landing in a dusty, downtrodden bus station on the outskirts of tirana, reminded me of the grapevine, the dusty catacombs of california, only on the other side of the globe.
I didn't feel a europe. I felt a lost geography. a disorientation, getting off the cigarette stained bus with zero ventilation at a truck rest stop for some bubbly mineral water and tunisian dates with no shekels to pay with and a few euros.
but before i managed to stretch out my mangled knees, our bus ride started in dubrovnik at 3 am. The bus was fashionably late and reeked of tobacco residue. after hours and multiple check points at various border posts, thank god for the Balkanization of the Balkans, we hop scotched from country to country several times on the same coastal road. each time, the entire chorus of passengers would disembark for an obligatory nicotine break.
I was finally in the balkans i had read about in balkan ghosts by kaplan. one line stayed etched in my mind throughout the trip from that book and it was that the Balkans are a region cursed by its geography and haunted by its own demons.
Tirana, on the other hand, was a city i knew nothing about and would not know much else. besides the fact that albania has the largest homeownership rate in the world. evident in the endless sprawl that their country was- one gigantic continuous suburban sprawl. A balance of built structures and nature.
the landscapes were gorgeous, windy roads of endless hillsides dotted with olives, figs and pomegranates, over and over and over again.
a mediterranean landscape of an earthy green that spoke of rugged terrain built of brute force and beauty.
the bees, so many bees. More than I had ever seen. which leads me to believe that glyphosate is not in the air.
back at the bus station in tirana, we book the ticket, on one of the slowest rides possible, 8 is what i was told it would take to get to our destination, ksamil.
an unbearable heat singed through the rickety bus, along with bad knees and stinky backpackers greeted me through the duration of our trip.
after what seemed like endless winding through hills sides and mountain villages, a splendid coastline began to open up. what was at the time the closest thing i had seen to cancun, or a mediterranean tropics, was a beautiful warm ocean with hardly a wave to be seen.
I was wincing in pain every few minutes, my knees were causing me an immense pain that I nearly passed out, growing delirious and what i could only describe as a form of painful meditation ensued.
I never knew exactly why my knees were causing me so much pain, but i venture to say it had to do with the many weighted jump squats i was doing despite the endless pain. I paid for it dearly on the trek through the mountains in search of the albanian riviera.
I knew that if my knees survived the bus ride, i would be somebody in life.
let me just say the pain was worth the travails of that grimey bus ride.
arriving to ksmail, our hotel owner, ardi and his mother, greeted us with a smile. our hotel sat right across from the sea, despite the reviews that said he was a monster, he turned out to be the the sweetest guy. his mother even washed our clothes for us.
laying out on the beach, eating lamp chops, licking my greasy rosemary fingers for dinner, huaraches under my feet, sand between my toes, and drinking espresso fredos was the coronation complete. I could go home a happy man.
- Yussef Esmail