Kanske du inte fattat det än men filip och fredrik dramatiserar en hel del. Har du hängt med i deras program så fattar du att de gör saker till mer än vad det är. Så mycket som vi vet så kan det ha varit någon av svenskarna som inte ville bajsa i hålet pga av ovänjan.

Sen så finns det självklart toaletter i Albanien, stället som de besökte är en by som fortfarande lever som folk gjorde under medeltiden.

Det mest minnesvärda kommer utan tvekan att vara folket, så se till att söka kontakt med dem. En svensk tjej som gjort just detta har skrivit denna artikel här nedanför.

http://www.sr.se/sida/gruppsida.aspx?programid=2948&grupp=5018&a...


Citat från artickeln.
"Utan att överdriva en milimeter kan jag inget annat göra än att ranka Albanerna som Europas absolut gästvänligaste folk."

"Och innan vi glider vidare mot den Albanska kusten i buss, som vår nyfunne vän Blerim skyndar sig att betala, så har vi även fått ett telefonnummer till en Albansk familj där vi får sova om något skulle gå snett."

"Vad säger svenskarna om Albanien? Erica, Om jag trots allt visumkrångel skulle lyckas resa till Sverige någon gång, skulle svenskarna visa mig Sverige då som jag visar dig Albanien, tror du?"

Tycker du att gästvänligheten är för mycket? Ja då ska du undvika byarna för där går gästvänligheten i verklig överdrift.
https://www.flashback.info/showthread.php?t=682408

Trams och svar på trams raderat.

/mod

Naturligtvis finns det inte vanliga toaletter i Albanien. Finns inte heller moderna bilar eftersom alla kör med häst och vagn. Det är totalt efterblivet där medan andra länder i balkan som Bosnien ligger ljusår före Albanien. Bra observation där pj .. dzeko.

Hur kommer det sig att du som bosnieserb ska åka till Albanien? Visst har man sätt dig dra upp albaner i diverse trådar (varför vet jag inte) men jag finner frågan väldigt intressant eftersom du oroas över att rånas och kidnappas i Albanien.

Slog samman en rad Albanientrådar till en.

/Mod

Hittade en mycket fin artikel!

2009's backpacking secret is ...
... Albania. With empty beaches and bargain prices, its Adriatic coast could be the ultimate traveller destination, writes Matt Carrol


http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Observer/Pix/pictures/2009/4/25/1240...
A paraglider flies over the beach of Vlore, Albania. Photograph: AFP/Getty Images



Ask someone to give you their list of "paradise" destinations and Albania is probably one of the least likely places to crop up. But as I drop my bags, kick off my flip-flops and dive into a turquoise sea, the "P" word is the only way to describe what I'm seeing.

Bobbing about on my back, I strain my eyes right and left in a bid to spot another human being, but all I can see is smooth white sand stretching away in both directions for about three miles. Mountains rise up just behind the beach, huddling together to increase my privacy. And as if that's not utopian enough, I've even got my own "private" beach bar, where resident mixologist Bledi rustles up mojitos for £3 a pop.

In Albania, this counts as expensive. No wonder increasing numbers of backpackers are making their way over here. According to student travel specialist STA Travel, there has been a huge rise in demand for trips to the country, which was once regarded as Europe's poor relation.

"We have noticed a massive increase in the number of gap-year travellers and backpackers wanting to try Albania," says STA's Ian Swain.

When I went backpacking, in the late 90s, it was all about Thailand, with its talcum-powder sand, beach huts and low-key bars. But getting there required an endurance test of 15 hours in economy class, not to mention a sizable dent in the student loan. My trip to Drymades Beach involved only a three-hour flight. All right, I then had to spend a few more hours on the bus that weaves its way along the rocky mountain roads that lead south from Tirana, the capital city. But that just meant I had the opportunity to hop off en route and explore some of the country's coastal nooks and crannies.

The Albanian Riviera stretches nearly 300 miles from Vlore down to Butrint, forming one of the last stretches of unspoilt shoreline in Europe. Around almost every corner there's a strip of empty sand that has managed to escape invasion by the package holiday hordes.

Heading out of Tirana for the coast, one of the first places I stopped at was Orikumi, home to the ruins of an ancient village dating back to 600BC. In other countries it would all be roped off, with overpriced tickets and T-shirts on sale. Here, however, I could wander at will around the remains, crunching along a path strewn with bits of old Roman pottery. I felt like a pasty-faced Indiana Jones stumbling across a lost city. While a large proportion of Orikum (as the village was originally called) is buried under the nearby estuary, the amphitheatre, market stalls and sacrificial altar are still largely intact.

