If you’re interested in self-driving the old coastal road in Albania, this is a firsthand account of renting a car and driving from Tirana to Saranda with a stop in Vlore. This post is about the old coastal road from Vlore to Saranda, with a stop in Himare. For the Tirana to Vlore portion, see Part 1.
Two roads diverge right before you get to Vlore, and it is here you choose your own adventure to continue on to Saranda:
1) The winding, switchbacking, rickety guardrailed old coastal road with sweeping, majestic views of the sea that is described as stunning but scary
or
2) The new inland route that is described as “safer and faster”
Everyone knows that a good road trip isn’t just about getting there, so in spite of such tempting adjectives as “safer and faster” the coastal road won out for the trip down. We figured that on the way back we’d be tired and just want to get home, whereas on the way down we’d still find 90 degree mountain turns and a lack of shoulder charming instead of terrifying.
So, was it terrifying? Yes, more than a few times, because it was almost completely unmarked and you never knew when the road would jerk to the left after you crested a switchback. The guardrail was missing in places, there was a liberal scattering of gravel over everything, and it’s a steep drop for most of the way with no shoulder to pull off on. It’s the kind of road that demands constant attention. It’s also so serpentine that anyone prone to motion sickness should get ready to pay for the pleasure of what is one of the most beautiful and strange road trips I’ve ever taken. Because regardless of everything I just said, it is worth all of it.
The coastal road between Vlore and Saranda turned out to be truly amazing. I think we passed only two or three cars as we zigged and zagged, wrapping along the edge of the mountains. I’ve rarely felt that alone while driving on a highway, but it was peaceful instead of disconcerting- it felt like some sort of experience that had been made just for us, and we had been dropped off at the start and told to enjoy the weird situation.
The sea ran along below us to the right, fading out into a mist that transformed into the sky and created the eerie sensation of driving through the clouds. When we would make a switchback there was nothing between us and the far below valley but misty air- the world just dropped off in a stunning and dramatic way. Cows would often appear around corners, placidly chewing their cud despite the death drop behind them.
Intermittently we would descend in a winding spiral into a rocky and grass covered valley. A few small houses would appear, with chickens, goats, and sheep roaming freely. Bulging out of the foothills were the abandoned bunkers you see all over Albania. They were useful now as shelters for the animals as they grazed.
Almost as soon as we entered these isolated groups of houses we were gone again, climbing once more up the side of the mountain and clinging to the strip of road that wound us back into the sky and mist. The weather was perfect, the sun was shining, and we stopped often to take in the view- and to take a needed break from the constantly turning road.
It felt like we were exploring a new planet, isolated and silent. We started referring to ourselves as “the only people left in the world” or describing the scene as peacefully post-apocalyptic, a feeling that would only heighten once we eventually reached a sleepy, off-season Saranda. The coastal road drive was dizzying and made time stop and stretch; it seemed we were in the mountains switchbacking our way through for a very long time due to how diligently we had to pay attention to the road. This beautiful and intense portion between Vlore and Himare takes about two and a half hours, but I felt like we spent the whole day there.
We passed through one or two small villages built into the side of the mountains, which seemed even more overwhelmingly isolated than the random groups of houses in the valley. It wasn’t until we zig-zagged in descent to sea level that we came to a proper town, Himare. After following the misty stretch of the sea for hours while winding through the mountains we were finally able to stop right on the coast and get to the water.
This roadside stop was what finally communicated to me what everyone meant when they raved about the hidden jewels of Albania’s coastline. The beach in Himare is pebbly, spotlessly clean, and the water is absolutely clear. It’s a gorgeous oasis and definitely worth a stop. If we had camping gear, it would have been incredible to sleep down by the water. I forgave Durres immediately, realising that it just wasn’t fair to put it in the same category as a place like this.
I find that a predominant emotion during these road trips through the countryside is joy at being in nature. Tirana has its positives but it is, in the end, a concrete jungle with poor air quality, terrible traffic, and an unfortunate amount of trash. Much like the giddy joy I felt upon first seeing Lake Ohrid, this stretch of Himare’s coast turned something inside of me. You don’t realise how much you need to be in nature until you find yourself in it after a long break, and wonder how you went so long without it.
After Himare, the road arched up again, but not nearly as dramatically. This portion between Himare and Saranda was more hilly and forested than mountainous and coastal, and thus comparatively more laid back to drive. The villages we passed through started popping up closer and closer together, and as it was now late morning we saw more people and their livestock on the roads.
Old women in traditional dress and bright white head scarves ambled down the highway with little concern for the fact that highways often have cars, prodding reluctant donkeys and cows as they took up half the lane. Men rattled along in wagons pulled by scrawny horses while boys tended to whatever cargo was in the back- a pile of gourds, a mound of hay, a heap of trash.
Overall these communities seemed staunchly oblivious to accommodating the reality of a highway cutting through them- it was their pace, cars or no. Everything slowed down, and you were calibrated to the speed of the wagon parade, or two old women tending a flock of sheep, or children riding a horse. Even the animals embraced this approach, none of them demonstrating any kind of skittishness- this mama pig nonchalantly nursed on the shoulder, not even flinching at the cars rolling past her.
As we closed in on Saranda we stopped just outside of town for a bathroom break at a cafe on clearing overlooking the valley. At first glance, it seemed to be closed for the season, but another traveling motto I have is “I just want to see if…”, so we stopped. Tiara had, smartly so, crouched discreetly behind an old wooden staircase in Himare. I missed this golden opportunity, but my poor bladder decisions proved fortuitous in the end.
The owner of Taverne Filipas was on site and showed me to a bathroom providing not just a toilet seat, but toilet paper, and not just soap, but water, AND a towel with which to dry my hands. While I was Snoopy dancing over unexpected bathroom blessings, Tiara and the boys were buying breakfast beer.
This would continue to happen during our off-season beach trip: random establishments that looked completely closed up for the season would be open and they would happily serve us, their only customers.
If you are driving south, look for Taverne Filipas right before you get to Saranda- I have searched in English and Albanian to find the address to no avail. You can’t miss the blue tables and the outdoor seating gives a great view of the valley.
Breakfast beer was served at the edge of the clearing on a picnic table. A pomegranate tree loaded with fruit was within reach, so we picked one to snack on. The resident dog wriggled around our feet, probably disappointed that we weren’t eating something more meaty. I can’t say if it was the fresh air, the bright blue table, the view, or the superb company, but it was the best pomegranate I’ve ever had.
I was profoundly happy and grateful to be on a hilltop clearing, eating a pomegranate with super traveling partners and petting a dusty, strange dog. At barely 11 a.m. Saranda was within our sights, we hadn’t gotten lost or slipped off the side of the highway, and we were enjoying an unexpected picnic. Thinking to yourself “This has been a great day” before noon even rolls around is a successful road trip, as far as I’m counting.
Originally published November 14th, 2012, on Blogger.
