Hearing the name ‘Albania’ may not conjure images of roadside squatting - in the company of a handwritten cardboard sign - in aid of catching a free ride. It didn’t for me. However, while sitting under the starry sky the night before leaving Berat in the heart of Albania, I made the impulsive decision – based on the advice of free-spirited audacious travellers – to throw caution to the wind and hitchhike, riding in the company of strangers. Would you consider hitchhiking in Albania?
Plucking Courage
Although moderately spontaneous and adventure-minded, I travel with caution and avoid unnecessary risks: hitchhiking, in my books, is fraught with peril.
My solitary notion of the notorious travel-sport - prior to embarking on this adventure - was of the nineties’ serial killing events in the Belanglo State Forest in Australia. Seven to twelve backpackers were murdered after accepting a ride from a deranged bearded-bushman by the name of Ivan Milat. His infamous moniker of Backpacker Killer left me void of desire to hitchhike, ever, in any part of the world.
Justifiably, then, my toes dangled with trepidation over the waters of hitchhiking adventure.
The journey to Sarandë necessitated a wearisome six-hour bus journey, likely void of pleasure. It didn’t appeal to my emerging sense of adventure. I thus appeased personal concerns regarding ‘death in the backseat of a stranger’s car’ by reflecting on the encounters I’d had with Albanians in-country: they’d all been non-threatening and the people affable.
Lying comfortably in my dorm bed, I thus made the decision to hitchhike the two hundred and fifteen kilometres between Berat and Sarandë the following day.
Stopping the First Motorist
Comfortably positioned on the roadside - backpack by my side - with a handwritten cardboard ‘udhëtim ju lutem’ sign positioned in front, I nervously watched cars as they zoomed past, an assortment of classics endlessly amusing my inner child. Eye contact with drivers mortified me; confidence was a quality I was sorely lacking. I thus tried emitting a radiant smile in the general direction of the flowing traffic, and – through gritted teeth - convinced myself I would succeed in hitching a ride to Sarandë, even if it took a week.
By the time I was ready to retire – five minutes after starting, a classic-shiny finely-trimmed black sedan pulled up. “Where are you going?” asked the driver as he exited the car.
“Sarandë, eventually,” I replied, to which he opened the boot, dropped in my bag and ushered me into the back seat beside a man clearly aged by the winds of time. I nervously introduced myself and received a courteous nod and smile in return from the driver and the second passenger.
With the window unfurled, wind coursing through my golden locks and sun shining radiantly on the new day, I surrendered and let the large leather seat wrap its embrace of comfort around me. As anxiety washed away, I pondered why it had taken me so many years to give hitchhiking a chance? I all too quickly remembered the murderous man – now imprisoned – down under in Australia
A short distance into the journey, we arrived in a small town – the next on the vague itinerary I’d devised of my southward journey, and the driver proceeded to pull over. I didn’t see anyone waiting, so I curiously asked, “Where are we?”
“This is the end. I will leave you here. Two thousand Lek,” the grey-bearded middle-aged man requested, his head turned facing the back, his left hand outstretched and gesturing forward.
“Money; you want money? No, we didn’t mention money. I’m not paying. I’ll take my bag, thanks,” I replied with a tenor of alarm forcing my voice to quiver. I’d never been so brazen but I wasn’t paying my way south – it defeated the purpose of hitching.
“Okay, but you should speak money next time. Albanian people want money for drive.”
The Second Ride: Lovely Albanian Ladies
A little despondent, I brushed the incident off, returned to the familiar roadside position I’d previously held and raised my sign. “Why hadn’t I discussed payment?” I asked, to which I retorted “You idiot!”
I then realised drivers could see me talking aloud, so I stopped speaking and returned to the signature look I’d developed at the start: nervousness, with a tremulous smile plastered across my face.
Within three minutes, a car - full of elegantly adorned Albanian ladies - pulled over and a confident voice bounced out of the downturned window, “Do you want a lift, sweetie?”
I timidly approached the car, looked directly into her ocean-blue eyes and nervously detailed my plans. I also asked whether I’d have to pay. The boot of the shiny new Mercedes Benz sedan popped open. I reticently placed my precious cargo inside, then made my way to the front passenger door which was already ajar. “I’m Ariana and these are my two daughters. Come in. It’s a free ride. Don’t worry.”
As we drove in the direction of highway SH8, linking the central west to the south via the coast, Arianna shared personal safety tips she felt I should employ. “Be careful,” she insisted “as people cannot all be trusted. No man should ask you for money to ride.”
I thought it odd receiving safety advice from a woman driving a Mercedes but who was I to judge? I hadn’t raised two daughters in a country synonymous with the Mafia, the one responsible for trafficking humans and their organs - independent of each other. For all I knew, she was a closeted martial arts expert with skills superior to Jackie Chan. I humbly accepted her recommendations, along with the plump peach she insisted I eat for morning tea and enjoyed the company.
