Yesterday I bumped into Betty, this time  on the bus to the ancient city of Butrint. Since 1992, the Butrint National Park has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It is maintained by The Butrint Foundation in London.

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• Upon my arrival in Vlora, Agnon bought me three bananas even though I only wanted one, and paid for my bus ticket to Fier.

• “Bari” the microbus driver turned off the official route to find my hotel for me.

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During breakfast Betty and Drago chose my next destination out of the hat: Heronia in central Greece, north west of Athens (haven’t found a map link yet, but will keep looking).

But first, following Betty’s recommendation,  I will visit Saranda and Butrint.

Drago Kalemi opened the doors of the Kalemi Hotel five years ago, at the urging of two friends, a British Diplomat and a Financial Times journalist.

“They say, ‘Drago, this is what you should do.’ They buy me a simple book on hotel management, and now I am here.”

The majority of his clients are from England, but they also travel from America and Australia. I told him about all of the warnings I’d received before coming to Albania, including government web sites.

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Betty Lang from Lancashire, England, now 71 years old, has been traveling by herself to since 1987. Last year she visited Albania for the first time and is now back again.

“Traveling alone is much easier for me,” she said at breakfast yesterda morning. “I’m deaf.”

Not so deaf that we couldn’t talk long enough for me to find out that she’s a huge early Christian history buff and a writer at heart.

One thing to come out of her trip to Siranda, Albania last year was the recent publication in a UK magazine of her first travel article. Hopefully, I won’t have to wait until I reach my seventies to get my next thing in print.

The balcony where we sat overlooks both the old and new town of Gjirokaster. The castle sits atop a hill on the right, while the communist apartment blocks, dating back to the time of Enver Hoxha, the Albanian dictator who was born in Gjirokaster, are down on the left.

I have traveled on worse roads in Italy, have crossed paths with more impolite people in Andorra, and have tasted worse food in Germany than I have so far in Albania. But I haven’t yet experienced a landscape as beautiful.

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“Poorest place in Europe,” Anny, a Belgian woman, said at dinner last night. “Worst kind of Mafioso.”

“Worse than Sicily?” Stuart the photographer asked.

“Much worse.”

I gave her one of my cards during our conversation.

“And you shouldn’t be doing that, either,” Anny continued. “They will know you come from a good family, track down you’re family, kidnap you, hold you ransom.”

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Ready? Yes, armed with clean laundry and my new San Francisco Hat Company hat.

Steady? Not entirely after the bout of dickie tummy I picked up whilst back in England (of all the places to get sick).

Go? Most definitely, especially after meeting a exceptionally obnoxious Italian twit this afternoon.

Enough nonsense. I’m getting back on track and tomorrow I set off for “G,” Gjirokaster in Albania. I’d originally planned to catch a boat out of Bari, Italy to Durres, Albania, but have now decided to set sail from Brindisi and head for Vlore. Depending upon boat schedules, I may stay over in Brindisi the night–perhaps give my dreams of Italy one final kick in the pants. 

Will find somewhere in Brindisi with internet access that allows me to upload photos to the site.

It’s been six weeks since I left the UK and since I’m currently back there again, due to sickness–actually, old-age in the family–it seems a good a time as any to update you on my travels.

Six countries down: Germany (Argenbühl-Eglofs), Liechtenstein (Balzers), Spain (Cullera), Portugal (Darque), Andorra (Encamp), and Italy (Frattammagiore). Only another 20 to go.

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During dinner at the community center last night, Antonela and Pasquele picked my next place, this time out of a washing up bowl. The new hat, courtesy of San Francisco Hat Company, is on its way, though, so I’ll have it before leaving for Albania. Hoorah!

I won’t be setting off to Gjirokaster for a few days as I’ve decided to head down and check out Tropea. Maybe “the one” is hiding under some rock down there… Any excuse to meet more passionate Italians with open arms and bottomless stomachs.