The moment we stepped into the tiny Albanian bar bearing mint-green walls, I regretted having not been more studious in Italian class years earlier. The five gentlemen inside the Shkodër establishment spoke Albanian, of course, but between the two of us, Shawn and I only knew about five Albanian words. The seven of us rapidly defaulted to Italian, soon learning that we really only needed to use the universal language to communicate. Music that is.
As our minibus chugged through the Albanian countryside during our 6-hour trip, my husband and I inadvertently created a new car ‘game’ to pass the time: who could first spy a bunker as a new one appeared in the ever-changing panorama?
With nearly 700,000 bunkers still dotting the southeastern European nation’s landscape even today, the game didn’t prove challenging. We saw a man leading a donkey past a mammoth-sized bunker, and then small ones clustered at the tops of hills, plus another pair nestled beside a home.
It is fascinating to watch the pace of life here in the semi-rural neighborhood where our guesthouse is located. Humble, vintage cars as well as luxury ones whiz by horse-drawn carts. Each morning and late afternoon, we can hear the clip clop of horses’ hooves on the road just outside our homestay’s courtyard, as a farmer sets off for home or work.