”Most female drivers fell into two categories: either they were a little too aggressive or a little too timid. Of course, not all women belonged to one of those two groups.
There were those normal drivers who were nor too aggressive nor too cautious. Some could even be called experts.”
Murakami, Men Without Women
”I want confusion! This is not enough!” I texted my friend after not having an extra night somewhere due to the flight delay. I ran too fast at the Frankfurt airport, and just losing my backpack wasn’t enough for me. In the same message, I also said that there was something terribly wrong with me for wanting more confusion.
I ended up at Tirana’s International Airport reasonably late, only with the set of clothes I was wearing, with a handbag that had a charger, wallet, passport and lipstick in it—all the things a female traveller needs.
The lost and found office guy took the backpack details and asked where I was staying. I didn’t know the address, and he looked stunned. I explained that my friend had arranged everything. All I needed to do was to go outside, and the driver would take me there. His Albanian eyebrows were doing facial yoga, and I was asked to come back tomorrow. The patient driver was waiting for me with my name sign, and I was happy that I had a place to sleep somewhere in Albania.
My friend’s dad was so sweet. I had a late-night dinner waiting, Svoulaki and two excellent choices for the drink: red wine or a cold local beer. Everything was beautifully set up, and the cherry on the top was a comfy pyjama.
I had only one big problem: my contact lenses. I’m a blind bat without plastics, but where to put it without a suitable cleaning liquid? The solution came from over twenty years back when the only liquid I invested money in was alcohol—a glass of water and ready to face the pain in the eyes the following day. I fell asleep with a smile because it started to feel like the adventure I was hoping for.
The following day, I woke up with good news. My backpack was on its way, and breakfast was ready. I liked the dad even more when a beer was set up on the table before 10 a.m. and a cup of coffee came after as a dessert. I felt younger when I put the contact lenses on, and the familiar feeling of burning sand in the eyes reminded me of all the too-late after parties and midsummer nights somewhere where the nights were endless. Me and my young soul were heading to the city to spend time until I needed to go back to the airport.
“Can you tell your dad not to try to open the door so I can try again?” I have locked my friend’s dad inside the apartment from the outside because, as ridiculous as it sounds, locks are opened here when you turn the key to the left. I was using the right side more, and I couldn’t try again because panicking dad was turning the key from the inside, and lots of Albanian words were spoken nervously. My friend called his dad, and an even louder tone reminded me that my feet were in a Mediterranean area. When there was a moment of silence, I tried again, and this time on the left side. All good; the dad was out, and I could say sorry.
The lost and found office was full of some sort of officers. I told them about my backpack and its arrival in 10 minutes. This time, sets of Albanian eyebrows were doing group yoga. I was informed that Lufthansa’s flight was late, again and they started to check my personal information:
- This is your maiden name?
- Yes.
- Sounds like Japanese.
- Alone in Albania?
- Yes, travelling alone.
- Aa, good. You can wait here. Coffee?
- Well, yes please.
A group of not-that-bad-looking Albanian officers were offering me coffee and biscuits. I had a pleasant chit-chat with them, including very open flirting gestures. I remembered that my friend told me to take an Albanian man and bring it back with me. That started to feel like a bit of wise advice because I felt like a queen; they picked up the backpack, escorted me to the right van to Vlorë, and after a short but toned conversation, the price to the destination was lower than I expected including a car to Orikum, my final destination.
My hiking day No. 1 started as planned. Through the fields of hot Orikum, accompanied by stunned eyes and the choir of farm animals, I spotted a church from the 12th century. I’m not a religious person, but I’ve created a habit of lighting a candle to all travelling souls.
A long time ago, I was hiking in Ireland and met a Swedish priest who was having an Irish dance workshop in Dublin. He invited me to have a Guinness with him, and our date ended the following day when we went to the church together. There, he explained to me that lighting a candle means to give light to the travelling souls whenever it’s too dark to see the path. After that, I remembered the meaning and, of course, the dancing priest from Sweden.
Now, in silence, I was grateful—a good memory.
The hiking target was to reach the Gjirit Brisani, and it looked like an easy task: just bushes there and there, reasonable elevation and no need to use any climber’s specialities. There were no marked trails, only to follow sheep’s ideas of moving forward. In my opinion, they were not thinking wisely, and the smart move was to go off trail. It was smart until the bushes attacked me with thorns and sticky needles.
I admit I was a bit stubborn and kept on going, but I started to think when I smelled the sweet pinewood smell. I have been advised that in the mountains, there are weed fields. When I heard it, I thought that couldn’t be true because who would dare? I looked around, and I was literally in the middle of nowhere. Then I remembered an unknown band filming in an unknown location an unknown music video where you can see weed plants waving in the wind in the middle of nowhere in Finland. This was a perfect spot to start a small business because there was no need for armed forces to keep the outsiders away; just weaponised bushes were enough. My stubbornness switched to how sheep think, and I started to follow the trail of hoofs.
