Driving on a dark backstreet somewhere in Albania, we found ourselves boxed in by two black cars in the middle of the night. We were very lost, and now, very stuck. Three armed men wearing hoodies got out and approached our car. Fear gripped my chest and sent my stomach into my shoes. I threw the car in reverse and backed into the car behind me. No way out. The adrenaline surged and I was panicking. The men walked closer. I was scrambling, racking my exhausted brain for an exit strategy. One of the men was now at my window and we locked eyes. I looked to my companions and said, “This might be it for us.”

Dramatic much? I’ll just get to it. After a long two and half weeks of travel, Zach, Trent, and I’s final stop was Albania. Why Albania? Good question. Not really sure. We wanted to pick somewhere none of us had been, somewhere cheap, off the beaten path, and potentially with good weather. Albania checked every box, so we flew there from Budapest. Trent had just lost his phone, Zach’s phone hardly worked, leaving just me.

Also apologies for the quality/lack of pictures. With the best working phone I had to take the majority of the photos. But mostly ever since the women left the trip, the photo standards and itinerary organization plummeted.

On the plane ride there, I had gotten a window seat to look at the views coming in. When I got to my row, there was an old lady sitting in my seat. I told her she had the wrong seat and showed her my ticket. She replied by patting the middle seat next to her. I said no, you are in my seat. She just smiled and patted the middle seat. This pissed me off, but what am I gonna do? She clearly did not speak English. I didn’t want to end up on a TMZ video for fighting an old Hungarian/Albanian woman. And I didn’t really want to get flight attendants involved. Maybe gifting my seat to this selfish woman would gift me some karma. Or maybe I’m just a coward. Either way I’m clearly over it, since I took the time to write about it.

When we landed, Zach and Trent talked about how cool the mountains and landscape looked on the way in. I tried to ignore them as we walked to the car rental booth. With little public transportation and poor quality roads, I had prearranged an SUV rental. It’s always a little dicey making reservations like that in second world countries (to use an outdated term).

Albania was behind the Iron Curtain until the 90s, so to speak. They fell under the Soviet sphere of influence, and in the decades since they have been trying to reinvent themselves. Geographically they are sitting on a metaphorical gold mine. They are sandwiched between Croatia and Greece, with plenty of their own coastline. This of course means they also share the world renowned climate of the Mediterranean with Spain, Italy, and North Africa. A country full of lush, rolling hills and miles of coastline unfortunately suffers from Soviet architecture, which has the sexiness, beauty, and practicality of concrete. Because they all literally were that. These poorly kept concrete structures stood in stark contrast of the landscape around them. Albania is a country with the tourism potential of Italy, but is hamstrung by its infrastructure.

So its safe to say some aspects were “behind the times”. This worried me a bit when I walked up to the rental car area. I had heard horror stories of scams in other countries, so I wanted to tread lightly. The man in the booth spoke good English, and he did indeed have my reservation. He also added that for 90 Euros we could purchases the full coverage. I knew I had international car insurance through my credit card, but filing a claim through that sounded complicated and uncertain. He only took cash for the coverage. We fished it out of our wallets, not wanting to leave anything to chance. He accepted our cash by putting it directly into his own wallet. I don’t think we got a receipt of any kind for this ‘total coverage’. I pondered if this was the first scam of many as they led us to the car. It was a big, black, boxy SUV with tinted windows. It looked like we were escorting the president. At a certain point you just roll with the punches and we were already well beyond that point.

We booked an Airbnb in a coastal town called Durres. I was the only name on the car rental, so I was the only one that drove. The drive was about an hour and thankfully uneventful. The roads were fine, we arrived with no issues. Parking was a nightmare. The main street near the ocean was single lane with street parking. No parking lots, and definitely no parking garages. These ugly, asphalt slabs are things you hate to see in a middle of a city, until you need them.

