Albanian houses were built to be open air. This is my conclusion as I roll through the countryside on my way to what I hope is the town of Kruja. The homes have huge windows and are made of solid concrete. No insulating material. I trust this keeps them deliciously cool during Albania's 40 degree plus summers, but they must be freezing this time of year. I also notice many of them have large water tanks on their roofs. Originally, I think this is to allow the sun to heat the water in the summer, but then I realize the main purpose is to create a gravity-driven water supply so that during the frequent power outages, the homes still have water. Unfortunately, the hostel in Tirana does not have such a system and no power means no water.
Finding the bus to Kruja is no easy task. As with Bucharest, Tirana has any number of bus station. Lonely Planet actually recommends getting in a cab and just asking the driver to take you to the proper one as they change more often than the books can be updated. I start at the main bus station, saying "Kruja?" and follow people's pointed directions for the next half hour, finally finding the proper bus. If only I had wanted to go to Durres. There were lots of those buses. During my searching, however, I find an interesting Albanian custom. A man stands outside each bus or mini-van shouting its destination to passers-by, though it is clearly printed in the front window. I don't understand the point of this. I doubt very much that if I were walking down the street in New York and passed a man yelling "Boston! Boston!" or better yet, "Philadelphia! Philadelphia!" that I would suddenly decide to go to that city. But to each his own.
Nonetheless, I start heading towards Kruja, except that when the bus arrives, we are not in the mountains as lonely Planet has promised nd there is no castle. Where am I? Fortunately, the girl behind me speaks excellent English and explains that we are in Fruzhe-Kruja. "You want to see the castle?" she asks. I nod my head. She smiles, explains that she too is going to Kruja, and takes me by the arm. We stand on the side of a random street and flag down a random, unmarked van that takes us up the mountain. I never would have figured that out without her and probably would have just had to return to Tirana. Getting out, she even pays my fare. It's 100 Leke, a little over a dollar. Nothing to me, but she could easily buy dinner with that. Before I can protest, she is gone. The whole world looks down on Albanians, but they are by far the most generous, helpful people I have met on my trip.
Heading for the castle, I pass through the old bazaar, now the best place to buy souvenirs in the country. There are weavings, Turkish coffee sets, walnut boxes, and a variety of antiques. With three more weeks of travel, I don't really want to start lugging souvenirs yet, but I buy postcards from two stalls, both men striking up pleasant conversation with me. How do they manage to be so friendly?
But the main attraction waits. Fortifications at Kruja date from a millennium or two ago, but today, they are mostly ruins. Walking up to the castle, I pass a man selling tickets. I make to buy one, but instead, he starts talking to me, gesturing that I should repeat his words. I don't understand what he's saying, of course, but I play along. After three minutes or so, he shakes my hand and lets me pass. I'm not sure what that was all about, but I've just saved another 100 Leke. Sweet!
After wandering the fortifications and staring out at what I can only assume is the Adriatic, I head for the Skanderbeg Museum, built like a modern castle on top of the fortifications. Skanderbeg is the national hero of Albania. Born in 1405 to an Albanian prince, he was given to the Turks as a hostage (ensuring his father's cooperation) and given a military education in Edirne, Turkey, eventually becoming a governor. The 1443 Turkish defeat at Nis in present-day Serbia gave Skanderbeg the opportunity he had been waiting for to rally his people against the Ottomans. In his lifetime, he repulsed 13 Turkish invasions, ensuring his eternal fame among Albanians everywhere. Unfortunately, he died in 1468 and the Turks captured Kruja, the seat of his government, in 1478 and stayed firmly in place until 1912. Such is life.
The ground floor of the museum contains an interesting history of Albania up to Skanderbeg's death, but the upper floors deteriorate into a strange cult-fascination with the man. A room filled with books about him, a map showing every town in the world with a statue of him. Apparently, there's one in Michigan. Regardless, it is interesting and dry, and I keep the curator busy, flicking on and off lights as I travel between rooms.
Back in Tirana, I am surprised to walk into the hostel's candle-lit kitchen (no power again) and find the northern Alberta girls from a week ago. We have a lovely back-together-again dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant. I love places where I can get smart-looking waiters who will put my linen napkin on my lap for me and good Italian food for $7. Tomorrow, the girls will head for Montenegro and I will travel south to Berati, but for now, it's fun to have met up again.
6 votes 
