troy, in his poem, Aeneid.
Back in Saranda, we watched the sunset as the ferry from Italy sailed across waters once rowed by the Greek, Roman, and Venetian galleys. We packed. The next morning, we headed to Gjirokaster.
We slowed to let a shepherd guide his flock across the road to Apollonia. An hour earlier the sky was brighter as we left Berat. Our intention for the day was to visit the Archaeological Museum of Apollonia before heading to Vlora, on the coast, and then continuing south to the Llogara Pass, for epic views of the Adriatic Coast before reaching our accommodation in Upper Qeparo, a semi-abandoned, old Albanian village, for the night. But the deepening grey sky was concerning. The sheep were now grazing on tufts of grass, growing in between parked cars, in the dirt parking lot at the foot of the hill below the archaeological park. A short uphill walk got our circulation going and brightened our mood. A large group from a bus tour followed their pennant waving guide uphill, towards ruins still hidden from view.
We turned in the opposite direction to investigate the Sleeping Saint Mary Church and its Ardenica Monastery, and entered its courtyard through an arched gateway with a heavy wooden door. Outside the refectory museum, staff had propped up large sections of a mosaic floor and were cleaning them with soapy water and a scrub brush.
The church and monastery date to 1282 when the Byzantine Emperor, Andronikos II Palaiologos, ordered their construction to celebrate his army’s victory over the Angevins during the defense of Berat a year earlier. Stones for the church, monastery and the other buildings that form a large defensive courtyard were quarried from the ruins of ancient Apollina.
As we walked around, it was interesting to see parts of old pillars, capitals and decorative elements randomly used amongst stone blocks to build the exterior walls. The Albanian national hero Skanderbeg and his bride Andronika Arianiti celebrated their marriage vows here in 1451.
It was this historical fact, and a fast-thinking priest, in 1967, that saved the church from the communist wrecking ball of Enver Hoxha’s atheist campaign to destroy churches across the country. The monastery building now houses a fascinating collection of antiquities from Illyrian, Greek, and Roman occupants of the city.
Founded in the 6th century BC, Apollonia was a prosperous seaport on the Adriatic Sea at the mouth of Vjosa River, and a strategic link on the Via Egnatia, a Roman road constructed in the 2nd century BC that connected the seaport to Constantinople, through what are now the modern countries of Albania, North Macedonia, Greece, and Turkey. The ancient city also grew wealthy from a trade route that followed the Vjosa River valley south and ended in Thessaloniki, Greece, on the Aegean Sea. At its height Apollonia was surrounded by two miles of defensive walls that protected a population of 60,000. The importance of the city slowly faded after a 243 AD earthquake altered the course of the Vjosa River and Apollina’s large harbor, which could hold 100 ships at a time, began to fill with silt. The city was eventually abandoned in the 4th century.
The archeological park is a vast site spread across rolling hills, but today the Temple of Apollo, with only its front façade intact, is the most complete ruin. Walking up the slope behind the temple, a panoramic view revealed fertile farmland separated from the Adriatic Sea by low hills, some of which had a series of doors carved into their hillside.
These are some of Hoxha’s estimated 750,000 military bunkers that the paranoid dictator built across Albania. At the top of the hill there was a very tranquil looking outdoor café/restaurant, that we pegged as the perfect spot for a break, but unfortunately it was still closed in mid-April when we visited. Fortunately, there was a second restaurant closer to the church that served excellent coffee, and was much appreciated on this chilly, damp day.
The weather refused to cooperate with our plans to explore the waterfront in Vlora, Albania’s third largest city, and we opted instead to have a quick lunch before driving on. Parking in this beach town can be particularly challenging, even in the shoulder season, and we opted for a cash-only, pay as you enter, parking lot. Surprisingly, the attendant was unable to break the bill we gave him, and he told us to wait as he disappeared around the corner at the end of the block in search of change. There were many expensive lunch options on the elegant, palm lined Rruga Aleksandër Moisiu, which hugged the beachfront in front of towering apartments. But this was lunch and it was just too dreary to sit outside. Fortunately, we stumbled across Taverna Dangëllia, a delightful place with an open grill, that was reassuringly busy on a weekday afternoon. We ordered a variety of traditional Albanian dishes, all delicious and inexpensive. Charmingly though, the one quirky thing about the place was the DJ, who fell asleep in his chair, as his music selections played on. Maybe Raki is the new melatonin.
While we were looking forward to some great views of the Adriatic from the route through the Llogara Pass, the grey day was challenging for landscape photography, and we decided to take a faster, more inland drive to Upper Qeparo along SH76. It was a more interesting drive than we had anticipated through the Shushices River Valley before crossing over the mountains to the Adriatic coast near Himarë.
We were zipping along when we suddenly passed a colossal arched memorial set back from the road. A quick U-turn brought us back to the Drashovica Monument. Erected in 1980, the monument was designed in the soviet art style that celebrates the collective effort and commemorates the Albanian resistance fighters who in 1920 liberated Vlora from the WW1 Italian occupiers who refused to leave, thereby defeating Italy’s plans to annex the country. The monument also commemorated the Battle of Drashovica in 1943, where communists and nationalist guerilla fighters united to defeat a larger German force, during a battle that lasted 20 days. Albania has a long history of fighting for its freedom, starting with Skanderbeg’s resistance to the Ottoman invasions in the 15th century and culminated with Albania liberating itself, without the help of the Allied armies, from Nazi occupation during WWII. Behind us an elderly man led a donkey down the embankment of the river toward the water.
Farther along we stopped at a narrow, suspended footbridge that hung over the river. It was a rickety lifeline to small hamlets tucked into the mountains across the river, the footbridge being their only route to the outside world. Though by the sheer number of sheep droppings at the beginning of the walkway it’s a fair assumption that shepherds move their flocks of sheep across it when they switch grazing pastures. That would have been quite a sight to see.
Just down from the bridge, set against a mountainous background, was a small cemetery with interesting headstones. Carved or etched into the granite blocks were photographic quality portraits of the deceased. Some were just tight headshots, while others were full length pictures that captured the individual in their traditional wardrobe. We found these stone tributes very moving.
We passed several other footbridges in various stages of collapse, as if they had been caught in destructive floodwaters. There was also an ancient stone bridge in the village of Brataj that I wish we had investigated, but the footpath down to it looked a little too rough for us to navigate. Shepherds ushering their livestock across the road were frequent occurrences. Though the most memorable herder was the gal in pink slippers urging her sheep into a different pasture.
An Albanian standoff happened in the middle of a bridge as a herd of cattle stopped traffic in both directions and refused to budge from the double yellow line, their owner nowhere in sight to encourage them to mosey along.