From here, my route continued up into the Cika Mountains, where the smell of pine trees and hot earth wafted in through the open windows of the bus, fuelling my desire to find a beach and cool off as soon as possible. I didn't have to wait much longer.

After winding up through the Llogara Pass, at 1,100m (3,609ft), the road began to weave its way down to the coast and I got my first glimpse of what the backpackers are getting so excited about. The edge of Albania stretched out into the distance, bordered the whole way along by a ribbon of white sand. The only symptoms of human "civilisation" were the domes of the machine gun bunkers scattered every few hundred metres along the shore - leftovers from the country's paranoid dictator Enver Hoxha, who died in 1985.

Reaching the coast, we turned off the tiny "main" road and headed down to Palassa Beach, bouncing down a track that would break the average rental car. I wasn't about to complain about having my teeth shaken loose over the potholes, though; the lack of tarmac is the main reason why the region has yet to be gripped by the tentacles of mass tourism.

The reward for those prepared to put in the effort is a three-mile stretch of beach to call your own. The only sound here is the hypnotic rattle of pebbles being raked over the shoreline. In 48BC, Julius Caesar landed here from Rome, on his way to battle Pompey at Pharsalus in northern Greece; I've a hunch it hasn't changed much since. As with most of the beaches I came across, there's nothing (and no one) stopping you from simply plonking a tent up and spending a few nights here.

Do that, though, and you're in danger of missing out on Bledi's freshly made mojitos. Drymades is the next beach along, and it's here that pebbles are replaced by smooth sand and a mellow soundtrack of Cafe del Mar-style tunes.

After emerging from my spontaneous dip I finally bump into another visitor. Edward is an Albanian artist looking for inspiration. "I love it here," he tells me, as we wait for Bledi to mix mojito number three. "You should see it first thing in the morning, when the sun comes up. It'll blow your mind."

It wasn't just the beach bar lifestyle that brought back memories of backpacking in Thailand; the accommodation was similar, too. Tucked away in the woods behind the beach are a bunch of wooden, one-bedroom huts, with kitchens and shower rooms. They are basic but comfortable - especially when you're spending most of your time catching rays on the beach.

If you do find yourself craving some civilisation (ancient or modern), you'll find it just a couple of hours' drive away, in Saranda. When the sun goes down, you can see the lights of Corfu twinkling across the water like tiny glow-worms in the distance.

A few days after dragging myself away from Drymades, I sit sipping the froth off a cappuccino while fishermen putter about in the little harbour, their boats chock-full of freshly caught fish. I could happily spend the day here, watching the world go by, but this is merely a pause on the way to Butrint.

The ruins of this city form an architectural index of ancient history, with Greek, Roman and Venetian remains all contained on one tiny island. Located half-an-hour's drive south of Saranda, on the edge of a beautiful blue lagoon, it was a thriving port for more than a thousand years and is now a Unesco world heritage site.

Starting at sea level I amble along avenues of shady trees, working my way up through time until I reach the island's highest point. The route takes me past an ancient Roman bathhouse and Christian baptistry, before leading me up steps worn smooth by centuries of shuffling feet to the magnificent Venetian castle. In the 15th century this would have provided an important early peek at hostile visitors; now it's ideal for spotting sea eagles circling over the electric-blue water.

Albania is not all old ruins and rudimentary beach huts, though. Making my way back north towards Tirana, I spend the final few nights at a boutique hotel, Rapo's, in the village of Himara.

This is the first glimpse I get of Albania's potential future - one with Wi-Fi, swanky dark wood sunbeds and poolside waiter service. While it's all very nice, I can't resist sneaking off down a nearby track to find yet another deserted beach. Developers must be itching to get their hands on this place but, for now, the backpackers have it to themselves.


Råder alla att läsa genom denna artikeln!

Mmm. Den artikeln är från guardian.co.uk som har fler relativt nya artiklar om Albanien: http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/albania

nu har precis orkat läsa tolv sidor dynga från alla här på FB..men det känns lite som du är lite för patriotisk för Albania..skyller på serberna när det gäller zigenare..alla vet ju att dom härstammar från indien..skitsamma men ja måste säga att ja gillar lagar mer än moral & etik..för det känns inte helt rätt när det e så eneklt att muta en polisman man inte har körkort/kör för fort..då måste det ju vara nått fel på stället? Eller kommer ni säga att dom göra det för att få ihop till sitt leverbröd..? Och alla har vapen för att skydda sig..känns bra! Tänk va bra om ja fick det med så ja fick skydda mig mot olika anfall..ganska praktist, men i sverige åker ju man själv dit om man gör nått "moraliskt" tillbaka mot brottslingen..Fast om man tänker efter hur skulle det se ut om alla följde era frihets tjosan? jo världens population skulle nog minska drastiskt..eftersom om alla skulle mörda mödaren..bara på det så är vi uppe i dubbla människors död..å sen om några av den mördade mördarens kompisar vill mörda den som mörda och vise versa så skulle nog mänskligheten försvinna ganska snabbt så ja tror inte ett smack på eran "frihet" utan lagar..

