Tirana, Albania - Get there before everyone discovers it!

Albania, it has to be said, is not on everyone's top list of places to see in the world, but it was always a country that had appealed to me. Together with my pal Michael, we flew into Tirana, the country's capital, on a warm and sunny evening in May.

Albania is one of Europe's poorest nations, a legacy left over from ex-ruler Enver Hoxha (or Supreme Comrade as he liked to be called) decided to embrace communism with a passion. At first he made friends with the Soviets, who in turn sent him lots of cash.

Later, he decided he preferred the Chinese version of communism which cooled things between him and Moscow. Following Mao Tse-tung's vision, clerical workers were sent to the fields and religion was banned. With China's financial backing, things were ticking over quite nicely, but then the nasty Soviets went an invaded Czechoslovakia. Fearing his country would be next in line for the tanks, Hoxha broke all ties with the Soviet Union and threw all his eggs in with China. Growing ever paranoid, Hoxha ordered the construction of three quarters of a million of igloo-shaped concrete bunkers to protect Albania's borders, most of which survive to this day. With the death of Mao Tse-tung, Hoxha fell out with the Chinese, leaving his country in total isolation until his death in 1985. Finally, in 1992, Albania banished communism from its shores and allowed tourists back in.

The airport was modern and efficient and we were soon in a taxi heading for the centre of Tirana.

We passed fields tended to by people with hoes, their children helping along by shovelling hay. In contrast, billboards advertised the latest mobile phone companies, and building work was going on at a frantic pace. Tirana, it seemed, was a city on the up and up.

Compared to the road systems of Cairo and Delhi, Tirana couldn't compete, but as a European capital, it still had a definite edge. Cars seemed to ignore traffic signals, roundabouts were a free for all, and two-laned highways soon turned into a four-laned version of the Wacky Races with drivers beeping and swerving like they were involved in a Death Race. Mercedes seemed the vehicle of choice, but most looked like they had seen better days.

Before Enver Hoxha came to to power, Albania was ruled by the comically-sounding King Zog (real name: Ahmed Bey Zogu).

Zog seized power in 1928 and promptly declared himself king. He quickly cemented his throne by inventing his very own salute (which involved subjects placing the palm of their hands over their hearts). He was also a renowned heavy smoker, puffing away on about 200 of them day, but this wasn't the only way he flirted with danger; Zog was also fond of the odd assassination attempt. During his reign he survived an astonishing 55 attempts on his life, the most memorable of which occurred in Vienna in 1931.

King Zog was getting into his car after having watched the opera when someone tried to shoot him. Unlike most rulers in this deadly situation, Zog sprung into immediate action. Whipping his own pistol out, the King fired off a round which luckily sent his assailant fleeing in terror. In doing so, Zog became the only head of state to have ever exchanged gunfire with a potential assassin in modern history.

Despite his heroics, Zog's eventual downfall occurred when his so called friends, the Italians, invaded and he was forced to flee to England. He arrived in London with a suitcase full of gold plundered from the Albanian treasury, and with it he rented a floor of London's Ritz Hotel. After a brief foray into America (where he attempted to smuggle in his entire entourage) he eventually settled in the French Riviera living a life of luxury until his death aged 65. Perhaps as a memorial to the man's colourful past, the Albanian authorities named a street after the exiled monarch, appropriately called Boulevard Zog I. Our hotel was located just off it.

The evening streets of Tirana were full of people slowly sauntering by, or else sat in one of the many outdoor bars and cafes.

Michael and I walked to Skanderberg Square at the heart of the city, marvelling at the tastefully lit buildings that lined the whole area. Crossing a road was a perilous affair, made worse by the lack of crossings. Besides, the traffic seemed to take great delight in ignoring them. It was only when a brave soul could wait no longer and actually stepped onto the road that would cause the cars to stop, usually with a screech of brakes.

“So what do you think of Tirana then?” Michael asked me. We were taking refuge from the traffic on a pedestrianised island housing a large statue of Albanian hero Skanderberg, for whom the square was named. Back in the 15^th century, he'd made his name by successfully repelling an Ottoman invasion.