On the coastal road a small directional sign warned of the approaching turn to Upper Qeparo. We hesitated to commit as the lane looked more like a driveway between two buildings than a road suitable to follow up into the mountains. We cautiously followed the narrow sinuous road, dotted with homes built into the steep hillside covered with ancient olive trees, uphill around blind curves. We began tooting our horn occasionally now to warn any oncoming cars of our presence, after barely avoiding a fender-bender moments earlier. It was difficult enough on this roughly paved track to reach the village and we speculated about the villagers’ hardships when they only had donkeys or horses to traverse the mountain.
Somehow the host of the small guest house we had made a reservation with overbooked, and by the time we arrived all the rooms were taken. Luckily for us, her neighbor Veronika, the owner of Te Rrapi I Veronikes restaurant across the street, also rents rooms above the tavern, and had one available for the night. The room, although basic, was immaculate, and the gleaming floors were so clean we couldn’t bear to walk on them in our dusty shoes. We left our dirty footwear at the front door, and our hostess seemed to appreciate our nod to her high standards of cleanliness.
There was still plenty of time before dinner to explore, and we set off. The ancient village is set atop a 1500’ high haystack-shaped hill surrounded by steep mountains covered in scree, like an isolated volcanic island surrounded by ocean. Across the ravine on the outskirts of the village, the stone ruins of a small outpost called the Ali Pasha’s Tower, and the town’s cemetery above it, almost dissolved into the landscape in the late afternoon light. Mention of the ancient village first appears in Ottoman records of 1431, and then 1583 when it’s noted the village had 50 homes. Though archeological evidence unearthed at Karos Castle, just a short distance beyond the tower, suggests that the area has been inhabited since the Iron Age.
Sadly, the village has endured an exodus since the late 1950’s when the Albanian government built the road along the coast, thereby providing services and infrastructure to a new village, lower Qeparo, which boosted its residents’ economic prospects. The aftermath of Albania’s economic collapse in 1997 forced most of the remaining townspeople of Upper Qeparo to emigrate to countries in Europe or overseas for better economic opportunities. The old folks who stayed relied mostly on remittances from abroad to survive. The future prospects for Upper Qeparo are improving, with more tourists now frequently visiting this charming village, and former residents returning after years working abroad and reinvesting in it.
A large Billy goat commanded a boulder above us when we turned to wander the labyrinth of alleys that comprise the old town. Like a sentry, he eyed us but let us pass unchallenged. Occasionally we cut a path through abandoned homes with their roofless rooms opened to the elements, carefully placing our steps to avoid falling through any deteriorated floor beams. Sometimes we passed a freshly painted door boasting new brass hardware. A look up revealed new windows and a renovation proudly underway.
Farther along a cow, chased by her owner, entered the alleyway through the door of a long vacant home. The interior opened to the sky, and grass as thick as pasture grew where the floor used to be. Every now and then, between the buildings, we glimpsed distant views of the Adriatic Sea far below. Fig trees opportunistically grew through open windows, and untended olive trees arched over our heads. A few teenagers lazily kicked a soccer ball against the belltower base of St Mary’s Church, constructed in 1796.
Veronika didn’t offer a menu, but she enthusiastically invited us back into her kitchen where she explained the traditional dishes that she had created that day for dinner, and we were not dissappointed. Later, on the restaurant’s veranda, we capped a great day with a splendid dinner and glasses of Veronika’s husband’s homemade raki. We slept well.
Moments before we had just flown over a crescent-shaped beach, its thin strip of sand brilliantly separating the rich, inviting blues of the Adriatic Sea from the verdant land of the Albanian coast. What we didn’t expect as we continued our descent was just how mountainous the terrain was. This turned out to be a characteristic of the land that we enjoyed tremendously, after realizing there really aren’t many straight roads in the country, and we’d be spending most of our three weeks in Albania driving winding through its mountains.
It was mid-April and 80F/26C as we sat outside the airport terminal enjoying coffees and the unseasonably warm day. “Do you really think you’ll need the thermal underwear you packed?” Donna chided, with a smile. “We’ll see,” I responded. At the rental car counter across the street, we reviewed our paperwork for the sedan and received the document we needed to drive the car into North Macedonia later on during our trip. “Now you have a city car, don’t drive on any restricted roads. The car has GPS tracking, and you will be fined if you do,” the rental agent explained. While we were aware that Albania did not have the best road infrastructure, we were not aware of road restrictions. We asked for a map showing the forbidden routes, but the agent didn’t have any, nor could he explain all the routes restricted. “Use your best judgement, if it’s a gravel road you should probably avoid it.” Which was not very helpful considering we’ve had lots of experience driving sedans to destinations that folks have said, “you’ll never make it there in that.” The rental agent also related that Albanians are very friendly, but terrible drivers. “Drive defensively!” he warned. We set off. My map app is set to default to no highways, and we followed a route along the perimeter of the airport, which also serves as an Albanian Air Force base, past a row of rusting, derelict MiG fighter jets and, for those aviation enthusiasts, several Antonov An-2, a legendary soviet bi-plane, first flown in 1947.
It was an interesting serpentine route through fields of grazing sheep, the roadway sporadically lined with irises in bloom, flowering orange trees, their scent filling the air, and fig trees laden with newly set fruit. Groups of old men sat at tables playing cards and dominos in vacant lots between mansions and shacks. A psychedelically painted, cold war era tank commanded a park along the road. As it neared the end of the workday and we got closer to Tirana, the roads became congested and wild, with drivers ignoring traffic signs and rules. Often it felt like a game of chicken with oncoming cars zipping into our lane to weave around creatively parked cars. Motorcycles were driven on sidewalks. Numerous speed bumps were the only deterrent preventing the roads from becoming the Daytona 500. In decades past, Tirana was a small town with an ancient footprint. It managed well enough during the country’s communist era when few people had the resources to buy cars. But now the city’s arteries are clogged and it’s ready for permanent gridlock due to the current number of vehicles.
With a car, there is always parking to take into consideration, and we lucked out with Lot Boutique Hotel, located on a narrow side street in the center of Tirana, because it had a small parking lot. The hotel recently had been nicely refurbished and was the perfect base for our wanderings around Tirana, the capital of Albania since 1920. Later after resting – jet lag affects us more as we age – we asked the front desk for recommendations for a traditional Albanian dinner. The young receptionist suggested two places: Ceren Ismet Shehu, a contemporary restaurant located behind the low ancient walls of Tirana Castle, in an area smartly repurposed for shopping and dining. And in the opposite direction Oda – Traditional Albanian Restaurantnearer the traditional daily market. We ended up eating at both on different nights. Each was excellent, but we preferred the simple, laid-back ambiance of Oda, its homestyle cooking, and inexpensive menu.
