Fluent in Welcome: My Albanian Love Affair

I visited Albania for the fifth time, but how could it possibly live up to my hyperbole — Favourite Country in the World, really?

Happy Feels Like Friday!

And a warm welcome from the Palace gardens, where the parakeets cry and the coots pick plastic from the pond.

Shamefully, it’s two full months since I last unfurled a story at your feet — forgive me — but since then much has occurred.

• I went to see the world’s longest running play, written by the world’s most successful author, a woman dead and buried in my home village graveyard for almost fifty years. Contrary to rumour, no, the butler didn’t do it. He’s not even in the cast.

• Talking of graves, I stood at the foot of Marcel Proust’s and failed to summarise for my companions the plot of the world’s longest and most unsummarisable novel. Unsummarisable not due to the complexity of its plot, but due to its soporific effect on the reader — I always fall asleep somewhere between goodnight kiss and the madeleine.

• I didn’t quite throw up on the teacups at Dreamland in Margate.

• I completed an overdue Outdoor First Aid course, meaning that I am now officially signed off as a Hill & Moorland Leader and have the framed certificate to prove it.

• Last night, I moshed along to Irish balladeers Kneecap at Wide Awake festival in my local park. Thirty minutes earlier, I had not the faintest idea who they are, what they stand for, nor why there was a solid chance the gig would be rudely interrupted by anti-terrorism police. Now I’m a fan.

• At British Exploring Society, we delivered an Adventure Weekend for 40 young people and, this weekend, we’re sending another group down to Dartmoor for a five day Adventure over the Bank Holiday. In a fluke of good timing, on Wednesday, the Supreme Court defended our right to roam and wild camp over the moor. (See more below.)

• I spent a sunny afternoon watching Liverpool win the Premier League title (although Brentford are romping away with the wages-per-point crown) and another sunny afternoon watching Crystal Palace win the FA Cup. I’m on call for work this weekend so can’t make it up to Liverpool on Monday for the celebrations — my consolation is that the Eagles’ victory parade is a short ride away. A year for the birds indeed.

• I attended the second Nature Therapy Conference, got inspired, and, on the four-hour drive home, listening to Cosmo Sheldrake on repeat, designed my pilot wilderness therapeutic programme from ground to sky — watch this space for launch day soon. I’ll be looking for men looking for change in their lives. Message if you’re interested.

• One morning, I left home without my phone or house keys. I learned that receptionists will do anything for a slice of banoffee pie.

All this happened, and so much more, but for this week, I’d like to tell you a little story about Albania, home of hands down the best flag on planet earth 🇦🇱. In April, I visited for the fifth time, but how could it possibly live up to my hyperbole — favourite country in the world, really?

For those of you new around these parts, welcome 👋 My name is David and I’m a writer, outdoor instructor, cyclist-at-large with Thighs of Steel, Expeditions Manager at British Exploring Society and trainee Wilderness Therapeutic Practitioner.

In this newsletter, I write stories that help you and me understand the world (and ourselves) a little better.

Sometimes I neglect you, dear reader.

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Fluent in Welcome

The first time I went to Albania, I was met on the train platform by armed police, who marched me directly to the home of a little girl, no more than eight years old.

In 2007 Gjirokastër, now a notable tourist town, this eight-year old was the number one local English interpreter.

Perched awkwardly on the edge of a corduroy sofa, I cleared my throat and enquired whether this primary school pupil knew of any hotel or similar where I might be able to rest my head. The television showed adverts for missing people.

Without ceremony, my diminutive interpreter put aside her toys and led me through the streets, up the hill and into the old town, where, with gesticulations and smiles, I was passed into the care of a family — mother, father and an older daughter, probably seventeen, none of whom spoke English beyond, ‘Yes, welcome.’

Albania 2007. I actually don’t know what town this is. Maybe Gjirokaster?

Their home was built of stone-on-stone and could have been there since the days of Skanderbeg, resistance hero of Albanian medieval folklore, and contemporary of Romanian counterpart Vlad the Impaler.

Dark timber beams held the low ceiling on whitewashed walls. Thin carpets covered the flagstones, everything cold to the touch and the faint scent of mildew in the air.

Evening was falling and the daughter escorted me to a nearby restaurant. I was the only patron, shown to a six-person table in the square middle of a large dining room.

In short order, I was presented with nameless soup, followed by nameless stew, both courses served with a sort of dense white bread with thick crusts, like a baguette that’s let itself go.

There was no ambient music. The seconds ticked by to the rhythm of metal spoon on bowl, slurping, the occasional caesura as I struggled to tear off another hunk of loaf.

The daughter sat with me, ate nothing, drank nothing, but watched on, politely unresponsive to my repeated attempts to express satisfaction with her choice of hostelry.

That was my first encounter with Albania and I loved every awkward moment.

~

I have now visited Albania, Shqipëria to locals, five times.

