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Albania, a myth that must be dispelled between dreamy seas and terrible chaos

2025-08-25 21:27:41Pikëpamje SHKRUAR NGA FRANCESCO CONDOLUCI
Francesco Condoluci

Francesco Condoluci, Communication Advisor at the Italian Ministry for Reforms and Director of Notizie.it

Let's clarify: Albania was not my idea. It was artificial intelligence that suggested it as a Mediterranean destination that perfectly matched the parameters I had given and asked him to verify it by surfing the internet for impressions and reviews: crystal clear sea, services for families, well-equipped hotels, accessible transport, competitive prices and places of historical and cultural interest.

The idea was promising, but the reality is another story. As soon as you get off the ferry, you immediately realize that you are in another Europe. Endless queues, strict security controls, an old Romanian Securitate atmosphere.

Then, a few steps out, and the first impact of a Balkan theater: a man in uniform – it's not clear who he is – stops with his hand. He murmured in Italian: "Security." It reveals that not all insurance policies cover this country. Nothing unusual so far. The problem is how: a dilapidated cabin, two boys in sandals, a man approaching with a bunch of banknotes in his hand. "Fifty-five euros" for the security policy, without explanation. A kind of unwritten entry tax. Welcome to Albania.

Unfinished Road and Place

Outside the port of Vlora, the landscape is classic of Italy's forgotten South: chaotic traffic, damaged engines, old Mercedes (one in four here is a German brand, often with twenty-year-old engines) parked next to unfinished houses. Trucks loaded with watermelons move slowly. On the climb, the grazing cows occupy the asphalt with indifference.

Albania, a myth that must be dispelled between dreamy seas and terrible chaos

Then SH8 (Vlora-Fier highway) opens up like a breath: green hills, Vlora Bay from above, randomly scattered concrete, factories and small farms.

At the side of the road, "corn" signs advertise roasted corn cobs. On the SH100 (Peshkëpi-Poçem segment), the journey changes pace. The road climbs between deserted mountains, old drills idle for decades, abandoned quarries: the corpses of a socialism that left only scrap.

Piles of garbage along the way, unsafe bridges in Poçem, disoriented villages where time seems to stop. Eyes fill with abandoned gas stations with rusty shelters, dilapidated bars, young people crawling slippers on the asphalt, staring at their cell phones. A landscape that is both filthy and heartbreaking.

Saranda, a city with two faces

After a three-hour drive through nowhere, Saranda seems like a suburb that grew very quickly. Houses and shops filled with clutter, neon signs, bright screens, and frenetic traffic. The signs speak an Italian-Balkan lexicon that looks like a parody of Italian: "Furniture," "Gomister," "Hairdresser," "Pastry Chef," "Pizzeria."

Here, people ride motorcycles without helmets, even three people, as in Italy a few decades ago. Albanians drive chaotically: angry traffic cops are needed in the middle of the roads to run an impossible flow.

Cars, motorcycles with the spring removed, scooters wandering between imaginary lanes: the traffic is like that of Naples at rush hour. But the streets remain those of a fishing village: narrow, unexpected, with balconies full of flowers that see the chaos.

And yet: beautiful, Saranda is beautiful. Fun and lively like a rustic Ibiza. A small coastal gem: turquoise waters, bar terraces filled with Albanian tourists and young people, conversations and glasses dancing under the sun and moon.

The nightlife is extraordinary: music, lights, laughter, energy. French girls everywhere add poetry to the slightly gloomy faces of the residents. In the evening, the shining ships, whistling with dance music, set off slowly to party at sea until late at night.

For those looking for more comfort, three must-visit stops: Limani Bar and Restaurant, the most charming in Saranda, a small concrete peninsula above the water where you can enjoy ice cream with the sea almost at your feet; Taverna Laberia, crowded for grilled meats; Balcony Restaurant, famous for mussels and central beach views.

Sunset aperitifs are best enjoyed at Lekurs Castle: Saranda below, sea ahead, Corfu on the horizon. An almost unreal atmosphere. The city is noisy, eager for modernity, constantly contradictory: a Balkan village and a coastal town at the same time, chaos and vitality fused into a single desire for development.

It is clear that until 15-20 years ago, things were different here: the end of communism, the financial crisis of 1997 and the anarchy that followed had left behind a devastating mess that only tourism, bursting like a bubble of happiness, could cover, but never completely.

Next to luxury hotels, there are old, unfinished houses, garbage, dilapidated, piled up cars, and a complete lack of regulations. Suspicious services, often illegal management – illegal parking workers, few POS terminals, even fewer invoices – that seem below the surface of normality.

Trafficking is also evident from many connections here with clan Italy, mainly the 'Ndrangheta'. In the newest part, the center is a series of bars, restaurants and street food stalls that work all night: it is surprising that on the ground floor you never see house doors, only bars and shops. A sign that everything has been built in recent years just for tourism.

Ksamili, the pearl of the Albanian Riviera, surprises with Caribbean-like waters in shades of blue and green that look like a postcard. But the services remain similar to the Deep South of Italy: sand thrown on the ground to create elegant fake beaches, without any organization.

What about prices? Not exactly at the lowest level: far from the clichés of low-cost Albania. More similar to those of Italy in 2022 before inflation, before the energy crisis and the war in Ukraine.

Between the Sea and the Border

From Saranda in the north, by boat along the coast, discover small, secluded beaches such as Krorezi, with taverns and tents that put out music and alcohol, or Gremina, a white stone wall that plunges into a crystal clear sea like glass. In the south, if you continue towards Greece, the road becomes an asphalt beak, drawing mountains, which suddenly descend and rise.

After a turn, the view is lost: deserted mountains, lakes, Mediterranean bushes. Always there, Corfu appears as a backdrop, cunning and immobile. From time to time, small rural suburbs appear, scattered houses, never really inhabited.

Along the way, men, women, mules, and farmers; Mercedes vans loaded with bodies stuffed like sardines walk with difficulty up the hill. The land speaks of clearly subsistence agriculture, sun-ripened fields, and an economy that has nothing to show but just goes through with difficulty.

At the border with Greece, the journey stops again. Double checks, endless queues of cars with engines running, threatening Frontex trucks, random checks on luggage. Waiting hours that remind us in the "Schengen generation" how much effort it takes to give up our freedom of movement. And how important it is to protect it, always, without ever taking it for granted.

A myth that must be dispelled

In short, Albania is, after all, a myth that must be dispelled. Beautiful, yes, but not absolutely stunning. There is nothing truly unique that justifies a trip here.

The sea, beaches and landscapes are evocative, but no more so than the coast of Calabria - with fewer services and certainly less quality. Everything seems stuck in 1990s Italy: improvised and irrational development (Planet Masters in Albania are not exactly a priority), a tourism industry that thrives on enthusiasm and illegal construction, a raw beauty that is not enough to make the jump.

This land is all here: perfect seas and unfinished concrete ecological monsters just a few steps away from the beach, a place suspended between old and new, improvisation and modernity, nostalgia and a race for the future.

and touching, chaotic and fascinating, unfinished but alive. The south of Italy that wants to become the North at all costs. But even if his head is in Europe, his ass always remains in Tunisia.


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