We’ve enjoyed all the cuisines of the different countries we’ve visited over the years, but surprisingly and refreshingly in Albania we found it very easy to eat a well-balanced meal. French-fried potatoes served automatically in other countries were replaced with the Albanian trilogy of lightly grilled vegetables: peppers, eggplants, and zucchini. And the customary salad of cucumbers, and tomatoes with brined cheese were always good. Grilled meats and fish were expertly prepared, though it was also easy to be a vegetarian sometimes and indulge in a variety of eggplant dishes.
The next morning, we headed to Skanderberg Square. Next to the Et’hem Bey Mosque, built in the early 1800s, but closed during the anti-religion decades of communism, we climbed 90 steps to the top of the 115-foot-tall Clock Tower of Tirana. For decades during the 19th century, the tower was the tallest structure in Tirana. Unfortunately, its once 360-degree view has been hemmed in by the rapid construction of new buildings nearby, but it did have a view over Skanderbeg Square, and the rooftop garden atop Tirana City Hall.
Before its renovation the plaza was a traffic circle with one side hosting a larger-than-life statue of Stalin and the other side a colossal 30ft tall sculpture of Albanian’s paranoid and isolationist communist leader Enver Hoxha. The 1991 student protests on the square, along with other demonstrations across the country, helped bring an end to 46 years of repressive communist ideology and failed economic policies. Stalin’s statue was replaced with a heroic sculpture of Skanderbeg, the 15th century nobleman who rallied Albanians to repel Turkish rule and defeated 13 Ottoman reinvasion attempts.
Hoxha’s statue was replaced with a public toilet. Centuries of conflict and resistance have defined Albania’s history and is reflected in a large, emotive mosaic above the entrance to the National Historical Museum. The Palace of Culture, the Opera & Ballet Theatre, and several government ministry buildings, designed by Italian architects in the 1930s, also line the square. Surrounding the plaza, an array of new construction projects are rapidly changing Tirana’s skyline. The city is having its moment as tourists rediscover this once isolated country, with its paranoia of the west, and shunned by its communist neighbors.
Spotting a belltower through the trees, we headed to the Resurrection of Christ Orthodox Cathedral, built between 1994 and 2002 to celebrate the revival of the Albanian Orthodox Church. It is one of the largest orthodox churches in the Balkans, and is a testament to a renewal of faith that had been outlawed under communism, when churches and mosques were destroyed or desecrated, after Hoxha proudly proclaimed Albania “the world’s first officially atheistic state.” The church is dedicated to the apostle St. Paul, who is believed to have founded the Christian community of Durrës, on the Albanian coast, during the 1st century AD.
We wandered through Rinia Park, a popular green oasis in the center of the city that is known for its Taiwan Musical Fountains, which were unfortunately still winterized when we visited. Afterwards we headed to Rruga Murat Toptani, a shady, treelined pedestrian-only lane with many outdoor cafes and restaurants, offering traditional Albanian food and various international cuisines. We enjoyed a light lunch and a local craft beer under the shade of a sun umbrella at the Millennium Garden.
Bunk’Art2, an eye-opening reminder of the perils of the despotic leader, Enver Hoxha, and the communist police state he created in order to stay in power for forty years, was nearby. It’s a large nuclear bomb-proof bunker in central Tirana, that was connected to various government ministries with tunnels for top officials of the regime to escape through. It was also an interrogation center for the Sigurimi, Albania’s Communist-era secret police force, which spied upon the country’s citizenry, and imprisoned anyone considered an opponent to Hoxha’s policies or authoritarian rule. Across the country 23 prisons were built to imprison 17,900 political prisoners.
Thirty Thousand people were sent to internment camps, and it’s believed over 14,000 were killed, died or worked to death from forced labor, often in dangerous mines. 6,000 are still missing. Often it was not just the individual who was jailed that suffered, but his family would be surveilled for years afterward, and his children would be denied educational opportunities. In Tirana the secret police kept 4,000 people under constant surveillance. The border was heavily patrolled with guard dogs and soldiers authorized to “shoot to kill,” as anyone trying to escape the country was viewed as an enemy of the state, and punishable for treason.
Only the most loyal communist families were allowed to live along the borders. Small villages were forcefully abandoned. The villagers were sent to larger cities were it was easier for the Sigurimi to watch for dissent. The mushroom shaped dome above the entrance to Bunk’Art 2 is symbolic of Hoxha’s paranoia, which manifested as a building campaign to construct an amazing 175,000 + bunkers of various sizes, across the country. Most of them are only big enough for 2-3 people, but they were placed in strategic spots along Albania’s borders to protect the country from foreign invasion, not only from the western powers, but also from Yugoslavia or the USSR. Others were placed in the mountains, farm fields, road intersections and parks, with the intention that Hoxha’s loyalists would man them in a time of crisis. The irresponsible cost of building the bunkers, from which shots were never fired, diverted Albanian funds away from other needed projects and ensured Albania’s position as the poorest country in Europe. The communist government collapsed in 1991, and in the following years, more than 700,00 Albanians emigrated to find better opportunities in Europe or farther afield. Remittances from the Albanian diaspora to family still in the country amount to 14% of Albania’s Gross Domestic Product.
Our eyes needed a moment to adjust after resurfacing from the labyrinth of Bunk’Art 2, but if the construction boom underway in Tirana is an indication, Albania has thrown off the shackles of its communist past and is embracing the prospects of an exciting new future. Heading back to our hotel for a short rest before going to dinner we detoured into the Toptani shopping mall. A nine-story tower dedicated to the “shopping therapy” philosophy of capitalism.
The next day we headed to the New Bazaar market area, only a five-minute walk from our hotel. On the way we passed impromptu sidewalk vendors, their crops and merchandise displayed on blankets or sheets of cardboard on the street, hoping to make sales to folks before they reached the daily market. The covered bazaar centers a plaza surrounded by restaurants, cafes, cheese shops and butcher stores. Under its roof, stands filled the space with vendors selling vegetables, olives, honey, and fruit. Women crocheted wool socks as they waited for customers. We browsed tables piled with rugs, displays of tools, pottery, vinyl records, and books, along with knickknacks, questionable antiques, and surplus Albanian army helmets. The time flew by.
Tirana is a wonderful, midsize cosmopolitan city with a population of 375,000 people, with many parks, tree lined streets, and older buildings, mostly under five stories tall. New high-rise buildings rise from the old neighborhoods across the city. It was an interesting and delightful place to wander around.