In 2019, 2022 and 2023, Albania was the hospitable high point of Thighs of Steel’s rides from the UK to Greece — and the only time I’ve been chased by an ostrich.

Three times I’ve cycled the length and breadth of this, the thirty-fifth largest country in Europe — a country barely larger than the Turkish patch of Thrace that holds hands with the continent.

But as much as I loved those rides, they were manic, journeys without pause (except once, for a bout of food poisoning), and Albania, however generous, however beautiful, was a mere staging post on the road to Athens.

Albania is, I frequently announce, my favourite country in the world. But this year’s holiday was my first time back as a proper tourist since that first encounter in 2007.

I was nervous that I might have oversold it to my girlfriend. Favourite country? Really? Better than literally all the other countries? Better than croissants, better than sand dunes, better than elephants?

I needn’t have worried. Albania delivered to the mark — and more.

For those of you right now hoping for an armchair tour, I’m sorry. I want you to discover Albania on your terms, with whatever magical fairy dust the country sprinkles your way (and it will).

What I will say is that, in 2025, we were helped, housed and hosted everywhere we went in English — all those interpreting eight-year olds now fully grown, ready to invite you into their world.

Shqip: A Short Primer

I am full of admiration for the youth of Albania, fluent in a language as alien as English. I wish my mastery of shqip would grow beyond ‘faleminderit, thank you’, but even ‘hello — përshëndetje!’ hasn’t stuck.

If you’re looking for help from the kind of lexical and grammatical interbreeding that makes French, Spanish, German and even Flemish so familiar, then you’re out of luck with Albanian.

Shqip split from the Hellenic branch of the language family tree about 4,500 years ago and has zero surviving siblings — Messapic having gone extinct in southern Italy after Romans overran the area in the second century BCE.

That makes shqip quite hard to learn, but really fucking cool.

If standing alone in its family tree isn’t enough cool for you, then how about:

• There are 36 letters in the alphabet, including ë, nj and xh.

• These six sentences all mean the same thing: Word order is fluid. Word order fluid is. Fluid is word order. Fluid word order is. Is fluid word order. Is word order fluid. Yoda your heart out eat.

• Verbs change if the speaker is expressing shock, surprise, irony or doubt. It’s like shqip has a whole other tense that adds ‘wtf’ to any sentence.

I’m now looking up short courses in Albanian.

Further Reading

• If you missed them: accounts of my cycles across Albania in 2019, 2022 and 2023.

• Free by Lea Ypi. The personal story of a childhood in Albania as it clattered from socialism into capitalism, written by a woman who was there, a woman who is now a professor in political theory at London School of Economics. A healthy tonic for your arguments with neoliberals.

• Anything by Gjirokastër native Ismail Kadare, Albania’s most famous novelist. I loved The File On H, a political satire about two Irish-American Homeric scholars mistaken for spies.

I left my heart here, but it’s in good paws.

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Three Tiny Big Things

1. Multimillionaire hedge fund manager loses case to stop public enjoying a night under the stars

The judgment is worth hearing in full — Lord Stephens looks pissed that his time was wasted on this rich boy’s appeal and that the High Court ever passed a verdict that curtailed the rights of the public without consulting the public.

• Darwall and another (Appellants) v Dartmoor National Park Authority (Respondent).

• Further reading: Who Owns Dartmoor? by Guy Shrubsole.

2. Is there such a thing as ‘responsible trespassing’? This man walked 500 miles—and says yes

During the British summer of 2024, I walked 505 miles—1,040,360 steps—from Hastings on the south coast of England to Gretna just over the Scottish border. Along the way, I responsibly trespassed and illegally wild-camped to raise awareness—and a few quid—for the Right to Roam, a campaign that advocates for greater access to nature in England and Wales.

By Damien Gabet on Adventure.com.

3. Stoop Coffee: How a Simple Idea Transformed My Neighborhood

This is magical.

Hanging out on a stoop is not a novel concept. Unfortunately, an increasing trend of isolation has resulted in fewer and fewer neighbors gathering to connect with one another. Stooping has provided benefits to so many communities. Why not bring this concept to my own neighborhood?

Tyler and I were already having leisurely weekend morning coffees in our house, so it was an easy pivot to sit outside with our coffees and enjoy the sunshine. And thus our tradition began.

Every weekend, we would bring our folding chairs out onto the street — we had to make do since our house doesn’t have a stoop — and enjoy our caffeine.

As we saw people entering or exiting their homes, we'd enthusiastically wave them down, introduce ourselves, and write down their names in our shared spreadsheet.

18 months later…

Our neighborhood community is now a group of people that we rely on and who rely on us for emotional support, last-minute childcare, home-cooked meals, general comradery, and much more.

The best part is that I can tell we are still early in our growth, there are still many people to meet, and I feel a palpable sense of awe when I learn about a new skill or talent that exists right next door.

By

Patty Smith

on Supernuclear.

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Thank You

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diwyc,
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