Along this single lane road all street parking was filled. I drove up and down the street, passing our address multiple times. It was tedious and very slow. My apologies to any Albanian reading this, but Albanians are bad drivers. I understand it’s problematic to make sweeping accusations against a group of people, but I’m saying it anyway. Now this isn’t a case of a foreigner being intimidated by driving in a new country. I’ve driven in several countries and ridden in cars in many more. And this isn’t an issue of Albanians being too aggressive. Drivers in Vietnam and Morocco are very aggressive. Even East Coast drivers in the US are very aggressive. But most are good drivers. They have the pedal to the floor, zip in and out of lanes quickly, and are liberal with the horn. They do all of this, and are attentive and focused.

In Albania, people will just throw on the hazard lights in the middle of the street and run into the store. They did this, more than once, on a one lane road causing a traffic back-up a mile long. No one knows how to signal or change lanes or pass correctly or yield. Everyone is either going too slow or too fast. Right-of-way is as abstract an idea as quantum mechanics or the Detroit Lions winning a playoff game. The drivers there reminded me a lot of (transplant) Colorado drivers when there is a quarter inch of snow on the ground. Or any other type of weather. The poor roads and infrastructure in Albania don’t help, but driving there is an adventure. At least we confidently had full-coverage insurance.

We ended up parking a half mile away from the actual building. The airbnb was on the top floor of a fifteen floor tower. Like most other buildings, made of ole reliable: concrete. Despite the exterior, the interior was a luxurious penthouse. Three bedrooms, large living room and kitchen, balcony over looking the ocean. The master bedroom had the shower on an elevated surface two steps above the bed with floor to ceiling windows facing the Mediterranean. I was concerned that someone in Italy with a telescope might see me naked.

After we settled in, we set out to find a bite to eat. The town was strange. We were in a great area, just a block away from the ocean. There was a park and palm trees and a seaside walkway. There were basketball courts and a small soccer field. We had a variety of restaurants and stores. But everything felt… off. Like it was almost a resort town, but not quite. They tried to dress it up as best they could. Stray dogs roamed around, but seemed friendly. The seemingly nicest part of the city was ghostly and empty. Bright lights and signs were plastered on cracked and decaying walls. Some of it, maybe a lot of it, was the architecture. When you’re spoiled enough to see cities in Spain and Italy, the Soviet-Mediterranean architecture inspired dull and sleepy thoughts.

We had dinner at a place called “Wild West”, which was some fusion of Mexican and Middle America. Inside was a confusing sign that said “No Indians Allowed”. That could be interpreted in a lot of different ways, but my best guess is a mix of a language barrier and dedication to historical accuracy. I had a chimichanga and a Jack Daniels. Here they let Zach and Trent smoke indoors. Maybe they were just trying to please the tourists because I didn’t see anyone else do it. We also walked by a Roman amphitheater on our short bar crawl. Right in the middle of the city, surrounded on all sides by blocky, boring buildings. 2,000 years old and we just stumbled upon it.

The following day we drove down the coast to Llogara national park. It was a long drive on slow roads, but we weren’t exactly in a hurry. Hit the road around around 11 and stopped for lunch around 12. We found a nice looking restaurant in a strange area. It appeared to be prime beachfront property all under construction. Then one long dock jutting out into the ocean with a circular building on stilts in the water. It was fancy, futuristic, and completely out of place. The view out to the ocean was serene and beautiful. The view back towards shore was crumbling infrastructure and confusion. I had a difficult time trying to order a fish without cream sauce, they gave me a fish with orange sauce. Like orange chicken type sauce. It was interesting. But the salty sea breeze and our table by the water had an unmatched ambiance.

There are no interstate highways in Albania. Not like in other countries. So our route down the coast varied and followed all kinds of roads. Some we hugged the side while an oncoming bus took up a land and a half. Some were slow with many potholes. Some wound gently along the ocean and through the mountains and were stunningly beautiful.

Eventually the road turned to switchbacks in a mountain pass. Small cottages and diners sat in the hills along the way. After three or four hours from our lunch spot, we finally reached the peak of the mountain. To our right was the marvelous Mediterranean, to our left were the brilliant peaks of Albania, and below us ran the coastline into infinity (or eventually Greece). The road wound back down steeply to a town in the distance. The sun was low on the horizon and the world was enveloped in a warm glow.