We passed ruins of Tirana Castle’s ancient defensive wall, dating to the 1300s, in the park next to Namazgah Mosque, the Great Mosque of Tirana. Completed in 2019, the mosque is currently the largest in the Balkans, and capable of holding 5,000 worshippers. The Muslim community was also persecuted under Hoxha’s anti religion policies, with many religious leaders killed or imprisoned, and 740 mosques destroyed around the country.
Nearby stood the 18th century Ottoman era Tanners’ Bridge, a stone arch across the Lana River that was used by farmers to bring produce into the city and livestock to the butcher shops and tanneries along the river. Farther away we crossed the ETC Bridge, a beautiful pedestrian only walkway over the Lana that is also a free wifi hotspot. The city’s tallest skyscraper, Downtown One, a 37 story, mixed used building with a very distinguishable cantilevered and recessed façade, stood in the background.
Our destination was the Pyramid of Tirana. Planned by Hoxha to be a memorial to his legacy as the Enver Hoxha Museum, covered in gleaming white marble, it opened in 1988, three years after his death. It was designed by Hoxha’s daughter and her husband and at the time of its construction thought to be the most expensive structure ever built in Albania.
Most likely forced prison labor and compulsory labor were used for parts of the project. With the collapse of the country’s last communist regime in 1991, the museum was closed and the space repurposed as a conference center, then a NATO base. It eventually fell into disuse and was vandalized, and its marble covering stripped away. It was finally reincarnated as an IT youth center with classrooms housed in colorful blocks attached on its slope, and 16 staircases leading to the viewing platform atop its 70ft high summit. We climbed to the top and enjoyed the panoramic view.
A short distance away, Hoxha lived in a modest villa in the Blloku neighborhood. It was a secret district during the communist era, with housing reserved for the party elite, with entry forbidden to anyone else, and its road did not appear on any maps.
The Checkpoint memorial stands in the park down the street from his residence and features a bunker, iron mine shaft railings from the infamous Spac prison, and a section of the Berlin Wall. Subtle reminders of the brutality of communism.
For our last day in Tirana, we decided to head to the outskirts of the city to check out Bunk’Art1 before continuing into the mountains to Bovilla Lake. It’s easy to miss the turn into the long single-lane tunnel that leads to Bunk’Art1, an appropriate entrance to explore Albania’s past. After walking through a seemingly forgotten park, we entered a non-descript door in the side of an overgrown slope that hides the extensive maze of corridors and rooms of Hoxha’s secret command center.
We followed a short corridor to the nuclear blast proof doors set in walls 6ft wide, and into a decontamination room. We were five stories underground in the foothills of Dajti Mountain, near the village of Linzë. There are no windows, the lights flicker, and a sign warns the power could go out at any time! It was a massive facility designed to shelter hundreds of Hoxha’s military and communist comrades, for six months, during any war.
In Hoxha’s private quarters, we picked up a phone and listened to a recording of his voice. It was a sparse apartment, more prison cell than home, that lacked any warmth. Obviously, his wife wasn’t consulted. Other rooms displayed vintage equipment and weaponry. The isolation of having to live in this depressing environment would have been psychologically damaging; fortunately, the structure was never needed for war-time use and since 2014 it’s been a museum explaining Albania’s history from liberation by the partisans during WWII through Hoxha’s communist regime. The exhibits use amazing photographs and examples of nationalist propaganda from the country’s archives to great effect. The bunkers’ large meeting hall now hosts concerts and art exhibits. Emerging from the darknes,s an amazing number of different bird calls filled the air, as if welcoming us back to the present.
Following our map’s apps instructions we followed a confusingly serpentine route across the rolling hills outside Tirana before reaching the road, SH53, that led to Bovilla Lake. In the beginning the paved asphalt road was fine, but after a while abruptly changed to graded gravel. Nothing unusual here. Though the farther we traveled into the countryside, we passed fewer cars; rather, we saw large dump trucks, laden with stone from a quarry, headed towards Tirana, filling the air with dust. The road progressively worsened the closer to the quarry we got, as the weight of the trucks pulverized the road surface and created numerous potholes that we had to slowly navigate around. We thought several times about turning back, but we had driven through the Andes in Ecuador, with a sedan, on worse roads. While the going was slow and extremely bumpy, we did eventually make it to the lake, actually a reservoir, and more importantly, Bovilla Restaurant!
The views were astounding! The restaurant was full, with hikers and day trippers from Tirana. The food was good, the beer cold. It was a journey well worth the effort. The car rental GPS tracker did flag us, and we were fined for driving on possibly the worse road in Albania. Fortunately, when we returned the car eighteen days later, after some Albanian-style dickering, we were able to politely negotiate a reduction in the fine.
There were numerous speed traps on the highway leading out of Tirana and most of the times when we passed one, officers were writing out tickets, so we drove well below the speed limit. We were on the way to Berat and it was well past our usual morning coffee break when we spotted the colorful reflection of Bashkia Belsh’s waterfront.
After parking, we strolled along the Belshi Lake shorefront past small shops and some interesting street murals to the town’s boardwalk. Being a weekend, it was full of families with young children. To the delight of many, small rideable electric toy cars were available to rent, along with balloon, ice cream and cotton candy vendors. A small ferry boat took folks on a short cruise around the lake, while others enjoyed the fine weather and strolled along the boardwalk or sat under the umbrellaed tables of the restaurants that lined it.
Closer to Berat we stopped at the Çobo Winery for a tasting that was accompanied by homemade cheeses and locally grown olives. Vintners of white, red, and sparkling wines and raki, they are regarded as one of the best wine producers in Albania.
It’s a small family vineyard with a 100-year tradition spanning four generations, that was sadly interrupted during the communist era, but since the 90s has grown production from 8,000 to 100,000 bottles per year. It was a nice break from our driving, and we enjoyed relaxing under the ancient olives trees in the their courtyard. The wines we tasted were very good and we purchased four to bring home in our luggage, and I’m happy to say they all made it back safely to the states.
We reached Berat Castle just as the golden hour was approaching. We walked along its cobbled lanes, past homes surprisingly still occupied by about 400 people who live in 13th century citadel. But its history extends much farther back, with Roman records noting capture of the castle in 200BC. Archeological evidence shows the site has been inhabited since 2600-1800BC, making it one of the oldest settlements in Albania.
We worked our way to the overlook above Berat, passing the ruins of the Red Mosque, built in the 1400s after the Ottomans captured Berat, and Kisha e Shën Gjergjit, an orthodox church that’s been neglected since the communist ban on religion.
