Bravalife on tour
Question: What do the Costa Brava and Albania have in common?
Answer: Not a lot.
The reason behind that obscure question is that we just got back from Albania a couple of days ago. Don’t you think that sounds quite exotic? Certainly more exotic than Vietnam or Thailand or Cambodia, where it seems the world and his wife have just visited. Anyway, it was a brand new destination for us and since we don’t know anyone else who has been there, the prospect was intriguing, to say the least.
But let’s put this into context: me feeling qualified to comment on Albania is akin to a first-time visitor to Spain spending three days in Playa de las Americas in the Canary Islands and feeling qualified to say they have experienced Spain. Technically, yes. On any other level you may wish to think of, no.
Before our trip we had spent a few days in Corfu with friends, which was my second visit to the island. The first was back in 1993, when I was tasked with flogging an exciting new concept called The Daily Fax to Greek hoteliers. The idea was to fax them a pithy selection of British news features first thing every morning, which amounted to around six A4-sized sheets of paper. The hotel staff would then print it out and either sell it or give it (in the more upmarket hotels) to their British customers at breakfast time. This wonderful service would save guests the expense of having to buy their three-days-out-of-date Suns and Daily Mirrors at the local newsagents.
As with so many exciting concepts, it had its pros and cons. First and foremost – and I’m sure anyone under 40 will have difficulty believing this – not everyone had access to a fax machine back in those days, and certainly not hotels on Greek islands. In addition, not everyone had a reliable printer, or was willing to churn out and compile hundreds of copies. Printing was an expensive business back then. The other main drawback was that I was – and still am – arguably the world’s worst salesperson. I am devoid of any persuasive skills, despite having been forced to sit through countless courses on sales techniques during my years in the travel industry. When someone says “no” to me, I take it at face value.
The two-week sales trip had its highs and lows. Corfu was wild and beautiful and (mostly) unspoilt. The colours of the sea were, and still are, almost indescribable. It was springtime, and wildflowers rampaged over every inch of the landscape. The air was perpetually scented with wild fig and Mediterranean herbs.
The lows started pretty much immediately. The bosses of The Daily Fax had kindly procured me a 2.00 am flight from Manchester on a Club18-30 charter, my overriding memory of which is witnessing rows of drunken yobs slamming their tray tables closed with the full meal tray still in situ. So amusing! A few days after my arrival, the manager of the hotel I was staying in inexplicably took a shine to me and pursued me relentlessly for the next week. Naturally he was more than willing to sign a Daily Fax contract with me, in exchange for certain considerations*.
Midway through the trip I managed to lock myself out of the car in some godforsaken hamlet in the middle of b.f. nowhere with no means of contacting the car hire company (Mobile phone? Are you serious? There wasn’t even a landline within 20 miles), and it was only with the help of a kind bus driver who just happened to have a metal coat-hanger handy that I finally got into the car after standing helplessly at the roadside for several hours in the blazing sun.
But one of the most abiding memories from that visit was the compelling mystery of Albania. Every morning, as I set off from Corfu Town on yet another fruitless sales trip, I remember looking across the shimmering sea to those tantalizing mountains and wondering what it must be like over there (at that time the country had just started emerging from decades of communist isolation and was almost impossible to visit).
So when we booked to go to Corfu, and finding ourselves with three spare days after our friends returned to Barcelona due to Ryanair’s scheduling, there was no question about where we would be heading. Apart from anything else, Albania’s top seaside resort of Saranda is a mere 30-minute ferry ride away (according to the Albania Luxury Ferries brochure). We weren’t too bothered about seeing the capital Tirana, since this would entail a five-hour drive. So this would be just a little taster of the country.
My first misgivings started during a day cruise we took from Corfu Town a couple of days before we travelled. Our beautiful old wooden Corfiot fishing boat sailed up the eastern coast of Corfu towards the northernmost point, stopping at three ravishing and inaccessible (except on foot or by boat) bays on the way for swimming and a BBQ lunch. In his welcome speech, our captain, Spyros, warned us that we might like to switch the roaming feature off on our phones since we would be sailing so close to Albania that we were likely to pick up their signals. And, of course, not being part of the EU, charges would consequently be very high.
I have to admit that this had not even occurred to me. Having once racked up 50 euros between Ronaldsway Airport in the Isle of Man and my mum’s house because I forgot to turn off roaming, we had no hesitation in taking the relevant action (in case you didn’t already know, the IoM is not part of the United Kingdom and roaming charges are akin to those in Taiwan. But that’s another story.).