Men för övrigt ser det mysigt ut bara att ja åker nog hellre på träningsläger i Gulag

Ryssland har större problem med korruption än Albanien...
http://www.finfacts.ie/corruption.htm

I USA där ett antal svenskar reser har alla rätt att inneha ett skjutvapen, precis som i Albanien.
Och om någon skjuter mot en amerikan så har amerikanen rätt att skjuta tillbaka. Vad är fel med det?

Visst, Albanien skiljer sig från Sverige, men inte från övriga världen.

En till artikel om Albanien!
För er som har tid och speciellt er som funderar på Albanien, läs allt.
http://www.balkantravellers.com/en/read/article/1189
För er andra så jag har gjort det intressant i fet text.


Artikeln är klippt då den var för stor, lite mer utvald än slumpmässigt vald text




Towns of Note: Berat, Albania
http://www.balkantravellers.com/images/stories/routes_less_traveled/bera...



Morelle Smith takes a lonely, somewhat bizarre, but beautiful journey through the ancient town. Startled by a knife dropped from an unknown hand, and shown around by strange and slightly obtrusive locals, she walks cobbled streets and wild paths to look for bygone opulence, museums and orthodox churches.


The young man at the reception desk has a warmth and eagerness to help that are completely disarming. He gives me a key to a room on the first floor and helps me carry my bags up the wide staircase.

The corridor is long, long, with identical doors on either side; the whole corridor is painted white (only slightly creamy-coloured with age, enough to be attractive, rather than seedy) and there's a strip of red Albanian carpet, with the traditional patterned borders at the side. The paintwork on the doors - the one leading off the corridor, the bathroom door and the one out to the balcony, are marked with the traces of many fingers. The door handles and wooden surrounds are worn and chipped, but in an endearing kind of way. It feels more welcoming than the sterile interiors of most western hotels.


http://www.balkantravellers.com/images/stories/routes_less_traveled/bera...


I walk up the old road to the citadel. It’s made of polished cobbles, which look like marble. These are mainly a delicate shade of yellow, shot through with grey and terracotta veins, slippery, difficult to walk on and very beautiful. It is a steep climb and takes half an hour to reach the top. Once there, the feeling is of going way back in time. There are no cars here to break the intensity of the silence. There are only the calls of roosters which have a strangely melancholy sound, in this torpid silence of mid-afternoon. You enter this citadel quarter by going through a huge arched entrance, where two men are sitting, selling tickets to go into the old town. All the houses are of the old Ottoman design, as they are in Gjirokastër, but here, they are all pressed together, with narrow little passageways between them, barely wide enough to let two people pass. The first floors of the buildings lean out into these narrow defiles so that people in houses on each side of the street could lean out of their windows and shake hands.


http://www.balkantravellers.com/images/stories/routes_less_traveled/bera...


http://www.balkantravellers.com/images/stories/routes_less_traveled/bera...


On the way back down the yellow marble road, I go to look for the Ethnography Museum. I’d gone into a shop and a man there addressed me in English. When I asked him about the museum, he spoke to a child who ran off, and soon returned with a woman who turned out to be the museum’s caretaker, who opened it up for me and gave me a guided tour in Italian. The house is in excellent condition, and the main sitting room, covered in a beautiful rug of red and black, is also a huge balcony, with the typical Ottoman roof extending far out over it, so it has a shelter from the sun, but the benefit of cool air from outside. Around the sides are carved and varnished wooden banisters. There is also a kitchen area, dining room and guest room. The women’s room is on a higher level, separate and screened off, with a wooden meshwork that they could look through, but which kept them invisible. The women did not sit down and eat with the men although they were allowed to come into the dining room, to serve the food to the men!



In the evening, when the yellow streetlights have pricked tiny pools of light into the immense darkness, I go out again and ask the young man at the reception where I can find an internet café. He gives me directions, and he asks me where I'm from and why I've come here. I tell him that I used to live in Tirana and I love this country and wanted to see it again. He tells me his name is Patrick, and he was born on St Patrick's Day.

http://www.balkantravellers.com/images/stories/routes_less_traveled/bera...