The panoramic view from the overlook out over Berat, the Osumi River below, and snowcapped 7900ft Mount Tomorri in the distance was stunning. Walking back along the ramparts we enjoyed watching an energetic dog race along the narrow top of the wall, chasing a stick his owner tossed up for him to retrieve multiple times. On the western slope of the castle, between the outer and inner defensive walls, Kisha Shën Triadha, a beautiful red brick, 14th century Byzantine church graces the hillside.
We wanted to stay on the “City of a Thousand Windows,” hillside under the castle, but didn’t want to drag our suitcases too far up the narrow alleys, and we had a car that needed parking. With those considerations in mind The Beratino Hotel fit our requirements perfectly and was great place to stay for two nights. Recently renovated, its stone and woodwork exemplified the best of Albanian craftsmanship. Still the shoulder season, in mid-April, I think were the hotel’s only guests.
Sated from our afternoon wine tasting we walked into the newer part of Berat, now a small city of 47,000, along the pedestrian only Bulevardi Republika, next to Lulishtja park. It had a lovely Neapolitan vibe, with families enjoying the Albanian tradition of “xhiro,” to stroll with friends, relax and enjoy the outdoors after dinner. At a small shop perfectly named Bakery & Food we purchased Burek, a traditional Albanian pastry made with various meat and vegetable fillings. We purchased their spinach burek, reputed to be the best in Berat, some even say the best in Albania. The quest for the best byrek, burek, or borek in Albania might be the catalyst for a return trip to the country. Back on the balcony of our room we enjoyed a glass of wine, and the burek was delicious.
The next morning, we were up early and walked across the suspension bridge linking the old town with the southern Gorica “Little Village,” across the river. From this vantage point we spotted the Kisha e Shën Mehillit, St. Michael’s Church, an Eastern Orthodox Church, built on the steep rock face under the flag that flies above Berat. Thought to have been built in the 14th century, the setting of the red brick and stone church pricked our curiosity and we decided to hike there. The alley that led to the church was only a short distance away from our hotel but wound quickly up the hillside past homes and small inns.
We admired the strength of workers we passed carrying long wooden beams on their shoulders up the hill for a renovation project. We zigzagged higher up the hill, now looking down on the rooftops below, the trail looking like it hadn’t been trodden upon in ages. Unfortunately, the sanctuary was closed, but the views of the church with the river and mountains were well worth our effort.
Later that morning we drove to the small town of Çorovoda, the gateway to the Osumi Canyon. It was a beautiful drive on a bright spring day, and we stopped many times along the way to photograph the scenery.
Before reaching the town, we veered off into the mountains to Ura e Kasabashit “The Bridge of Master Kasa/Kaso,” a classic high arched Ottoman era bridge constructed in 1640 across a wide stream, by the chief engineer of the Ottoman empire, at the time, Albanian architect Reis Mimar Kasemi. It was part of an ancient caravan trade route across the rugged central Albanian mountains, that connected the Adriatic Sea port of Vlorë to Berat, and Korçë before ending in the Greek city, Thessaloniki. Almost 400 years old, it surprised us that it is still standing and we followed some other tourists across it. Farther up the road from the bridge there are more abandoned military bunkers and warehouses, but we were bunkered out after Tirana and chose not to investigate them.
Our “drive a little, then café,” was way behind schedule when we stopped in Çorovoda at Drita e Tomorrit, a restaurant with a small park like setting.
South of Çorovoda there are number of fantastic viewpoints along the Osumi Canyon. The water in the canyon is an amazing turquoise and it’s easy to see why it’s a popular area for rafting and swimming in the summer.
Before returning to Çorovoda for a late lunch we stopped at Gjurma e Abaz Aliut, the Footprint of Abaz Ali, a small roadside shrine believed to have in the solid rock under its canopy an impression of Ali’s foot. Made when the Albania folk hero, with legendary strength and courage, jumped across the Osumi Canyon from this spot. The depression in the stone looked very convincing to me.
Back in Çorovoda we had an early laid-back dinner at Zgara Korçare. It’s a small restaurant with nice owners across the street from where we earlier had coffee. Their mixed grill was delicious and we enjoyed our first tastes of Birra Korça. A good refreshing light beer brewed in Albania since 1928. Gëzuar, cheers!
The next day we headed to the Apollonia Archaeological Park before driving south to the semi-abandoned village of Upper Qeparo, eager to explore the rest of this interesting and stunningly beautiful counrty.
Overnight showers had cleansed the air, the morning was brilliant with sunshine, and the deep blue sky was checkered with fair weather clouds. We were road tripping west through flat farmlands and pasturelands, which were lined with rows of beech trees to protect the land from the ferocious winds of winter storms. The landscape was dotted with Normande, a breed of dairy cow descended from the cattle that the Vikings brought with them when they settled in the area during the 9th century. A white cow, speckled with brown patches, this breed is favored for its milk’s high fat content, which lends itself perfectly for making CHEESE! More specifically the PDO (Protected Designation of Origin) Camemberts, Livarots, Pont-l’Evêques and Neufchâtels that the Normandy region is famous for. Small signs for fromage and cider pointed down many dirt lanes that spurred off our route.
We were heading to the white cliffs of Fecamp and Yport, in the Seine-Maritime department of Normandy, on the English Channel. While planning this trip we read about high season – over-tourism running rampant across France. Crowds don’t appeal to us, so we’ve been planning our travels to coincide with a destination’s shoulder season for a while now. The articles also suggested visiting places off the usual tourist radar, which is how we came across Fecamp and Yport, our stops before reaching Étretat. In hindsight we should have planned a full afternoon or overnight stay in Fecamp, as the quick glimpses of the Palais Ducal, now ruins, and the Holy Trinity Abbey, as we drove through the historic center, revealed a pretty town and looked intriguing, worthy of further exploration.
Our “walk a little then café,” becomes “drive a little then café,” when we have wheels, and by the time we entered Fecamp it was time to satisfy that late morning craving. Parking in unfamiliar towns is always a challenge, and on a busy Saturday even more so, but we lucked out and found both a parking space and great café near the harbor. The sunny outside tables at Le Coffee de Clo were empty so we were surprised when we entered to see a lively shop nearly full of people busily enjoying the decadent sweet creations we had stumbled across. More muffin than pastry, the baked goods and excellent coffee here are the only excuse you need to detour to Fecamp.
