Over one of our village meals, as our hiking group of six and one guide were getting to know each other, I mentioned that there wasn’t enough drama in this group to spark an idea for a blog post. We all got along from the start, no one complained, everyone was prepared for the week-long trek, and despite the daily shots of raki (a local specialty, often made of grapes and very strong), we maintained our composure throughout.
My fellow hikers came from Sweden, Germany, the Czech Republic, and the Netherlands. We put our trust in Nedih, our guide from Montenegro, and expert in all things Albanian.
There was plenty of time to think during our many days of hiking through the Zagoria Valley and over the Dhembel Pass. Between marveling at the natural beauty, listening to the constant ringing of cow and goat bells, and thinking of loved ones at home and around the world who are facing various challenges, my mind would drift back to, “What am I going to write about in my next blog post?” My group continued to be as drama-free as ever and I always came up empty.
Now that I’m in a comfortable and funky coffee shop “drinking” a hot chocolate that’s more like pudding, on a cool and rainy afternoon, I realize that the drama was around me all the time. Soon I’ll be crossing another border after two weeks traversing Albania and have never been far from the drama.
The thousands of bunkers scattered throughout the country were reminders of the brutal communist regime (1944-1985) and the extreme isolation of the country. The empty villages with ruins of buildings and a handful of remaining residents were evidence of the economic hardships that followed in the 1990s and continues in rural areas today.
Over just the past few decades, religion was banned overnight during communism, churches and mosques were destroyed, and many that survived are now abandoned as so much of the population has left for work elsewhere in Europe and around the world.
One morning we observed Byzantine paintings in a dusty and crumbling church and another day we cooled our feet in the waters under an Ottoman bridge – both reminders of even more distant times.
We passed countless shepherds herding their flocks much as they have done for centuries. And we learned to walk in a tight pack each time since shepherd dogs were the only unfriendly beings we encountered along the way. Nedih was happy to try out his new dog repellant device and we were relieved it worked.
At each overnight stop, we were rewarded with stories from our hosts – a village teacher with one student left to teach; parents who proudly spoke of their adult children in Greece, Germany, and even Connecticut; a man who still longs for the communist times but welcomes strangers with coffee in his isolated home on a mountain slope. We heard a story of a villager carted by wheelbarrow for hours through the mountains after an accident that would lead to the loss of his leg, reported to us as if it were just a normal part of village life.
And we were fed food that was lovingly prepared with ingredients right from the valley. Fig jam, spinach and cheese pies, endless feta, goat butter, yogurt, mouth-watering cakes, and so much more. Each home, no matter how remote, also had grape vines growing over the garden for making raki which we were offered at every stop and became a part of our routine.
We never saw another hiker during the week. The area is so remote there can’t be many visitors, yet we were always welcomed as if we were old friends. Nedih translated our questions and our hosts’ responses and we left with a few Albanian words to practice at the next stop.
We bathed in hot springs on our final hiking day before returning to the world we had left behind. It was a perfect ending to what turned out to be a fairly dramatic week.
Sitting on a bench outside a mosque in a northern city yesterday, a local man asked to sit next to me. His wife joined him and soon we were having an engaging conversation, though they did not speak a word of English. Somehow I understood, through their warm smiles, that they were Muslim and curious about my religion. They welcomed me, kept talking and smiling, and through gestures and words asked me to show them how to make the sign of the cross. They also wanted to know my impressions of their country. I did my best with a few of the phrases I picked up in the villages, and the smiles never left their faces. They each shook my hand when I got up to leave, bringing the warmth of two strangers with me.
Click on the first image to open the gallery.
April 21, 2026 @ 18:49
As always this blog touched my heart
April 25, 2026 @ 15:02
And I love your comments!
April 21, 2026 @ 19:25
Beautiful blog post! We miss you!
April 25, 2026 @ 15:03
Miss you guys too. Looking forward to seeing everyone soon.
April 21, 2026 @ 19:35
Seems like the story always finds you. Very enjoyable and beautifully written.
April 25, 2026 @ 15:03
Ha! That’s true. Thanks.
April 21, 2026 @ 20:12
Tim, I always enjoy reading about your adventures and the people you meet along the way. Take care.
April 25, 2026 @ 15:04
Thanks, Diane! It’s great to know you’re still following along.
April 21, 2026 @ 23:22
Love the pictures of Albania
But even more so-
the meeting of strangers outside the mosque!
I only hope I can break the language barriers and be as curious and welcoming as as they were someday to other foreigners…
As you definitely stand out in a crowd….
Appreciation to a writer, missing my friend!
April 25, 2026 @ 15:05
Thanks for being such a close reader! Miss you, too.
April 22, 2026 @ 07:31
Thanks, Tim, for another beautiful and inspiring chapter in your amazing adventures!
April 25, 2026 @ 15:05
I’m so fortunate to be able to do this.
April 22, 2026 @ 08:27
So beautiful – the pictures and your wonderful stories. Thank you, Tim.
April 25, 2026 @ 15:06
Thanks, Stevi. Soon I’ll be on the post office steps once again.
May 3, 2026 @ 17:04
Beautiful!
May 4, 2026 @ 15:23
It was – but everywhere I go I see even more spectacular sights.