When I ask if he has travelled much himself, he replies with an outburst of frustration against 'Europe'. A Schengen visa costs 2,000 euros, and other ones are 5,000-6,000, which is impossible for most people. His emotional tirade continues- I am not an animal, why should I be treated as an animal - I can speak three foreign languages - English, Italian and a little French - I just want to be treated as a human being, You can come to my country - no-one hurts you or treats you badly, no-one grabs your bag - and he touches my bag, to make it clear what he means - no-one assaults you, you can come and go freely and people treat you well. But I cannot leave this country. What sort of freedom is it, what sort of democracy, when I cannot travel? Europe doesn't want Albanians - in the UK, you might get a UK passport after ten years - France, forget it, Germany, Switzerland, forget it. But if I have thousands of dollars, then it’s not a problem for me to go to the US.

I don't know what reply to give him. What can I say about democracy, when my own country wages wars in Iraq and Afghanistan supposedly in the name of ‘democracy’?



* * *
I climb back up the yellow-cobbled polished road leading to the Fortress. I'm hoping to find the Musée Onufri. I explore more of the little streets, going up steep and narrow white-stone cobbled passageways. Eventually I ask a little boy who's standing in a doorway. He takes me up and down various narrow passageways and there it is. Because he's sweet and asks for nothing I give him 40 lek. Faleminderit (thank you) he says, and later, calls out mirufpashim (goodbye).


http://www.balkantravellers.com/images/stories/routes_less_traveled/bera...


But the museum is closed. I'm exploring some other streets when two men approach me excitedly. One points to himself - Vasili, he says, then - chiesa, chiesa, and he beckons me to follow them. Word's got around, clearly, there's a woman who wants to see churches. The first one they show me - kisha e shen Maria Claherna - is exquisitely beautiful and covered with frescos, although some of them have been half defaced. Vasili explains excitedly that this damage was done in the communist times. He shakes his head and makes a face - very bad, he says. The roof and the walls have wonderful images of saints and one in particular is of a reclining Saint Mary. The stonework of the floor is decorated with a pattern of stars. They then show me through an archway, with a modern wooden stair banister, going down to a lower floor, like a huge crypt, only it’s dusty and empty, and has an eerily ancient and abandoned feel to it. Originale, originale, they point down, excitedly. So it’s clear that this Byzantine church was built on the foundations of one that was even older.

The next church we visit is dedicated to Shen Kollit (St. Nicolas). Almost all of the frescos are defaced, but there are clear signs of reconstruction work being done. After we emerge from this church the second man disappears and Vasili then takes me, by a lower route, to the lovely little red brickwork church I saw the day before, with its red pixie cap dome. He insists on taking a photo of me, with the church in the background. We then head back up to the old fortress. He wants me to stand right at the edge, to see the 'panorama'. I have ungenerous thoughts of him pushing me over the edge so I decline. We go up and down steep steps and he holds out his hand, insistent on helping me. He shows me another part of the fortress, which used to be the dungeon. 'Esclaves, esclaves' says Vasili urgently, putting his wrists together, as if bound. I peer through an archway. The floor is underwater, covered with a thick and stagnant viscous looking greenish liquid. There's an atmosphere of pure horror.

Vasili points out the church of San Spiridone, and suggests he could take me there to see it. But though I’m deeply grateful for having seen the churches, his enthusiastic whirlwind tour has left me a little stunned and overwhelmed and I decline.


Vasili then tells me he is forty years old, although he looks older, and he has a teenage daughter. It’s very difficult, he says, because at that age she needs many clothes. He wanted to go to Greece to find work there but the visa is 400 euros (a much smaller sum than I’ve heard from others) and just to find the money for that is very difficult. Of course I give him some lek, but I was going to do that anyway. He says 'grazie', and walks back towards the entrance to the fortress area with me, and then indicates with his hand, the way to go and says rruga, rruga (the road) to make sure I know which way to go.


When I get back to the hotel, Patrick's anger seems to have been forgotten and he's returned to being the sweet and helpful person who helped me with my bags, when I first arrived here. He showed me the book he used, to learn English - a rather out of date looking book, well-worn.

“You,” he says, “you are not prejudiced against us. And because you have lived here, you are a part of our country.”

Would we be so generous with citizenship, I wondered, could we so easily say, my country is yours as well?

Vad kostar en öl ?
Vad kostar en middag? Typ en köttbit med nått till
Vad kostar det att åka taxi?
Finns det vandrarhem?vad kostar det?

Vet att man inte kan ge exakta svar men hur mycket det kostar på ett ungefär.