Walking back to the car, we spotted the Chapelle Notre-Dame du Salut, across the harbor, high atop Cap Fagnet. It’s believed that Robert the Magnificent, an 11th century Duke of Normandy, constructed the church in thanks to God for surviving a shipwreck in the waters below the white cliffs of Cap Fagnet. It’s been a pilgrimage site for fishermen, sailors, and their families ever since.
The views from the terrace in front of the church of Fecamp’s harbor, and the southern half of La Côte d’Albâtre, the Alabaster Coast, take in an 80-mile stretch of white cliffs between Etretat and Dieppe on the Normandy coast, that mirrors the distant White Cliffs of Dover across the channel. Locally the cliffs around Fecamp are known as le Pays des Hautes Falaises, high cliff country.
In 1066, William of Normandy set sail from Fecamps’ harbor with a fleet of more than 700 ships, partly financed by the Abbott of Fecamp, to claim the Crown of England, which he had inherited, but this was being contested by Harold, a pretender to the throne. The issue was settled at the Battle of Hastings when the former became King William the Conqueror. It was also reassuring to learn that the Fecamp monks transitioned away from being international arms merchants, and segued into a more appropriate occupation – running a distillery in the 16th century, that produced a 27-herb flavored liqueur that would become popular in the mid-1800s and sold as Le Grand Bénédictine.
Eight hundred seventy-eight years after William set sail, on June 6, 1944, during WWII German fortifications along the Côte d’Albâtrefailed against an allied amphibious invasion fleet of over 7000 ships and landing craft. It was the beginning of the end of WWII. Scrambling to the top of an abandoned bunker provided us with the perfect vantage point for photos of the coast.
By the time we arrived in Yport the clouds had thickened and were threatening to rain. To our dismay, it poured just as we were parking by the beach promenade. Fortunately, it was an intense but brief shower that cleared into a cloudless sky and revealed a quaint picturesque hamlet and shining white cliffs towering above the sea.
The cliffs along the seafront have been eroding for eons, creating in certain spots deep, long ravines that funneled torrents of water, laden with sand and stone through the cliff face to the ocean, which created beaches in certain places over the ages. These narrow valleys are called valleuses, and the small coastal fishing village of Yport started in one during the Neolithic era.
Without a harbor, fishermen pushed their small boats across a pebbled beach and rowed out through the waves to pursue their livelihood. They repaired their boats and mended their nets on the beach at the foot of the town. This way of life supported the villagers for centuries. Only the invention of the small outboard motor in the early 1900s eased their physical effort, until the 1960s when tourism and a small casino replaced fishing as the town’s driving economic force.
In 1838, the tightly knit community decided to build a church. Men, women, and children gathered tons of smooth stones from the beach, carted them 500m inland, and proudly worked together to mix cement and build the center piece of their town. Horizontally striped with alternating layers of colored beach stones, the façade of the church is beautiful, and unique in Normandy. It is a true testament to the power of community spirit.
By the mid-1800s Parisians seeking a more relaxing retreat than Etretat were frequenting the quiet fishing village. The French painters Monet, Renoir, Schuffenecker, and Vernier visited and painted there, while the 19th century French writer Guy de Maupassant set his novel, ‘Une Vie,’ in Yport. Paths from the center of the town and from behind the casino lead to the cliff tops and join the popular GR21 trail that can be followed north to Fecamp or south to Etretat.
Regardless of how beautiful photos of the Falaise d’Avalare, they don’t rival the physical reality of the calling gulls, wind-swept hair, the whistling wind and the relentless sound of the surf crashing against the stoney beach.
Arriving late on a Saturday afternoon in mid-October, we were surprised Étretat was jammed with tourists. Parking is extremely limited here and finding a space is almost a competitive sport that ultimately just required us to sit in a row and wait for someone to return to their car. It sorted itself quickly enough and luckily, we were only a short walk from one of Étretat’s first lodgings, the Hotel Le Rayon Vert, which to our delight was directly across from the beach and Étretat’s promenade. After checking in, we headed to the top of the towering 300ft high cliffs for sunset, the first of many walks along this beautiful stretch of coast and the perfect way to work up an appetite.
If you have been following this blog, you’ll know my superpower is the ability to find a great pâtisserie, pastelería or pastry shop. It’s a great talent when the hotel wants 16€ per person for breakfast. In Etretat, the boulangerie patisserie “Le Petit Accent” exceeded all expectations!
Set high above the town, it was a steep uphill walk to the Jardins d’Etretat. This whimsical topiary garden, with playful faces as “Drops of Rain,” by the Spanish artist Samuel Salcedo, more so than the Falaise d’Aval, was the catalyst for visiting this seaside resort.
This magical spot has its roots over 100 hundred years ago when a villa and garden were built here by Madame Thébault, a Parisian actress, and friend of the impressionist painter, Claude Monet. Madame Thébault cultivated a circle of creative folks as friends, and Monet along with other painters and writers were her frequent guests. It was from a patio in this garden that Monet found repeated inspiration to capture the essence Les Falaises à Étretat. His love of the area is evident in the nearly 90 canvases he painted depicting various scenes along the Normandy coast. But the Jardins d’Etretat today are a relatively new botanical masterpiece reopening in 2017 after an expansive reinterpretation led by the landscape architect, Alexander Grivko.
Across from the entrance to the garden, a tall soaring monument pointing skyward, elegant in its simplicity, commands a view out over the cliffs and the ocean beyond. This tribute commemorates the last sighting from French soil of the pilots Charles Nungesser and François Coli on May 8th, 1927. They were flying their biplane L’Oiseau Blanc, The White Bird, from Paris to New York in an attempt to be the first non-stop flight across the Atlantic Ocean and win the Orteig Prize of $25,000. But they disappeared somewhere along their route. It’s believed they made it across the Atlantic, but crashed into the dense wilderness forest of Nova Scotia or Maine. Wreckage of L’Oiseau Blanc has never been found and their disappearance remains an unsolved aviation mystery, that rivals Amelia Earhart’s story. If Nungesser and Coli had succeeded, they would have beaten Charles Lindbergh in the Spirit of St. Louis by twelve days.
The Notre Dame de la Garde stands alone on the slope below the Monument “L’Oiseau Blanc,” isolated on the cliffs like a small boat surrounded by a vast ocean, its spire like a lighthouse’s guiding beacon, visible far out at sea. It offers a welcome sign for the fishermen and sailors returning home. Unfortunately, it was undergoing renovation when we visited in mid-October.
Walking back through the village we found the Normandy architecture in Etretat intriguing. It encompasses many different styles and runs the gamut from ancient half-timbered buildings embellished with ornate wood carvings, to 18th and19th century designs utilizing the local hard flintstone and incorporating steep pitched slate roofs and turrets into their designs. All fascinating.
