Misunderstanding

October 24, 2024

On the outskirts of the Albanian Alps, navigating, enjoying the views, and avoiding potholes all require good multitasking.

And there’s always the chance of encountering a cow in the middle of the road. Or sheep.

Or, like today, an entire herd of goats.

The herd is being driven by a boy. As I approach, something happens that I’ve always feared in the Balkans. When I get closer to the goats, two of the four dogs guarding them become quite aggressive. I slow down. When dealing with herds, it's important to watch out for the protective dogs, as they are often territorial and aggressive.

The boy signals for me to pass. I slowly maneuver through the goats along the side of the road.

But as soon as I’m through, the two dogs start chasing me, baring their teeth, just inches from my legs.

I pedal as fast as I can, but despite the downhill slope, I can’t outrun them. Panicking, I stop. The dogs run a little further and then hide on the side of the road. The boy, who’s witnessed the entire scene, chases after them with a stick, making threatening gestures. Only then do I realize that the dogs don’t belong to the herd - they are wild dogs, just hanging around the goats. This explains why the boy couldn’t calm them down. I try again, building up as much speed as possible, hoping to pass the dogs quickly.

Luckily, my plan works.

By the time I reach my destination in Tirana later today, I’ll have enough time to let the adrenaline wear off. I understand that cyclists can trigger the hunting instinct in dogs. But I still don’t fully understand their behavior. They must know humans aren’t real prey. So why waste energy chasing something that isn’t food, especially when they’re already struggling as street dogs?

In a village, a man approaches me in front of a small shop.

He seems eager to talk and insists on buying me a beer. After politely declining, he hands me one anyway. It’s only after the third refusal that he finally understands I don’t want one. Not wanting to be rude, I accept a lemonade instead. He speaks good English, though he claims his Italian is better. His conversation is disjointed, and I’m unsure of his intentions.

Suddenly, he begins telling me how he was hit by a car and had to undergo six surgeries. He shows me his scars. Is this leading to a request for money? The shopkeeper, who is listening in, doesn’t speak English, but with hand gestures, he implies the man was probably drunk during the accident. The talkative man immediately denies it, claiming the shopkeeper knows nothing. I connect the dots and decide it’s time to leave the conversation. I quickly finish my lemonade, and when he asks about my job, I casually mention addiction prevention, suggesting that it’s important to seek help for addiction issues - even though I’m unsure whether such services exist in Albania.

After finishing my lemonade, I prepare to leave. The man then tells me I need to pay for the drink. So he’s not treating me after all. When I hand him one euro, he quickly asks if I could pay for his beer as well. Reluctantly, I do. Then he asks if I could buy him another. That’s where I draw the line. As I’m leaving, the shopkeeper tries to introduce me to his son. I've had enough.

I get back on my bike.

Just before Tirana, I meet Quentin, a French cyclist.

We ride into the city together, where I’ve planned a rest day after eight consecutive days of cycling.

The ride goes better than expected, as the wide main road into the city provides plenty of space for us. The only challenge is crossing a busy intersection.

We agree to have dinner together and order four meals.

The waitress is shocked. When we explain that we’ve been doing a lot of physical activity, she accepts our order but still looks skeptical that we’ll eat it all. When we ask for more bread, her surprised look is priceless. By the second request, she’s completely baffled. We eat everything.

Tirana is vibrant and full of contrasts: tradition and modernity, East and West, mountains and sea - an expansive city with a village-like charm.

Despite the car’s dominance in the country, there are some bike lanes here, though they often suddenly disappear. Still, I’ve seen more local cyclists in Albania than in Montenegro, Bosnia, or Croatia. In the city center, there’s a large square made of stone slabs with no traffic and no greenery. People park in the middle of the road, but at least they use hazard lights. Some supermarkets are medium-sized but lack vegetables and fruit. Certain things feel rather expensive, like a massage, while others are incredibly cheap.

I probably would’ve needed more time to fully understand the city.

It also became clear when I couldn’t orient myself without help, even though I usually have a good sense of direction. Still, it’s worth a visit.

Iron Wilma

Decision