So many people have warned me to ‘be careful in Albania’, ‘watch out there’, ‘look after your stuff in that country’. So I felt apprehensive as I embarked on this next chapter of the adventure.

Across to Albania I paddled, keeping an eye out for ferries but only crossing paths with an old rusty trawler, the fishermen shouting out to me as they putted past. I half expected a border control boat to speed over when I entered Albanian waters, but nothing happened.

Excited to take my first steps on Albanian soil, I landed on a beach where two girls were sunbathing. A small dog scampered on to the beach and started harassing them, jumping up and barking. Up the hill some men were working on a patch of scrub, growing grapes perhaps, and one of the guys started shouted ‘Ronda’ endlessly before walking down to get the dog himself, apologising profusely. I walked up the track for my first view of Albania, Ronda now fighting with another mutt in amongst the scrub,  the man still yelling it’s name. I looked at the cars, the houses, the hills, the goats, the sea and thought how great it is to be in Albania. Woo-hee what an adventure.

In Sarandë diggers clanged and banged, new hotels being constructed to deal with the influx of tourists keen to explore Albania, ‘Sunshine summer hotel’, ‘Prado luxury’ and the other establishments not catering for the needs. Or perhaps these new hotels would be left like others, uncompleted empty shells, the money run out, or their purpose only to hide dirty money.

Sarandë is the centre of the Albanian riviera, the section of coast that runs from the Greek border north, following a chain of mountains that becomes the Karaburun peninsula, a wild, uninhabited ridge jutting 20kms out in to the Adriatic, forming the closest point to Italy. The riviera is studded with secret sandy beaches hidden between sections of towering rocky cliffs, and I’d guess it’s the most touristy section of the Albanian coast, yet still comparatively off the beaten track.

The other side of the Karaburun peninsula is the town of Vlorë, where the coast is flatter and shallower. A long sandy coastline, rivers drain across farmland here, flowing from the mountains. A land of swamps, deltas and lagoons, it’s like this all the way to the Montenegrin border, past the third large town on the coast – Durrëss.

I wanted to explore Sarande, but it didn’t feel safe leaving my boat, so I sat in a restaurant keeping an eye on it, eating lamb meatballs with a kind of yogurty sauce. A man stopped in front of the restaurant and bent over, his hands on his knees, and started puking all over the promenade. ‘That’s grim’ came an American drawl from the lady on the table next to me. We got talking, she was from Maine in the US, travelling with her husband. It feels like you can get talking with anyone in Albania, everyone wants to get talking here. 

On my way out of Sarandë, I supposed I should probably get my passport stamped. Does it really matter? I felt lazy and couldn’t be bothered, but decided I should do things by the book. Tying up next to a yacht from Norway, I walked into the ferry terminal and headed for border security. ‘I’ve just arrived by kayak’. A grumpy man waved me away but an older lady told me ‘You  need an agent, let me call her’. The friendly agent arrived and after lots of phone calls, questions and discussions, the grumpy man begrudgingly did something on the computer and I was apparently good to go. I’m not sure what they did or if I’m traveling legally, but at least I tried.

Onwards I paddled, looking for a campsite now. I came to a deep bay enclosed by the hills on all sides, rocky and dry on one side, thickly wooded on the other, a rich carpet of trees with wisps of mist hanging above, a mysterious forest. Shells of three large buildings were at the top of the valley and a motorboat was moored by the shore, an unsettling human presence.

I came ashore and saw two men filling water bottles from a well. Dark featured and muscular, I assumed they were Albanian farmers getting water for their sheep. ‘Are you guys Albanian?’, ‘haha no, I’m from Serbia, and he is from Turkey’ the older guy laughed ‘we’re from the rainbow gathering’. Rainbow gathering, it sounded like some kind of gay pride party. ‘What’s that?’ ‘its a kind of hippy thing, you can join if you want’. I helped them load the bottles on to a massive paddle board and we set off in the setting sun.

‘Grab my handle, I’ll tow you’ I said, progress was faster like this, and I paddled hard, following directions to the beach, excited to see what I’d find there. Around the cliffs to the next bay we paddled and I saw a big fire burning on the beach, lights flashing in the woods. Anthony, the guy from Serbia, turned to me as ran aground on the beach, ‘welcome home brother’ he smiled, his eyes glinting, ‘welcome home’.