Having arrived in Dubrovnik just yesterday by bus from Montenegro, we were about to leave it for Albania through the port by catamaran.

We had to meet the bus outside of Dubrovnik old town walls at 0530hrs. We have only just arrived and we are already getting up at the crack of sparrows to go somewhere else. At least this time we are coming back – I’m quite liking the thought of 4 nights in the same place (even if we are getting up in the dark to go on an adventure).

It least however, the early morning start meant that we had an amazing walk through the walled town at sunrise; the new sun just turning the grey marble of the streets to a pale pink in the early dawn. I wanted to linger over the walk, photographing every change in light in this eerie space that just hours before had been filled to bursting with tourists and revellers. The same streets were now deserted – and stunningly beautiful.

The bus took us to the port where our passports were given an exit stamp, and we boarded the catamaran for our three and a half hour journey to Durrës on the coast of Albania.

Nige snoozed for most of his journey – I spent the time looking out of the window as the coast of Montenegro sped by, and tried to ignore the chatter of the group of 60 year olds who had met on their package holiday of Croatia sitting in the seats next to us. Clearly that was going to be a totally impossible task – either because they were loud and irritating, or I am a nosy eavesdropper – you decide!

So, back to Albania. As we came off the catamaran at Durrës, a troupe of 10 ‘traditional’ dancers were performing for us. My thoughts and feelings about this are a bit all over the place. On the one hand, Albania is not a rich country, and if our tourist Leks can support local enterprise, then I’m all for that. I was aware that the tour company we were with for the day would have paid for them to be there, and I was aware too of the contents of the catamaran spilling out onto the docks with all manner of flashy video and stills cameras and it seemed incongruous – I wonder what they thought of us?

The dancing display took place actually at the docks – with a backdrop of industrial loading cranes and cargo tankers.

There was no immigration desk (or building even) to pass through, and no showing of passports – despite Albania not being part of the European Schengen agreement. We all piled onto the waiting coaches and were driven off in the direction of Tirane without so much as a whiff of passport-stamp ink or ‘nothing to declare’ channels.

As we drove to and then through Tirane, the capital city, everything looked tired, and in need of repair and investment. Even the amazingly painted buildings didn’t disguise ugly architecture and disrepair.

The buildings of Tirane have been painted all manner of hues and patterns; by order of the mayor, Edi Rama. Some sneer at this as what happens when an artist becomes a politician and is simply a masking of the major problems in the city (such as corruption and lack of clean drinking water) with a cosmetic facade, and others think it brightens up the vast concrete communist buildings and apartment blocks.

For me, I wasn’t so sure. It was a tourist spectacle for everyone on our bus – craning necks and pointing cameras through the coach windows in order to snap an image of the most garish forever in time. I wondered what the people thought. The people living (and looking at) the buildings on a daily basis. Living with the peeling paint and fading colours; are they brightening up the city streets, or just creating an artificial mask for despair?

When we finally got off the bus, we were taken on a brief walking tour of the very centre. I have to say, the feeling of the city and the friendliness of the people belied the feeling the city gave from the comfortable confines of the coach. It was much warmer and welcoming in the flesh than through the barrier of tourist coach windows.

The tour guide very helpfully offered a ‘tourist menu’ at a ‘very very good’ local restaurant. Chicken for €10 a head. Apart from the idea of a ‘tourist menu’ turning our stomachs (metaphorically speaking), this sounded like a lot, and we wondered what the family connection (or financial incentive) was regarding the ‘very very good’ local restaurant.

As we now had a few hours to ourselves before heading back to Durrës, we decided to consult the LP guide to the Balkans for advice on where to eat, rather than spend our time in Albania with the group from the bus getting ripped off in the tourist menu restaurant.

We ended up with a fab meal and local beer for a little over €10 for TWO.

A few hours was not long enough. We were just starting to understand the vibe of the city and it’s beer before it was time to head back into the main square to meet the bus. The government buildings flanking the square were impressive and clearly in good repair – a stark contrast to the social housing and general buildings just a few hundred yards from this area.

The coach whisked us back to Durrës where we stopped for another couple of hours to see the amphitheatre (not worth the climb or the time away from general wondering around). We found a great bar in a small fort which once-upon-a-time would have defended the coastline from marauders, which not only had great local beer, but a fantastic view over Durrës, her port and out to sea from the top of the battlements.

By 1700, the day in Albania was over, and again we boarded the catamaran for the journey back. This time, the sea was choppy and it was not at all pleasant. We sat away from the jolly foursome encountered earlier, and found ourselves opposite a French couple who were about as old as my parents, and she kept silently weeping while he was constantly touching, stroking, kissing her in the kind of way you’d imagine they meant in the signs at swimming baths that read ‘NO heavy petting’. Difficult in our British properness to know where to look – as much for intruding on her grief (or whatever was making her upset) as the heavy petting.

We arrived back at the hostel shattered after a 15 hour day. We had spent 6½ hours of that in Albania; hardly entitling us to say we’ve been (maybe ‘been’ but certainly not fully experienced). The time spent did not give me a desire to rush back, but more a flavour of a country that I’m never likely to return to. Worth it? Maybe.