retiredmartin

May 2024. Lushnje. Albania.

A post for all of you who enjoy discomfort and distress befalling Mrs RM and I, as we attempt to continue our Albanian adventure on the second morning.

Gjirokaster, which I continuously called Gyropasta, not helping at all, is the other big Unesco site in town, and you’d expect it to be pretty accessible from Berat. But have you ever tried getting from Cambridge to Luton ? Virtually impossible.

The only source of Albanian bus timetables seemed to be something called Giirafa. Only one, long, direct bus from Berat, but plenty of options with a short change at Lushnje, which sounded lush.

So after a fairly authentic breakfast at Leo’s of cheese pie and bread and apricot jam,

and a mad scramble to find someone to hand the 2700 lek to, we sprinted to Berat’s bus station where the bus driver checked 3 times we really wanted to go to Lushnje.

“Can we go to the Station please” we asked as the bus pulled up in an unprepossessing centre, the Mansfield of the Balkans,

but the driver just pointed vaguely to the west. If in doubt, follow the tractor.

Well, there’s a building called “STATION” anyway; five minutes to spare for the 10:38.

No bus stops, no timetable, no-one to ask, just (bizarrely) two cafes side-by-side. Resigned to missing (if it had ever run) the 10:38, we resolved to seek advice from the cafes. It’s what you’d do in England, isn’t it, ask in a pub.

The chap in one pointed heavenwards, the lady who brought us two espressos borrowed Mrs RM’s phone to point at a roundabout a half mile south, though a bus driver taking a fag break added “autostrada” mysteriously.

We should be able to catch the 11:38, I thought, (or else we’d be stuck here another 2 hours),

and headed off to the dot marked on Mrs RM’s phone, pretty much where Eldon Park was marked.

A 15 minute walk took 30, the footpath alternatively heaps of sand and giant holes attempting to lure us into a claim against the holiday insurance I was suddenly wishing I’d checked more thoroughly.

And then at the roundabout, nothing. A couple of lorry drivers beeped horns and urged us to jump in to be taken to be murdered an alternative roundabout. An English speaking Albanian at a cafe confirmed we did indeed need to go to the roundabout at the “autostrada”, and despite giving us a lift which involved squashing four of us in the back seat we arrived at 11:39 as the Tirana-Gjirocaster bus zoomed past.

Oh well, I’m sure we’ll find something to do for two hours (sadly, not the place called Beer House across the dual carriageway).

Grill D & J, looks basic,

and seemed to be the place where taxi drivers waited their calls.

Whatever, they took no heed of us, silently gave us the WiFi code 3 times (it was 1234578), and called on the service of the English speaker when we asked for a beer.

Nearly two hours of listening to stuff like this;

At 13:30, we left to sit on that pile of sand.

We both jumped for joy when the bus with “Gyro-pasta” approached the roundabout.