
I Booked a One-Way Ticket to Albania, Here's What Happened: Part 1
I spent March selling or giving away most of my possessions. Then, the day my lease ended, I boarded a one-way flight to Tirana, Albania. There was no Itinerary or return date. My only plan was to live a simpler life, more aligned with my values.
Conflict
There was a conflict in my life. The same time I was climbing the corporate ladder, I came to the belief that a life with less, more aligned with nature, would be more meaningful, fulfilling, and sustainable than the most successful life focused on career. My life needed a radical change. The solution was to exchange my excesses for experiences and reduce my consumption to just the necessities: food, water, and shelter. Then, I could make a note of what I’m missing. Will I miss my apartment, spare clothes, snowboarding, or video games? Which of these, if any, were worth following the common advice I heard in the US: “You don’t need to like your job.”?
So, I packed my bag very carefully for indefinite travel, in a way that was aligned with this goal. Taking inspiration from the long distance backpacking crowd in the US, who hike from Mexico to Canada carrying mostly the same gear, I packed only items essential to travel moving by foot. This included a tent, sleeping pad and quilt, lightweight gear for a variety of weather, and the bare minimum of clothes.
Simplicity
Arriving in Tirana after a long travel day, I checked into a quiet hostel and quickly fell asleep. The next morning, I used some hot water from the kitchen and some oats from my bag to make breakfast. This is a simple routine that I would refine day by day. I returned to my room and watched cats playing on the roof in the sun. By drastically cutting down my consumption, I immediately started living a slower, more peaceful life. After 2 nights keeping to myself and recovering from jet lag in this hostel, I paid my bill, €20 ($23) in cash and walked over to a more social hostel.
I stayed 4 more nights in Tirana. Some days I went out and explored the city with people from the hostel, some days I just stayed in and watched TV on the couch with the hostel volunteers. In a week in Tirana, I quickly met people from 6 different continents. My worldview expanded.
Contentment
After some research, I ended up messaging the owner of a small campground in a village called Dukat, asking to set up my tent there. This was planned as a stepping stone between hostel living and truly roughing it, spending a week at a time in my tent.
After taking a series of buses towards Dukat, I made an attempt to hitchhike. Cars honked at me, and gave me all sorts of hand signals I didn’t recognize. If someone stopped, would I even be able to communicate where I needed to go? Alone on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, my anxiety grew. I gave up and hiked the last 10 miles (ca. 16 km) on the mountain road. Cars and trucks honked as they passed narrowly by. When I entered the village, Gazi, the owner of the campground, was conveniently driving by on his way home from work. “Did you really just walk all the way from Orikum? Next time, try hitchhiking.” He said.
I set up my tent. So early in the season, I was the only one camping here. The air was cool and crisp, and there was a great view of the mountains from my tent. At night, it would drop below freezing, but I was prepared for that. A farm cat curiously explored my cooking equipment.
That evening, Gazi’s father, Pasha, saw me outside in the cold and invited me into his home for Raki and Coffee. We talked via Google Translate, but for answers, I could only get yes or no (“po” or “jo”), and numbers written on a paper. He told me that he is 80 years old, he had lived here for 60 years, and been married for 62. After writing his age on the paper, he smiled, pointed at me and wrote down “100”, wishing me a long life. Bringing me outside, he proudly showed me his grapes (“rrushi“). He makes his own Raki from these grapes (With which he continued to refill my glass as soon as it was empty).
Pasha’s life on this farm had quite the impression on me. I wondered, what is a more meaningful experience: each day doing something new and challenging, or finding the perfect day and living it over and over again? However I accomplish it, I learned from him that contentment was a key feature I wanted in my life.
Letting go of control
Later that evening, Gazi returned, and I asked him for a big hike in the mountains for the next day. He recommended the mountain in view behind the farm. There was no trail, and the only direction I had was to start behind the church (“kishe”) and try my best to follow the shepherds’ paths. I slept in the cold and woke up the next morning with frost inside the tent and on the outside of my quilt. My best option to stay warm was to get moving. I got up with the sun and headed for the church after a quick breakfast of oats. While I spotted the shepherds’ paths initially, I quickly lost them, and found myself scrambling on all fours and navigating around loose rocks while making slow progress up the mountain.
Most of the way up the mountain, I reached a shepherd’s field which overlooked the village. From here, could see all the way to Orikum, on the coast, where I hiked from the other day. The hiking got easier from this point and I continued upwards.
Once I reached the peak, the valleys on the other side of the mountain were revealed. At this moment, I felt connected to nature. This wasn’t on Google, it wasn’t on a “Top 10 Hikes in Albania” list. I was the only one on this mountain, it was perfectly peaceful, and the views were incredible. I’ve hiked mountains before, but it was much more meaningful to be here as the result of a dedication to my values, and letting life happen, rather than being in control.
Gazi
When I returned from my hike, Gazi invited me in for some Raki. I proudly shared pictures of the hike, but he could barely fake interest, having hiked that mountain many times. He worked construction during the week, and every weekend he’d hike a new mountain with his friends and coworkers.
Early the next morning, I was up, out of my tent, breathing some warmth into my hands. Gazi was up too, preparing to head to work. He offered me a ride over the mountain if I could be ready in a few minutes. After quickly packing up my tent and hopping in the car, he gave me an hour-long ride over the mountains. On this drive, we talked about his work, life in the village, and his dreams of travel. I also asked him about the cars honking at me while I was on the road to Dukat. Gazi reassured me they were being friendly and just saying hello. Outside the city, friendly honks outnumbered angry ones 10 to 1. He dropped me off at a suitable location to wave down a bus and headed into work.
To be continued in part 2…