Etretat has been a popular destination since rail service began between the port city of Le Havre and Paris in 1847. Swimming or a day at the beach later became common place with the latest fashion, the full body bathing suits. While society folks were sunbathing on the stoney beach, there was a cottage industry of locals, called pebblers. They collected the beach stones for their high silicone content, which were then pulverized and used for various industrial purposes. It’s now illegal to remove any pebbles from the beach as they are vital natural protection against storm surges and marine submersion of the promenade built across the top of the beach, which is much easier walk on than trekking across the pebbly beach, where each footstep sinks into the loose stones and is exhausting to cross.
The classic 19th seaside resort continues to draw visitors, with the success of the French Netflix series Lupin, based on the writer Maurice Leblanc’s character, Arsène Lupin, the gentleman burglar. Leblanc’s former summer home, where he wrote some of his books, is now the Le Clos Arsène Lupin Museum. Some scenes were filmed locally, motivating a whole new generation to discover the white cliffs. The other French writers and composers who enjoyed their time in the quaint village include Victor Hugo, Guy de Maupassant, and Jacques Offenbach, all of whom are remembered with streets named in their honor.
We also enjoyed our time along the Côte d’Albâtre, but just seemed to scratch the surface of this beautiful part of Normandy.
We had narrowly escaped Paris’s evening rush hour as we sped away from Orly through the French countryside. Our destination is Rouen, an ancient port town on the river Seine with a pivotal role in France’s history since the Romans first settled along the graceful bend of the river there. It would be a restart to a trip cut short by covid in 2020.
The last light of the darkening sky reflected off the Seine, like a brush stroke of silver paint across a dark canvas, as we turned away from the river and entered Rouen. We are not fans of night driving, especially in a new locale, and our maps app had difficulty with the narrow one-way streets in the historic center of the city. Frustrated, we decided to park at the first opportunity. Miraculously the planets were aligned in our favor as we entered the Q-Park Palais de Justice Musée des Beaux-Arts, a massive unground parking garage that encompasses several subterranean blocks beneath a park in Rouen’s historic district. Not sure exactly where to park, something urged us to continue through the cavernous space until we found a garage attendant moments before he locked his booth for the night. Friendly and extremely helpful, he explained how their multiday ticket would be the best value for us. Yes, we were so lucky he spoke English. Our good fortune continued at street level when we realized we were only two blocks from our hotel. But we had arrived later than planned and the gate to Le Vieux Carré was locked. Fortunately, another guest was returning to the hotel at that time and let us in. “I saw several keys on the reception desk when I went out, and figured you were one of the late arrivals.” Indeed, a room key with our name on it was there waiting for us.
Early the next morning the unusual, but pleasant aroma of caramelized onions drifted in through our open window. With our tastebuds awakened and appetites whetted we headed out. “Walk a little, then café,” is how we like to describe our wanderings. Our first stop – coffee and pastries. It is France, after all! But where to stop? There’s an abundance of eateries in Rouen, thanks to the city hosting two universities and thousands of students. There were so many places that looked inviting, but the criteria for us first thing of a morning was a café with a table in the sun, a must in mid-October to help alleviate the day’s early chill. Once sufficiently caffeinated, we set out.
Flat as a crepe, Rouen was a walker’s delight and savory with explorations that pulled us in every direction. During the 9th century, Vikings pillaged and then stayed to become the first Normans, and the prosperous town of became the capital of Normandy in the 10th century. During the Middle Ages, conflicts in the region were nearly continuous, but the city somehow evolved into one of France’s gems, with its distinctive medieval half-timbered buildings and three towering, majestic churches which still grace the city’s skyline.
A who’s who of historical figures have crisscrossed Rouen’s cobbled lanes for centuries. The Anglo-French kings, William the Conqueror, a succession of King Henrys, Eleanor of Aquitaine and Richard the Lionheart viewed the city as their home away from home. In 1431, after inspiring her countrymen to rally against English expansionism, Joan of Arc was captured, tried, and burnt at the stake in Rouen’s Old Market Square. It wasn’t until the Siege of Rouen in 1449 when forces commanded by King Charles of France finally defeated the English. Later the French impressionist painter Claude Monet found inspiration in the city, featuring the Rouen Cathedral over thirty times as he put paint to canvas to catch its essence perfectly. With conflicts never seeming to end in Europe, somehow, this beautiful renaissance city, though deeply wounded, miraculously survived World War II. Most importantly perhaps, in March 1948, Julia Child had her first taste of French cuisine at Restaurant La Couronne, on Rouen’s central square, the Place du Vieux-Marché.
Open since 1345, La Couronne is France’s oldest inn. Savoring her Sole Meuniere, a lightly breaded fish dish flavored with fresh butter, lemon, parsley and capers, it was an experience she described “as the most exciting meal of my life.” Local oysters and a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé were also enjoyed. She was hooked and a Francophile was born!
The Rouen Lean is not a dance, nor the result of drinking too much wine, but the very obvious tilt exhibited by many of the city’s ancient half-timbered buildings constructed during the Middle Ages. Our hotel was a prime example of this with scarcely a wall or floor that was square, plumb, and level. But that was the charming character and ambiance we were looking for. The half-timbered building’s superstructures were constructed with huge square oak timbers held together only with mortises, tenons, and wooden pegs, while the nonstructural area between the supporting timbers was filled with bricks or stones and covered with plaster. Over the centuries it has proven to be an aesthetically pleasing and durable construction method used to build five to six story houses. Many of the buildings still retain a centuries old, carved wooden sculpture on the front of the building that represented a service or craft that was once conducted there.
Approximately two thousand half-timbered structures from the Middle Ages still stand in Rouen. The abundance of wooden buildings surprised us as most of our travels have been through the countries of Southern Europe, Portugal, Spain, and Italy, where stone was historically used to construct everything. In Rouen, scarce stone was saved for the churches and castles.
Even stone erodes over time and occasionally old churches need a facelift every few centuries, as was evident by all the scaffolding surrounding the15th century, Gothic style, Saint-Ouen Abbey Church, though with a selective camera angle I was able to eliminate most of the temporary platforms from our photo. But the difference between the areas covered by grime and the newly cleaned sections was phenomenal. The multiyear project is scheduled to be completed later in 2024. Though the interior of the church was closed the day we visited, we were able to watch a stone carver as she worked to create a new gargoyle to replace one beyond repair.
Rouen’s three main churches, Saint-Ouen Abbey Church, Église Catholique Saint-Maclou, and the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Rouen are all located a short distance from each other on the eastern edge of the historic district, but the journey through the narrow lanes connecting them and exploring many other splendid points of interest along the way made for a wonderful day.