As we sailed into yet another exquisite bay of gin-clear waters for our lunch stop, Captain Spyros pointed out the town of Saranda, less than three kilometres away across the Ionian Sea. From this distance, it looked uncomfortably like Benidorm. Row upon row of high rises flanked the long, curving bay. The khaki-green hills rising behind the town looked dry and scrubby, with barely a tree in sight. Still, we comforted ourselves with the knowledge that this was an experimental trip, and our expectations were low.
Just as well.
Now, I do not want to diss Albania because, as I said earlier, I cannot claim to have any knowledge whatsoever of the country or its culture after a fleeting three-day visit to its “premier beach resort”. But what a strange place Saranda is. I made the comparison earlier with Benidorm, and to some extent that still stands, except that Benidorm has far more character (and for those curling their lips in horror, you clearly haven’t been to Benidorm, so save your scorn!). Plus Benidorm has mile upon mile of spotlessly clean public beaches. Yes, one of the biggest surprises when we arrived at our (admittedly gorgeous) hotel was that the nearest public access beach was a good half-an-hour’s walk away. From our balcony we could admire the sea lapping gently on the shore not 50 metres away. But could we stroll down for an evening dip? Could we hell. It belonged to the hotel just in front of us.
Saranda does have a public beach, stretching for around one kilometre from the port and backed by a perfectly decent promenade. But that’s as far as it goes. From the end of the promenade, you can forget about getting anywhere near the sea without paying for access to one of the numerous beach clubs, or by picking a hotel located on the shoreline in the first place, which we evidently failed to do. But how were we supposed to know? Clearly this is not something the Albanian tourist board likes to advertise.
To be honest, we weren’t too disappointed because nothing could possibly compare to the crystalline waters we had been bathing in during our stay in Corfu, plus we had our rooftop pool to compensate. As soon as we arrived we got in the lift to go and inspect the pool, or the “mini-pool” as it was disquietingly labelled on the lift button. I must commend the hotel for their choice of brochure photographer, who managed to make a 12m2 bathtub resemble an Olympic pool. Still, the westward views towards Corfu were suitably breathtaking. Mustn’t grumble.
The view behind us was a different story. Construction continues apace in Saranda, in a carelessly random way. Buildings dot the scrubby hills with no evident planning in place. Among the completed rows of sparkling marble, glass and chrome high rises stand any number of unsightly skeletons (as we call them in Spain), concrete shells left behind after their developers went bust. Pavements are full of challenging obstacles for wheelchair or pushchair users. Black wires – electrical? telephone? – drape across the sidewalks. Rubbish bins overflow. There is an overriding sense that this is a resort erected rapidly and thoughtlessly by greedy developers; a resort built purely for commercial gain, and sod the local people. I have never been to a Russian Black Sea resort, but I have a feeling this is what it must look like.
And yet there is much to like, if you’re not a picky, world-weary cynic like me. For starters, G&Ts were just six euros. Restaurant meals were equally reasonable, if not gastronomically memorable (lots of pizzas and other Italian dishes). There are all kinds of boat trips up and down the coast that seem fairly priced. And if you’re just looking to lounge by a pool, there are plenty of beach clubs with sundecks, pools and sea access for around 10-20 euros per person. All the people we came into contact with were unfailingly polite, smiley and eager to please, though sadly rather short on local knowledge (when asked, the hotel receptionist didn’t have a clue where we could watch World Cup matches. We later found they were being shown in every single bar, café and restaurant in the resort. Nor was he able to recommend any nearby restaurants. We subsequently discovered one of the top eateries in Saranda just five metres from the hotel entrance).
But the trouble is that I am a picky, world-weary cynic and all-round grumpy old woman, and when you live in the idyllic setting of the Costa Brava I am afraid the bar is set tremendously, almost unattainably, high.
*I returned to The Daily Fax offices without a single contract and consequently found myself jobless. As far as I am aware, it never even got past the conceptual stage.
Albania has been a popular choice from the UK for the last few years. Friends have been, very mixed feedback, hospitality in its infancy but I understand the president is keen to prevent all the young people from emigrating so is willing to promote the country, and the coastline which everyone has said is stunning. They have a long way to go I know. My bro in law was not impressed with the dodgy property laws when looking at apartments to buy, now considering buying on the Black Sea ironically !! Corfu will always be ‘ My family and other animals ‘, the book not the dreadful tv drama , it so lived up to that beautiful prose ( and yours ) when I visited in the late 80s.
How fortunate that Corfu seems not to have lost it´s charm since your ?intriguing! fortnight there. Saranda proves that you can´t make a silk purse out of sow´s ear. As you point out, even some of the Costa Brava´s most overdeveloped resorts were built around fishing villages and have "authentic" pockets of tradition and culture.