Day One – Misfires, Flights, and Tirana

Day One – Misfires, Flights, and Tirana Our first day began with a slight misfire. I was up early, packed, and almost ready to walk out the door when I decided the van deserved a quick clean before the journey. A “light spring clean” escalated into washing the roof, which meant ladders, pressure washers, and assorted accoutrements. I became so engrossed that I completely lost track of time. Dave arrived bang on time to find me halfway up a ladder, pressure washer in hand, and nowhere near ready to leave. A hasty tidy-up followed, and we eventually set off only a few minutes late. I had booked a 20kg checked bag, a 10kg carry-on, plus the allowed small personal bag. Dave managed without the 10kg bag, while I ended up discreetly redistributing some of my belongings into his suitcase to stay within the weight limit. Note to self: take less. Bristol Airport Silver Parking took the van, and for once, I not only remembered the parking code but also took a photo of the receipt for our return. Note to self: work out how to store photos properly. Check-in was painless, although I did spend far too long trying to peel the Ryanair luggage label that only required sticking two red dots together. Security was quick, and soon we were seated in Briggs (and something) Restaurant, enjoying chicken salad and coffee. Our flight was bang on time, and with seats in the very front row, we boarded early and departed exactly as scheduled. At Bergamo Airport, we were first off the plane and near the front of passport control—until the Italians revealed their masterstroke. UK passport holders were diverted into a separate queue, which was only processed after everyone else, effectively sending us to the back. Eventually, I discovered my passport page had a small crease that stopped it from being read properly.

 That needs fixing—perhaps with an iron. Remarkably, both suitcases appeared first on the carousel. Dave then discovered that airport trolleys require a coin. Note to self: carry €2 coins. We retreated to the arrivals lounge for what turned out to be some of the best coffee we’d had, before being politely herded out when the lounge closed for the night. This left us in a pre-arrivals area for a long wait between flights, which slowly transformed into something resembling a refugee camp. People were asleep everywhere; one lad had even brought a blow-up mattress and pyjamas. Japanese-style sleep pods were available, but at €70 they felt expensive for sleeping in a tube. 

 

Some rethinking required. When the departure lounge reopened, we joined a massive queue for security. As we stood there, I had that familiar feeling of being the only person not in fancy dress. Then it hit me—we were the only people in the security queue with a trolley and two huge suitcases. We hadn’t checked in, and obviously, if we had the large suitcases would be checked in as a hold luggage.

 Dave and I sheepishly swam upstream against the massive queue waiting to go through security, apologising in every language we could muster. 

Lesson learned: check in first.

 Soon after, we were Albania-bound, landing in bright sunshine. Passport control and baggage collection were effortless, and outside we quickly spotted an iPad with my name on it. I simply sat on a wall, and all I had to do was find the owner, who promptly appeared. Bags loaded, we were whisked to our hotel on Rruga Qemal Stafa, just a short walk from the centre. As it was just after 8am, our room wasn’t ready, but we were invited to breakfast and allowed to leave our luggage behind reception. Our first task was to walk to collect the bikes. Turning right out of the hotel and down Rruga Qemal Stafa, I pointed out Tirana’s striking murals to Dave, particularly the bookshelf-and-fireplace mural marking a junction opposite a long-standing construction site I’ve always called “Lefter’s Hole”. This sits on the edge of Skënderbej Square—Albania’s symbolic heart—surrounded by the National Bank, the History Museum with its iconic mosaic, the towering Tirana International Hotel, and the controversial new building whose jumbled floors form a head when seen through a camera. Some locals say it’s Prime Minister Edi Rama; to me, it’s clearly Skanderbeg. Either way, it will be debated for years.

 

The New Building is shaped to represent Skanderbeg 

That evening, we walked to Rruga Kavaja to a restaurant I first visited on its opening day in August. Excellent food, amazing ambience, packed with model cars, toys, and vintage signs. Usually there’s a queue, but we walked straight in—both choosing lamb and a beer.

Later, I persuaded Dave to try parfait, a long-standing favorite of mine at the London Inn on Bulevardi Zogu. Despite the taxi driver having never heard of it (or the trumpet sculpture opposite), we found it—and even convinced the driver to try one himself. Afterwards, it was a short walk back to the hotel and bed. 

  Day Two – Rain, Raki, and the Mountains 

 We’d collected the bikes the night before and fitted wiring for sat navs and GoPros. Note to self: make sure both sat navs use the same maps and settings. Our first stop was Meri’s Garage to inflate my tyres and clear a dashboard warning light. It was like a Formula One pit stop—tyre inflated, chain oiled, rear checked—and we were off. Leaving Tirana on familiar roads, we climbed steadily into the surrounding mountains. The road was excellent, but as we gained height, the rain intensified. I attempted a new route, but the cold and wet defeated us, so after coffee and a map check, we returned to our June route towards Burrel. Dave had two minor rear-wheel slips on greasy downhill sections—the only truly awkward road we encountered. The ride to Burrel was grim, from drizzle to heavy rain. We stopped at a dark but warm café, where I added layers while the men drank thick, inky Albanian coffee stoically. Reluctantly, we set off again, but soon the roads dried as we headed towards Lezhë. Beyond Lezhë, we arrived at Tringa Guesthouse—run by Zef and Adriana, an elderly couple

I’d stayed here in June. When I removed my helmet, Zef recognised me immediately, and we were ushered upstairs. Hot showers, dry clothes, and warmth restored morale instantly. Zef soon appeared with a bottle of local raki. I remember demonstrating how to drink it, having a second glass, and almost nothing after that. 

The 15-minute walk to dinner is a complete blank. Dinner was at Mrizi i Zanave, a shining example of Albanian agrotourism—once a feared communist re-education camp, now world-famous. You don’t choose the menu; you eat what’s in season. Exceptional food, wine, and hospitality. Somehow, we made it back.

 That night brought gale-force winds. Morning revealed mountains in almost every direction, calm and stunning. Breakfast was relaxed, shared with a family from Israel.

Later, through Google Translate, and after some searching questions from me, Zef spoke quietly about life before democracy but as he continued into his story his tone and demenor changed, his eyes filled, and I for reasons I didn’t ask more.

After a hearty and mixed breakfast which included honey made on the farm , we were waved off warmly, with promises to return. Travelling North intending to travel into the Alps,  in Skodra a large border town we stoped for our morning coffee and had a sureal moment sat in a covered conservatory at the front of the cafe when the owner started to clean around us it was like being at home when you have to lift your feet to be vacuumed under but this time it was lift your feet as they hosed with water around you.

Soon we moved off, starting to rise as we headed towards Koplik, then turned onto unfamiliar roads through Dedaj and Kastrat. 

The climb reached nearly 1,000 metres, revealing a canyon so vast it took our breath away. Hairpins and switchbacks followed; brakes got hot but held firm. At the bottom, we reached Tamara, famous for its mountain spring water, thankfully with a café. Snow began falling as we climbed again—light at first, then settling. Around a corner appeared mountain lodges on both sides of the road and an Italian BMW 1250 already parked. Decision made: we were staying. The lodge was cosy, with electricity, a wood burner, and a proper bathroom. Food followed across the road, shared with the BMW riders heading towards Croatia. Snow fell heavily overnight.