After the abbey we window-shopped down Rue Damiette, admiring the handcrafted violins created by master luthier Sarhan Jean-Marc. Farther on, interesting antique stores lined the narrow lane. Behind us the abbey’s belltower rose over the street. A view that hasn’t changed significantly in centuries. One of the best examples of the “Rouen Lean” is at the end of the street across from Saint-Maclou and caused us to stop for a double take. How, we wondered, can these buildings still be standing?
There was a shortage of cemetery space in Rouen during the Middle Ages when the plague revisited the city repeatedly and 75% of its citizens died. At the time it was the custom to bury the dead only until their bodies decomposed.
Then the bones were exhumed and reinterned above ground in the ossuary Aitre Saint Maclou and the grave reused for the newly departed. Hidden away down a discreet side alley, the ossuary complex was expanded several times and functioned as a secondary cemetery until the early 1700s when the remains were removed, and the buildings were repurposed as a school for poor boys. Today the space houses a fine arts academy and exhibition space. Though it’s still a macabre place with skull and crossbones carved into its exterior timbers.
We rested with coffees at a café on Place Barthélémy in front of Saint Maclou. While a lovely spot, the coffees were overpriced to the point that we could have purchased lunch for two if we’d chosen a less touristy spot. Just a reminder, a block or two off the usual tourist routes and prices drop dramatically.
Rouen’s Cathédrale Notre-Dame has been the center of focus since the first early Christian converts built a temple in 395 AD, on the spot where the current church now stands. And, like the city, the church has a turbulent history. Charlemagne visited in 769, but those pesky Vikings couldn’t decide if they hated or loved the place, sacking it repeatedly in the 9th century, only to later claim the Duchy of Normandy as theirs and embrace Christianity after the Viking leader Rollo was baptized in the church and later buried there as well. Nearby, Richard the Lionheart’s tomb only contains his heart.
Romanesque architecture was the rage during the 11th century and William the Conqueror attended the consecration for the first of many expansions and renovations that would follow over the centuries.
More chiseling and hammering continued during the 12th century when successive Archbishops embraced the new Gothic style. In 1204, Philip II of France celebrated Normandy’s merging with his kingdom amidst the new Gothic renovations.
During the 16th century, a second tower in the Renaissance style was built and ornate stonework and hundreds of statues were added to the front of the church, creating the visage that remains today.
Later lightning strikes, hurricanes and Calvinists would wreak havoc on the church. During the French Revolution any metal objects, not hidden away, were seized and melted down to create cannon balls. During WWII the cathedral was heavily damaged by Allied bombs. The damage was so extensive that final restoration wasn’t completed until 2016, when all the scaffolding was finally removed. Built and rebuilt, inside and out, for over eight hundred years, the cathedral is a fascinating place to explore.
The next morning we headed down Rue de Gros-Horloge, Rouen’s main pedestrian-only thorough fare that runs east to west from the cathedral to the Place du Vieux-Marche, a historic market square. This is the street where the city’s famous 14th century astronomical clock, Le Gros-Horloge, seems to transport you backwards through time to the Renaissance. Early in the morning is the best time to experience this landmark without crowds, as later in the day the narrow lane is as busy as Paris’ Champs-Élysées. During our short time in Rouen, we passed under its gilded façade many times and always, like Monet and his multiple paintings of the cathedral, tried to capture this beautiful clock just right in our photographs.
Indulging our wanderlust, we veered left and right off the lane to satisfy our curiosity. We found ancient gargoyles on the Tribunal Judiciaire de Rouen, and whimsical unicorns, a porcupine, and a reference to L’Ordre de l’Hermine, the Order of the Ermine, a medieval chivalric order on the exterior walls of the Hotel de Bourgtheroulde, a former 1500s mansion, built in what is kindly referred to as the Flamboyant Gothic style popular at the time.
Seriously – the Order of the Ermine is not from a Monty Python skit. A small but ferocious animal, during the Middle Ages the ermine was believed to to fight to its death if attacked rather than “sully the purity of its white fur,” and was used by many medieval chivalric orders to symbolize their uncompromising integrity and honor.
There was also the Ordre du Porc-Épic, porcupine, for prickly knights, and the Order of the Golden Fleece, for royal embezzlers. These were actual chivalric orders, though I am taking liberty with their membership.
Today the Place du Vieux-Marché is surrounded with restaurants and cafes with outside tables, which were very lively at Happy Hour when students and folks just off work congregated on the square. Quite a different scene now as opposed to the day in 1431 when Joan of Arc was burned alive at the stake, in the center of the square, though her heart remained untouched by the flames. A beautiful, modern wooden church built in 1979, the Église Sainte-Jeanne-d’Arc now memorializes the spot where her pyre stood. A plaque nearby reads “Oh Joan, you who knew that the tomb of heroes is in the hearts of the living.”
Inside the food market we savored our first fresh oysters from the Brittany coast and purchased some fruit, and of course cheese! A difficult process considering the tremendous variety we could choose from.
Intrigued by Joan of Arc’s story, the next day we headed to the Historial Jeanne d’Arc, which is housed in a wing of the ancient Archbishop’s Palace where part of her trial was held. We were skeptical at first while buying our tickets, thinking we’d just be watching a movie. But we both ended up being enthralled with the interactive digital technologies used to project Joan’s saga onto the old stone walls, floors, and domed arches.
Her history was exceptionally well portrayed and presented as chapters, with each chapter presented in a different room of the architecturally interesting space. We climbed one of the palace’s towers and were rewarded with a timeless view down Rue Saint Romain to the church of St. Maclou; a view that would look familiar to Joan of Arc were she to stand in this spot today, so little changed from her time.
A symbol of defiance, heroine for the French, and a successful military adversary against the English, she claimed God supported Frances’s freedom, but this was a position the Rouen church could not support as they were allied to England and claimed God was on their side. She was tried and convicted for her heresy. Her male jury also had difficulty with her dressing in men’s clothing for battle. As if because she was a woman, she should have worn a skirt and sat side saddle as she rallied the French to fight. But this practicality was viewed as cross dressing and as such was held to be against God’s law. (Though the robes of the clergy were not considered feminine.) The French finally defeated the English and succeeded in uniting Normandy and Rouen with France. Twenty-five years after her execution, Joan’s family petitioned for the trial records to be reviewed. The court determined she had been tried “under false articles of accusation,” and posthumously declared her innocent and annulled her sentence in 1456.
Our time in Rouen was a beautiful look back into Medieval France.
2 Suitcases for 2 years 