I found a breathtaking beach with turquoise water and caves to explore. The swimming was painful because the salty water was healing my wounds, but I enjoyed seeing this remote spot. I wondered why there were no other hikers here because it was a fantastic place, but I didn’t put too much weight on that thought, mainly because I knew how hard it was to find the way here.
Unfortunately, it was time to return, and I felt remorse for not taking a tent on this trip. But on the other hand, I don’t want to meet the weed farmers or grasshoppers the size of a monster during the night.
I had only a couple of hours of daylight left, and I needed to find a shortcut back. I knew there was a military naval base nearby and again I tried to be innovative and avoid it from a distance. That plan didn’t go well because when I was catching my breath after a long way down, I was surrounded by army boys. After a confused conversation mixed with hand signals, Albanian and my stunned expressions, we switched to English.
- No here! Why you here?
- I was just hiking to the beach and back.
- No!! No walk here. Only ship or boat. No walk here! Why you walk?
- I like to walk….
When they understood I was just a hiker who liked to walk in an area where I wasn’t allowed to hike, the tone was more amused. They took a photo of my ID card, showed me on Google Maps where I can’t walk and gave me an excellent lift to the nearest bar where I could have a cold beer. It was a quite entree to the bar in a military car with red, Bush-cutted legs. I looked like an off-trail sheep.
Mount Çika was my next hiking target. There were only 12 hours of daylight, so I needed to start when the sun rose. I’ve already begun to know the Albanian public transport system, which floated on its own rhythm. I didn’t have the chance to let it flow, so I decided to rent a car to get to the starting point on time.
I’ve hit a cow in Malaysia, lost a deposit in Martinique because of an attack of birds, seen waving hands in Italy accompanied by the choir of horns and driven narrow countryside roads on the left side in Ireland. What could go wrong this time? The car will be driven by me only for 48 hours and no deposit. It’s too good to be true, so why not?
- Car for you, only you?
- Yes. I don’t have a second driver. Me, solo.
- Ooo, that’s good. You solo.
- Yes, it is.
- Drive okay? No problems?
- Yes, I drive okay. No problems.
And there was I with a car, solo, no problems. Albanian roads had a schedule which floated and also floating cars. The sound of speed was terrific. Driving Through the winding roads followed its own rules. There were speed limits, but just to make the road look believable. I have never before repeatedly said OMG in my life when driving a car, but now, in every tight turn with trucks, it was the new way to have a solo conversation with myself. I started to feel motion sickness, but avoiding hitting the trucks, dogs, and humans or dropping down needed all my attention. Jesus, that was a scary Via Dolorosa.
My writing skills cannot describe how the hike was up, but I felt at home. The weather was attacking in three seasons and only lacked the presence of winter. This time, I was sharp like a sheep and followed the trails like the knowledge of a shepherd. Huge fog from the sea created a beautiful dance, and from time to time, you could see all the way up and down. The same was happening with my life check. I could also see above and beyond, and the emotions were dancing.
I decided before heading on this trip that I was not able to commit to a relationship. My inner wounds were recovering after swimming in the salty ocean called life, and living with these flaws wasn’t in balance yet. At the same time, my curiosity for being just me in front of a man has risen like the Sun in Mars.
One wound is still open because I willingly scratched it open. Even though I keep climbing higher and higher, I can’t find the peace, and I know why. It isn’t easy for me to admit that I miss the feeling of his hand in my hand, even though the relationship was what it was.
When the fog disappeared, I could see the traumatic bond between us. Its invisible silk ribbons and its best moments offered me a high climax of bonding, and its worst moments utterly deep wounds for bonding too violently. I didn’t know that I liked that until I noticed I got used to the pain, and my tolerance kept on growing.
In the last years of the relationship, I was so numb that even the pain felt good because I yearned to feel something. In those moments, normal behaviour seemed to be a touch of a God, and my addiction needed to be hidden because, in our relationship of a lifetime, wanting to be loved was a sign of weakness.
I was at the top of Mount Çika, 2044m high, and couldn’t see a thing. The wind was blowing so harshly that my Indiana Jones hat was trying to take lift off. Like in my life right now, I can’t see clearly, but I know where my car is; it has headlights to see the road, and I’m the one who is driving it to the next map point. I plan not to dip my wounds into the salty waters anymore. There‘s no second driver because right now I’m finding my way solo, and as the rental car person said, drive okay, no problems!
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