“I love it!” I announced.

And it was true. Maybe it was because night had fallen, thereby masking the grime and more unsavoury elements of the city, or maybe it was the minarets offering their calls to prayer. Or maybe it was the relaxed atmosphere the city seemed to bask in, or perhaps it was the attractive girls who seemed to be everywhere, most of them favouring short skirts or hot pants. But it was probably a mixture of all these things and when we sat in a bar and ordered some beers, I Ioved the city even more. A couple of bottles of Tirana Beer had only cost 300 Lev (£2) and they came with a complimentary bowl of crisps.

The next morning after a five-course breakfast courtesy of the Hotel Nobel (the final course was a plate of sliced banana) we were off to see the sights. Even at 10am, it was hot and sticky outside but the sun was shining brightly.

First port of call was a small outdoor market which according to the guide book was a must see sight. “It's rubbish,” Michael announced as we strolled past a small section of stalls specializing in fruit and vegetables. Further along stalls sold fish, which in the heat, were beginning to smell. Something caught my eye in a tiny shop window just next to the market. It was a line of cooked sheep heads, slowly spinning on a kebab, looking both gruesome and mesmerising at the same time.

To get back to the main square we had to pass through a small park littered with benches. Each bench contained three or four old men most of whom were wearing trilby's. The men were obviously enjoying hanging out together, one man patting his friend on the back after a heart guffaw. These men, no doubt, would easily be able to recall a time when things were not so quite easy in Tirana.

One edge of Skanderberg Square was dominated by National History Museum, a building that is photographed often because of the huge mosaic on its front. It depicted proud Albanians marching through history, but sadly for us, the museum was closed, as it was every Monday, and so Instead we crossed the square until we reached the 18^th century Et'hem Bey Mosque. It had survived both the carnage in the 1940s, when Albania was fighting for liberation, and it survived the communist era too. We headed next door to the clock tower, which for 100 lek, could be climbed The ascent of the ninety spiraling steps wasn't as bad as I thought it would be and were at the top very quickly. A small viewing platform offered a panorama across Skanderberg Square and beyond. From the other side of the tower, the colourful buildings of downtown Tirana were on view, as were the majestic mountains in the background.

From up here, Tirana was a very pretty city indeed.

Back at ground level we traipsed off towards the stone built Tanner Bridge. Dating from the 19^th century, it was tucked in between a road and some small shops. Once used as a crossing for livestock, the bridge fell into disrepair before being restored. We ambled across its small arch until we reached another small set of market stalls.

“There's meant to be some sort of ancient fortress around here somewhere,” I said, after reading the guide book. Micheal needed no further information before he was off, seeking out this wonder of ancient times. “Up here!” he commanded as he negotiated some sort of small budding site. A digger lay vacant but just past it was something quite special.

It was a set of old soviet monuments, the largest of which were of Lenin and Stalin, apparently moved here from other more prominent places. The disused statues to the soviet regime seemed rather pathetic tucked in behind a nondescript building, with Lenin in particular looking in a sorry state of repair.

The ancient ruins, when we eventually found them, were quite frankly, not up to much. A few sections of old wall were all that remained. In fact, a cafe had been built around them, and had we not known the ruins of a 6^th century Byzantine settlement were there, we wouldn't walked right past them without even noticed their presence.

Hokha's pyramid, a structure so grotesque that it was actually endearing, was on the southern side of a small River Lana.

Once the proposed burial place of the old dictator (emulating an Egyptian Pharaoh no doubt) the concrete structure eventually became the Cultural Centre of Tirana. “It's dilapidated!” I said to Michael as we climbed some cracked steps to reach it. It was evidently undergoing some sort of major repair work, but as bad as the outside looked, the inside was worse. It was a bare shell filled with cement mixers and a beady-eyed security guard who soon sent us packing. Nearby was the Bell of Peace, made with the metal from melted down bullets, but we only found that out later after reading the guide book.