Near the top of this steep pass was a small parking area with a viewpoint, where we observed all of this. While we drank in this view, we heard the clanging of cowbells. Faint at first, but they grew louder and grew in number. Behind us, coming over a lip in the hill was a herd of goats. There must have been two or three hundred. They baah-ed and whined and groaned as they slowly took over the entire road, blocking our way back. Among them was a single shepherd. Or herder. One guy ushering them. We had to shoo some goats away to even get back in the car. It seemed an improbable path for them. Surely there was a better way through than literally up and over the entire mountain. But I know little of goat herding, so I just watched the spectacle with no further questions.

We ate dinner on top of that pass. On a patio of a restaurant while we watched the sun set. I struggled through another order but the food was quite good. Our late start that day lent us an amazing sunset at dinner but also a long drive back in the dark. Trent had done an admirable job navigating on the way to the pass, and Zach did his best on the way back. Few of the roads had street lights, even their version of highways. We took a few wrong turns, adding some time to our commute. These wrong turns took us down strange and terrible roads consisting of more potholes than pavement. A light rain and fog had descended. As I strained to see through the windshield while my bones rattled from the road and the darkness hid any orientation from me, I began to feel the weight of exhaustion. From the near three weeks of nonstop travel. From sight seeing every day and going out every night. From the driving in a place where I knew none of the rules and apparently neither did any of the other drivers. I was no longer enchanted with the uncertainty of adventure. I just wanted to go home.

After a series of wrong turns we were about ten minutes from the condo. Then we took another wrong turn. This took us off an exit onto a different freeway, one with no turn around spot for miles. The map told us the fastest way back was through the neighborhoods. So we obliged and turned onto the backroads. It was difficult to know the quality of neighborhood in the dark, with no street lights, and everything is made from 50 year old concrete. We drove slowly with our eyes glued to the GPS. There were no street signs. The streets wove between the houses chaotically. It was the farthest thing from a grid layout. This made it difficult to know when our turn was coming, the alleys and roads and driveways and walking paths all looked the same.

We eventually turned right on what we were confident was our turn. It was a narrow road, with space for only one car. After five minutes of driving, we reached a dead end. Every house was surrounded by a wall, and these walls hugged us about two or three feet on either side of the car. There was zero chance of turning around, even in an ad-infinitum-point-turn. So I painstakingly reversed for a full ten minutes, having to adjust multiple times to avoid the uneven walls. I was exhausted and stressed long before we took that wrong turn, and at this point I was white knuckling the steering wheel and grinding my teeth to a powder.

We obediently followed the GPS through the incoherent streets for a while longer. No one spoke besides Zach telling me where to turn. We found ourselves on a narrow road with walls on either side sealing off gated driveways. A car was parked in the road on the left, and another car was approaching. Given there was only space for one car to get through, I stopped to let them pass. But they sat in the gap unmoving. I was annoyed, but had seen many cars in the previous two days just park in the middle of the road. I flashed my brights at them to signal that they could pass, only for them to flash right back at me. I was confused, but then saw I was blocking one of the gated driveways, so I began to back up and give them space to turn in. As I was backing up, another car approached suddenly from the rear and came within a foot of my bumper. While I watched this in the rearview mirror, the car in front approached closer, boxing us in. At this point I noticed they were both the exact same black Mercedes sedans. Then three people got out of the cars.

I have never felt my stomach drop with such pure dread as it did in that moment. It felt like I just swallowed a ball of lead and every alarm in my body was going off. My body went into full fight or flight mode, and my instincts chose flight. In a panic, I rolled up the windows and began to back up to give us some breathing room. Immediately I tapped the car behind us, and the three men dressed in black hoodies gestured for us to stop. We were already surrounded. The each had a strap around their shoulders and holsters on their chests and two of the men already had their hands inside the holsters. The third man approached the window and motioned for me to roll it down.

Keep in mind my mental state before we got into this situation and how it guided my decision making. My only goal at the time was to not get out of the car under any
circumstances. The car was our only way out. If they did anything to get us out
of the car we were screwed. It didn’t register with me in the moment that they
all had guns. Of course firearms are the great equalizer. They had them, so
they held all the cards. We had no leverage, I just couldn’t see that in my
adrenaline fueled panic.

