The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
How I relived the days of my youth on a midlife trip to Albania with my daughter
It took a holiday to a post-communist country for Suzanne Moore to remember what a sense of community feels like
One of the joys of living life again now is spontaneity. Yes, we can just suddenly go to the pub without immense planning! It’s the same with travel. Some of us can now have the holidays we have saved up for and are now ticking off longed-for destinations – and why not?
There is also the “why not” element of finding a cheap deal and going for it.
This is how I ended up at a party in Albania, talking to a lovely young Brazilian who had been attacked by bears while sleeping out in the open in Turkey – perhaps not a great idea – and a woman my age, who announced herself as “antivaxxer” and had fallen in love, not just with Albania, but with a man she was now to marry. How long had she been in the country? “Three weeks.” Some people really know how to do spontaneity.
I had been fascinated by Albania ever since I read Free: Coming of Age at the End of History. Lea Ypi – now a professor at the LSE – wrote a memoir about her childhood in this Stalinist outpost. She knew nothing about the outside world and Albania remained communist even after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the death of “Uncle” Enver Hoxha.
Ypi then began to understand all the lies she was told as a child and, as her community crumbles, a new sense of freedom comes.
To be frank I knew little about Albania, but I do know about Wizz Air, as I recently went to Romania – so I nabbed two flights to Tirana for £25 each for me and my daughter.
I love luxury as much as anyone, but my daughter likes to stay in hostels, and why not, I thought, go with her flow? She seemed surprised that I had booked us into Tirana Backpacker Hostel, but, in for a lek (that’s the currency), in for the whole deal. I am not only a decadent bourgeois. We had our own room. I draw the line at dormitories because of all the snoring. Mine in particular.
We could not have felt more welcomed by a young man sporting seemingly compulsory traveller dreadlocks. There were shared bathrooms with lots of showers as well as a kitchen and big garden, all for something like £15 a night each. Our room was basic, but it had its own charm and an electric heater.
There would be a party, we were told, on the last night we were there.
Tirana itself is a hodgepodge of buildings set against a stunning backdrop of mountains. Everything is walkable and everything is cheap, and while some may associate it only with its Stalinist past, one of the first things you hear is the call to prayer. There are mosques next to Orthodox churches, and there are fabulous brutalist buildings right by tiny flower markets. We were not far from the main Skanderbeg Square, so it was easy to orientate ourselves.
One of the delights of staying in a hostel is the way other travellers tip you off: where to eat, what to see, where to go. Nothing was too much for the people who ran the place, and every taxi they arranged was half the price than any we arranged ourselves.
To get a sense of the history, we went to BunkArt 2, a museum housed in Hoxha’s massive anti-nuclear bunker, which shows the horrific history of the Albanian Ministry of Internal Affairs from 1912-1991. It is full of eerie passages and information about the Sigurimi, the secret police, who relied on civilian informers to muzzle dissent. Some of it is truly upsetting: the brutality and horrendous tortures of the camps are illustrated in detail. I did not last as long down there as my daughter, who was taking it all in. I waited outside underneath the brilliant blue sky, watching Albanian citizens approach the tent “Tirana stands with Ukraine” bringing new duvets and canned food.
We were not here just to look at the atrocities of the old regime though, but to delight in modern-day Albania. To find out what was going on, chats with fellow hostel dwellers were far more helpful than any whingy Tripadvisor reviews. The information exchanged would be from someone who went to a great club or restaurant just the day before, and it reminded me of my youthful travels, which were pre-internet. You get better advice from other actual humans than you do online! Who knew?
The internet has made travel easier, in a certain way, but also – with its list of must-dos – ultra-conformist. Yet, there is nothing like someone telling you to wander down a back street to a vintage market or tiny café they just found. We ate in great little restaurants and even my vegan daughter was happy because the food is quite Turkish, so lots of aubergines and corn bread, though she missed out on the exquisite baked feta.
Arriving back late, we would sit and chat while drinking homemade raki. Someone really knows what they are doing there. You think raki is rough? Well, have you had kiwi, lemon and lavender raki? I am going back just to taste the chilli strawberry and lime combo.
We had one day in a hotel, as the nearest seaside is 45 minutes away in Durres. The Hotel Epidamn was buzzing and I realised what you don’t get in a hostel: decent pillows and a television. There was a political rally down by the beach, but we were more fascinated by what was on the television. The seafood was great and as there was a hamman, I booked myself a massage. God knows why, as I could write a book on terrible international massages. Privileged, moi? I was spreadeagled on a marble thing in the hamman in a tea towel when the masseur came in, a very large bearded man who frankly couldn’t be bothered. He did one leg, but he would have had to reach over to do the other one, so he didn’t.
Actually, we were really happy to get back to the hostel. We split up as my daughter had become fascinated not just with odd monuments to Hoxha, but also the Orthodox churches, where she wandered into ceremonies that seemed to blow her mind. I went off to the wonderful Radio Bar, which was full of old film posters, and Mullixhiu, a restaurant that had been recommended to me. There was no point in her coming, as the menu would have caused an argument – even I don’t fancy veal brain. My meatballs on spicy cabbage were delicious though.
We met back at the hostel for the party, where they had set up a bar and made a fire. There was a film screening: a documentary about Czech underground parties. From chatting to various people, I realised there is a big rave scene in Belgrade. At midnight I went to bed while the young folk went to some techno party in a basement.
A great time was clearly had by all from the state of everyone the next day. My daughter had a load of new friends. Both of us had been mesmerised by the place. I cannot wait to go back and travel south. It’s the Adriatic, after all. Having stayed in so many posh hotels, where bored couples sit silently over dinner, the hostel set-up is still a great way to travel. Reliving my youth? Maybe so – and why not?
How strange that it took me going to a post-communist country to really feel an actual community vibe. Luxury, I was reminded, is not about towels and thread counts, but about who you meet and what you learn. Albania gave me all that and more. I’m sold.
One of the delights of staying in a hostel is the way other travellers tip you off
Covid rules Travellers over six must show proof of full vaccination, a negative PCR test taken within the last 72 hours, a rapid antigen test taken within the last 48 hours, or proof of recovery
How to do it
Doubles at Hotel Epidamn Durres (00 355 67 661 1110; hotel-epidamn. durres.hotels-al.com) cost from £47; a double private room at Tirana Hostel (00 355 6846 82353; tiranahostel.com) costs from £30