We walked onwards to Mother Teresa Square, a rather dull part of the city dominated by the university at one end. The Grand Park was just behind the university, a large wooded area with plenty of trails leading off in all directions.

The park was full of naked men. Well not actually naked, but as near as damn it. At first it was a shock seeing a beer-bellied nude torso emerging from the forest, wearing only some tiny underpants, but after a while we got used to seeing them, even waving at a couple. The men were simply using the park for a spot of sunbathing.

“Where the hell are we?” I asked Michael. We had been wandering along dirt paths filled with tiny lizard, but it appeared we had lost his way. My feet were hurting and I needed a drink.

“We're heading north,” he answered, sneezing heavily because of the hay fever that had suddenly gripped him. We emerged from a the woods to find a cavalcade of vehicles going past, flashing sirens and black cars seemed the order of the day.

They were headed downhill and after some deliberation we went downhill too. Eventually we came to a guard post. It quickly dawned upon us that we had literally stumbled upon the the Palace of the Brigades, the one-time residence of King Zog, and now used as the official residence of the current president. It had possibly been the great man himself who had whizzed past just moments earlier. We couldn't see the palace from where we were, and besides, we knew it was closed off to the public, and so with a couple of guards watching us closely, I hastily consulted our map.

I wandered over to one of the guards and asked him where the lake was. I knew there was a large, artificial lake in the park somewhere. He looked us both up and down and then regarded the map. After some consultation with his colleague, he pointed back up the hill.

“But turn right...not left! I repeat NOT LEFT!” We thanked him and headed up the hill.

At the apex of the hill we came to a fork in the road. I turned to Michael who was busy sneezing and rubbing his eyes. “Did he say go left or go right?” Micheal wasn't sure and so we headed left. The path bisected a woodland area which seemed to be empty of naked men. We continued along it until we came to a sign which simply read: Military Zone. We both looked at each other and then decided on our next move. A second later we scarpered the hell away, Michael wheezing and wiping as we crunched through the undergrowth like elephants.

We eventually found ourselves at some sort of war memorial. There was a small section dedicated to German soldiers and another for the allies, who had fought each other during the second world war.

One grave stone in the allied section was for a Major in the British army who had died aged 31. The graves were well kept and fresh flowers had been placed there only recently.

The lake was large but not welcoming. Steam rollers, men laying concrete and the obligatorily man leaning on a spade gave the place the look of a building site. Still, out across the water it looked quite tranquil, and further along, a few bathers were even taking advantage of the good weather, splashing around at the water's edge

“I've noticed something about the women in Tirana,” I said to Michael as we sat enjoying a beer in a city centre bar. “The young ones are all gorgeous and slim but then something happens.” I was referring to a trait of Eastern European women that I had noticed elsewhere too.

When these beautiful girls reached a certain age, say forty, a high proportion of them did two things. One, they cut their hair short and dyed it a hideous dark-red colour, and two, they altered their physique so that they morphed into a shape any Romanian shot putter would be proud of.

“A massive over generalization,” Michael said, quite rightly. “I've seen lots of slim older woman with normal hair.” But just then a large lady with ruby hair wandered past, carrying a couple of bags of turnips, or perhaps a collection of metal throwing objects, I mused.

That evening we deiced a visit to the Sky Club bar was in order. Along the way we passed through Youth Park, a family -filled place dominated by a small lake and waterfall.

Children were everywhere, enjoying the evening with their parents. Across the road was a 16-floor building that housed the bar in question.

The bar was superb, though expensive compared to other places we'd visited. Regardless, we ended up spending two hours there watching the sunset and the lights of Tirana coming on. From our vantage point we could see across the whole of the city, and with a cool breeze flowing, it was perhaps the best place to sit in Tirana at that particular moment.

In a a cafe down below, we met Amelia, a forty-something, chain-smoking Austrian lady who had driven to Albania by herself. She told us that she had been to Tirana as a student twenty years previously and couldn't believe the difference.