The man approached and I cracked the window halfway, like the glass would
make a difference. He spoke pretty good English, which was lucky for us. My
memory of that night is a temporal soup. I remember most of what was said but
not the order in which it happened. Loosely, the conversation went something
like this:

“This is a restricted area. What are you doing here?” asked the man.

“Are you police?” I replied naively.

“We are one level above the police.”

“Your cars are unmarked, you aren’t in uniforms. Do you have a badge or ID?”

Of course I was not in a position to be asking any questions, but he quickly flashed an ID at us.

“Have you seen police in uniforms in this country? Can I see your IDs?”

I realized I had not seen other police in uniforms. Zach had heard enough and reached across me and handed him his driver’s license.

“Ah you’re American? I worked with some of your people back in Germany. Maybe you know them.”

He then handed the ID back. Does he think all Americans know each other?

“You cannot be in this area,” he continued. “This is like Area 51.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t know, we are lost,” I answered, confused on how three idiots could just drive into Albania’s Area 51.

“We have to stop you. Black SUV with tinted windows at night is suspicious. Where are you staying?”

“Durres.”

“Where in Durres?”

Still afraid of being followed, I tried to be non-specific, “Near the beach.”

“Ok then you are free to go.”

He extended his hand through the half-open window and shook Zach’s hand then mine. I think I thanked him, or maybe just stared straight ahead with bloodshot eyes. I don’t really remember. The three men all walked back to their cars and backed away, giving us space to leave. I slowly rolled past them and continued on the google maps route. I didn’t take a sigh of relief until we were back on the freeway. We checked behind us periodically but they never followed us. We made it out unscathed and with all of our belongings.

I already gave enough preface to my mental well-being going into that situation. That being said I could have probably handled it better. To use two cliches: all’s well that ends well and hindsight is 20/20. If they were going to rob us, they would have done so early on. If they were going to kidnap us, they easily could have. I found out later that Trent in the back seat was stuffing credit cards into the seat cushions just in case they did rob us. Nothing about what they said or did made me trust them as authority figures but that didn’t really matter. We never found out who they were. Looking on the map later, there were no embassies, military bases, or police stations in the area. We don’t know if they were secret service or hired guns for the mob. None of that mattered, we were alive and well.

We got to Durres in about five or ten minutes (we were so close). For the next half hour we tried to find a god damn parking spot. I am not exaggerating when I say this process was worse than being surrounded at gunpoint. I was unravelling. I was ready to snap. I had never been so stressed. I had to close my eyes and rest my head on the wheel just to stay sane. Eventually we did find a spot about a mile away from our apartment. We stepped out of the car and Trent offered me a cigarette. That was the second time in my life I have smoked an entire cigarette.

Back in the penthouse we cracked beers and just stared at the black ocean for a while. There were no stars and no lights out on the water. We decompressed and joked and tried to make sense of what just happened. But mainly, we were happy to be alive. We knew two beers weren’t going to cut it that night so we went down to the bar. I ordered two tequila shots and a jack and coke. For myself.

The next day we debated doing anything else. It was our last full day in Europe. I once again was driving and the drive out of Durres was enough of an adventure. Completely burnt out, I felt like Jason Bourne weaving in and out of traffic, zipping down narrow alleys, bikes and children jumping out in front of me. At least Bourne got to drive a little Fiat most the time. After we made it out of the city we drove straight to our hotel at the airport and pretty much did literally nothing for the rest of the day. We left the room a few times to eat and not much else. Our flight was early the next day.

If you read this looking for travel tips on Albania, here are a few:

• Plan some things to do, don’t just wing it.
• Stick to the main roads if you can.
• The countryside holds Albania’s beauty and charm. Cities not so much.
• Buy real estate in Albania. Thank me in twenty years.

The last thing we did was return the car. I parked it in the back of the lot and walked up to the booth with the keys. The man behind the booth checked some paperwork and said:

“Ok looks like you had the total coverage so no worries there. Did you get into any fender benders or stopped by police?”

I looked him straight in the eyes and said, “Nope.”

“Ok then you are free to go.”