BBC weather forecast a thunderstorm so the next day I paddled closer to the town centre and sat in the Rafaelo resort to write.

The Rafaelo resort has been used to house hundreds of Afghan refugees since the August 21 evacuation while they wait for visas to the US. Fitting then that there was a random replica of the Statue of Liberty in the centre of the kitsch hotel blocks.

I spoke to a guy who’d just arrived and thought Albania was great, this was the first time he’d seen the sea. Most of the  people were skilled professionals who’d previously worked on connection with the west. This guy was a former translator who said he was going to be a trader when he got to Texas. He reckoned he’d only staying a couple of weeks, but another guy I met, who had worked with British special forces, said he’d been stuck for 18 months waiting for documents, stuck in limbo, time dragging.

Apart from the refugees, the place was deserted, and I sat in the cafe using the WiFi. The rain started in the evening and I looked for somewhere to shelter. Through some sliding doors was the reception for the executive hotel, a huge circular marble hall, and upstairs was another foyer. No one was there, so I decided to set up camp in a small storeroom off the side of upper foyer, separated only by a curtain.

Sounds echoed in the huge stone foyers, and I wasn’t sure if I was hearing footsteps or things blowing in the wind, but at around 11pm I heard a jingle of keys, and a security guard walked past, stopping to look in the adjacent rooms.

Perhaps he’d been downstairs and heard me? I annoyingly punctured my roll matt so wasn’t even sleeping well, lying on the hard floor, and now I was paranoid. Would’ve got a better night’s sleep in my tent I thought.

At around 3am, the thunderstorm came directly over the resort, lightning flashing outside. I heard the security guards radio bleeping and then saw the flash of his torch. He shut the windows in the foyer then walked towards the curtain and I held my breath as, oh my god, he opened the curtain and the light of his torch searched around the storeroom until it fell on me lying beneath a stack of tables. The horror of that moment haunts me.

From the torch light I could see he had a pale angular face and was wearing a cap with a badge on it. I acted as if I’d done nothing wrong, while at the same time debating in my head if I had done anything wrong. Lawfully wrong, yes, morally wrong, no, I decided.

‘Follow me’ he said and we walked to the security office where an older guy was waiting, short and stocky, his eyes were bloodshot and bulging, his mouth gaping, like he couldn’t believe what I’d done.

The two guards talked, I would’ve loved to know what they were saying, probably deliberating what to do with me. I explained I was sheltering from the storm and hoped they wouldn’t get the police involved. Finally they took a photo of my passport and said I could leave.

Feeling relieved, I paced out of the resort towards the beach. The old guy followed me and then stopped to talk to another guard who must’ve said ‘You idiot, why did you let him go?’and perhaps ‘we could’ve beaten him up or taken his money’. I heard shouting and made a run for it, sprinting over the street lit promenade and on to the beach in to the driving rain as behind me I saw a torch light searching in the darkness.

It was 4.30 now and I felt a crazy kind of glee at my situation, all alone in the world, wet and dark, nowhere to stay. A kilometre down the beach was an empty multi-storey car park, still under construction, and I rested there, deciding what to do. My boat was on the beach outside the hotel, so if I went in the daylight they’d definitely spot me, but right now a thunderstorm was raging, lightning flashing out to sea and waves rumbling on the beach.

I didn’t think those guys would bother to go out in the rain to look for me, but then I saw a torch light searching the building. My heart pounding, I stepped behind a concrete pillar and peeked around it to see the old guard walking away with an umbrella. Adrenaline surging, I ran back across the beach towards the hotel, got to my boat and put on my paddling kit, packing everything else away. Next to my boat was a pier with a narrow gap beneath it, and I crawled under there like a rat, watching the security guard search for me.

Just as I was about to go, the young guard came and sat the hotel cafe overlooking the beach, as if he was keeping watch over my boat. Damn it! But it would be getting light soon and it was only a matter of time before they found me, so I crawled on my belly to my boat and edged it towards the sea, waiting for the big wave like Papillon to enter the water where I swam out with it and finally got on and paddled in to the storm. I glanced around and think I saw the security guard stand up, but I’d escaped and he knew I had won.

It crossed my mind that they would report to the police that I was drug trafficking in a kayak, and the police could take this seriously, send out a boat. So I decided I must get to the Montenegrin border 20kms away, the sooner the better. Lightning was flashing across the sky and a heavy swell crashing on the rocks and I questioned if this was worth it, but as the sky lightened over the dramatic cliffs the storm eased and before long I was near the town of Velipojë.

The rain hammered down and I headed offshore, out of sight from the town, across to the mouth of the Buna river which forms the border with Montenegro, often glancing back towards Shëngjin, sure I’d see a rib speeding over.

I’d wanted to paddle up this river to Shkodra lake, but this would mean staying in Albania. The adrenaline started to wear off and I decided they probably weren’t going to launch a police search for someone sleeping in a cupboard, so I would go up the river.

The pace against the current was slow, but it’s good for me to slow my pace of life. The wild jungle of trees on the bank shuddered in the wind and I kept paddling to stay warm.

I landed on the Montenegrin side of the river and had a walk around a little village, looking for supplies. Because of my escape from Shëngjin, I hadn’t restocked my food or water, and was out of both, apart from my bag of table sugar (don’t worry mum). There was nothing there, but Montenegro felt wonderful, a friendly land of safety and freedom. By the bank was a wild pomegranate tree, and I gorged on the tart fruit, amazed that I could stumble on such an exotic fruit like this.

Paddling up the peaceful river, I processed what had happened that night. It felt like a bad dream now, the trauma of the guard pulling open the curtain and searching for me in the car park burnt in to my memory. Things had escalated so quickly. But my romanticisation kicked in, and although some may say what I did was wrong, I didn’t regret any of it.

On and on I went towards the mountains, until I came upon Lumi Jetes, a restaurant on the river bank. The boss eyed me questionably, ‘do you have any shoes?’ he asked, but my sandal, which I thought would become a faithful old friend, had broken that morning. I explained my trip, and impressed, he cooked me up a feast – a whole block of feta the highlight.

He kindly suggested I camp in the seating area outside, which was great – I could dry all my rain soaked clothes from the morning.

That evening, about 10 of his friends came over, and we sat in the restaurant bantering, the guys asking me if I could kayak them across to the UK. These were the only young guys left in the village, everyone else had left the country. They asked lots of questions about my trip and I asked lots of questions about Albania. Someone gave me some socks and a pair of boots, unfortunately too small, and we drank beer and ate sausage baps together. Thank you guys, it was a great evening.