“I know the vice Prime Minister of Albania,” she told us as she lit yet another cigarette. “ I knew him when he was a student in Vienna, I helped him find somewhere to stay. And now he has repaid the favour for me. I met him yesterday. But only for short while because he is so busy.”

Amelia told us that she ran a website dedicated to promoting the Balkans, and especially Albania, to her fellow Austrians. “The Albanian people have done so well for themselves. They deserve people across the world to know about their success.”

The next morning, Elton, a young Albanian man picked us up from the hotel. Back in the UK, I'd emailed him about driving us from Tirana into Macedonia. As we walked to his car, he told us that his girlfriend was coming along too.

“It is such a long drive to Skopje and back, that she thought it better she keeps me company.”

His girlfriend was called Kiki, and she was a very pretty dark haired woman who could speak English but preferred to keep quiet. As we set off, Elton, who bore an uncanny resemblance to younger Graham Norton, told us that the previous week he had acted as a guide for a couple of journalists. “They were from the Lonely Planet magazine and were doing a feature on Albania. Their article will be published in a few months, I think.”

Unlike a lot of his fellow countrymen, Elton was a safe driver, making sure he kept us safe. “Most accidents in Albania are caused by stupidity,” he told us. “People overtake when they shouldn't overtake.

But then again,the Italians and the Greeks taught us to drive, and they are not the best teachers to have!”

As the outskirts of Tirana faded, we began a gradual climb into the mountains. The scenery was breathtaking and the hairpin roads exciting. I asked Elton if we would see any of Hoxha's famous bunkers. Elton laughed. “Everyone wants to see the bunkers. And yes you will see lots of them. Maybe one day I will open a bunker hotel!” I asked him if the bunkers were for sale. “No, they are not, but the land that they sit on is for sale. You buy the land and the bunker comes free.”

The four of us stopped for a quick drink in Elbasan and we found out that Elton and Kiki had been a couple for almost two and a half years.

I jokingly asked them if any wedding plans were on the cards. Both looked coy and Elton told me that he would wait until he thought Kiki deserved him, which earned him a nudge to the ribs.

Kiki addressed us. “In Albania, a bride will not buy her wedding dress like in many other countries. She will rent it. So this means there is big business in Tirana for wedding dress shops.”

Elton nodded. “You will see wedding dress shops everywhere. The owners will buy an expensive wedding dress for maybe two thousand Euros, and then rent it out. After maybe a couple of months he will make his money back. And there is a saying here in Albania - once a person has made his fortune, he will buy a Mercedes and then a bar!”

A few hours later we began to approach the Macedonian border.

Elton stopped the car and pointed out a bunker. We got out and had a wander around the concrete bastion. It wasn't actually that big, but it definitely looked sturdy. There were others about to, most of them smaller, but they were all facing a direction where they could protect Albania from invaders who would never arrive.

Elton asked us if either of us had been to the Greek island of Corfu. Neither if us had and so Elton began to tell us a story. “Corfu is only seven kilometres by sea from Albania. In the 1980s, Albanian people used to swim across to Corfu to find freedom but many of them died in the process.” Elton told us one famous story involving a trio of people, two sisters and one brother, who attempted the crossing together. Before embarking upon the journey, the three bought water melons which they hollowed out. These items would be useful in two ways, firstly as a buoyancy aid, and secondly, the hollow interior would provide each sibling with air as they approached the coastline. In this way, the armed guards would hopefully not spot them. “They set off and managed to swim across the channel but unfortunately only two of them survived. The brother died in the crossing but the sisters escaped.”

Soon we arrived at the border, and after formalities were complete, the four of us drove into the Republic of Macedonia. Phase two of the trip was about to begin.

Strengths:

-Cheap

-Not many tourists

-Lots of bars – literally everywhere!

-All the sights can be reached on foot, just about.

-Scantily clad young women

-Very safe

Weaknesses:

-Fumes from the traffic

-Crossing a road is a dangerous affair

-Museums closed on a Monday