“Be safe Ben, and enjoy our beautiful Albania,” she yelled through the window as the Merc pulled away and drove at full speed into the distance, becoming a black blur in seconds. Her kindness and generosity appealed to my soft side. It left me feeling warm and fuzzy, with a new smile: it was resolute and evocative of contentment.
A Reserved Pair: The Third Encounter
To my surprise, a small beaten-up two door hatch slowed down - with notable hesitancy - only moments after the Merc had pulled away. Inside, two fresh timid faces – likely of a similar age to me – feebly projected a smile in my direction. “Do you want to ride with us?” asked the handsome guy, two hands clasped firmly around the steering wheel.
“Yes, please!” I exclaimed. “I’m going to Sarandë, so any help would be great. I’m Ben, from Australia.”
It didn’t take Andi and Irina long to adjust to my presence. After some idle chatter, our conversations shifted and I learned a little about their lives. “I’m a student of radiography,” proudly proclaimed Andi.
“We now take vacation to the south before starting again at university.”
Our journey took us over the Llogara mountain pass, a beauteous scenic rim that hugs the coast and separates the northern shoreline from the south.
There were moments when the tired old car chugged, lagged and seemed as though its last oily breath had been exhaled. But, with a tenacious driver and a gutful of courage, it endured and transported us faithfully to the picturesque top.
To celebrate the victorious effort, Andi generously bought us all lunch. By this point, I had let go of inhibition and embraced the true spirit of hitchhiking adventure. I’d met mostly kind-hearted and generous souls who, to that point, had transported me halfway to my desired destination.
Saying goodbye to the bright-eyed kindred couple was tough, but they’d reached their destination just south of the pass: Vlorë.
More Kindness: Rides Four and Five
Generously, an Italian couple – to whom I could converse in Italian – drove me five kilometres further, which returned them to their resort and landed me a spot from which I hailed my final ride: with a friendly faced expatriate Albanian and his Latvian girlfriend. Before long, we were well acquainted and our life stories commenced unravelling. He had moved to the Netherlands for work but couldn’t resist returning to the beautiful coast of his mother country for summertime loving and sun kissed fun every July. He’d met his girl in the Netherlands and they’d decided to settle.
The couple insisted we visit a beach and kindly bought me a drink and a gelato. They commended me for my hitchhiking bravery. Apparently, catching a ride to town is common in rural areas of Albania among country folk, as many farmers do not make enough money to buy a reliable car. However, it’s less common in regional and suburban locations.
Exhausted, I fell asleep in the back of his air-conditioned car. Before long – I assume – I was being gently roused from my dreamlike state. We’d arrived in Sarandë - my new exotic home of the south. I thanked them for their generosity, retrieved my livelihood and closed the final car door I would ever borrow in Albania.
Hitchhiking in Albania: Not a Murderous Affair
Arriving in Sarandë with all my limbs and organs in tow – on the outside of a body bag – was elating. I did not end up as a ‘missing person’ on the BBC news. In fact, it was a positive experience: I’d made new friends, learned a little about Albanian generosity and culture and seen impressive scenery I may otherwise have missed.
Hitchhiking safely through Albania, albeit not considered adventurous to many, was a suitable initiation to the risky travel sport. It helped me gain confidence, do something new and exciting and add threads of richness to the tapestry of travel memories covering my mind.
Practical Tips
If you are contemplating hitchhiking while traveling, there are a few things you should consider before writing your sign and standing on the roadside:
- Research whether it’s customary and legal to hitchhike in the country you’re visiting.
- It may be legal, but is it safe? Ask the right questions of the right people before embarking on a hitchhiking adventure which could easily end in misadventure.
- Create a clearly-written large sign drivers can safely and easily read while driving.
- Write your pick-up message in the national language of the country you’re visiting.
- Demonstrate a polite demeanour while standing roadside (don’t give people the middle finger if they don’t stop).
- Dress, preferably, in your better travel clothes; don’t wear torn rags.
- Ensure the entirety of your luggage is clearly visible to motorists.
- If someone stops and your gut tells you it’s a ‘no go’, then trust your instincts, thank them for stopping and wave them on. It’s better to wait than be regretful.
- Offer to pay a contribution towards the journey, whether it be for refuelling or buying a snack. Be clear and upfront about the price at the beginning though so you don’t end up with an enormous bill at the end of the journey. If you don’t wish to pay anything, be honest so no misunderstanding can occur.
- Be considerate when riding in the car of a stranger: don’t put your feet on seats, use appropriate language and be kind to other passengers.
- Ensure your mobile phone is charged, full of credit and easily accessible in the instance you do encounter danger. It will be your safeguard.
- If possible, hitchhike with a trustworthy and reliable second person. Getting a ride may be more difficult but safety in numbers is preferable.
