Day 16 Balkans Trip May 2

 May 2 — From Tirana to Istanbul: A Travel Day of Contrasts

The morning started abruptly—no lingering over coffee, no breakfast buffet—just a quick wake-up and a cab ride to Tirana International Airport Nënë Tereza. It felt like we were leaving Albania as quickly as we had come to appreciate it.

I once again donned my airline “uniform”—what Tricia Tezel has affectionately dubbed my “cute little outfit.” Jokes aside, it continues to work like a charm. There’s a subtle but noticeable shift in how airline staff interact—just enough to smooth the edges of travel day friction.

We left Rick behind, unfortunately, trusting he’d be able to secure an emergency passport and catch up soon. Not the kind of split you plan for, but travel has a way of writing its own script.

Our flight on AJet was short—just about an hour and twenty-five minutes—but the descent into Istanbul made it feel monumental. As we approached Sabiha Gökçen International Airport (SAW), the sheer scale of the city came into view. Massive shipping ports stretched along the water, packed with vessels, while clusters of red-tiled rooftops filled the landscape inland. It’s a place that doesn’t just hint at history—it radiates it, layered over thousands of years.

Before takeoff, there was a brief bit of airport drama—a passenger trying to board the bus to the plane ran into ticketing issues, causing a small commotion. It was resolved, but added a little unexpected tension to an otherwise smooth departure.

Thanks again to the “uniform,”  I ended up in the front row, extended legroom with Kurt —a small but meaningful win on a travel day.

Arrival in Turkey brought another moment of suspense. I went through the standard passport line, but the border agent paused, looked at my passport then me in uniform, and then made a call. A few seconds stretched longer than usual—then came that unmistakable, satisfying thump of the entry stamp. Cleared. Seems like there is a different line for “Crew” and it momentarily confused this officer.  

Waiting for us just beyond arrivals were Kurt’s cousin and her husband, along with a black limo van that felt like a significant upgrade from our earlier taxi. From the airport, we made our way into the historic heart of the city—the old town of Istanbul.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Narrow cobblestone streets, tightly packed buildings, and traffic that seemed to operate on negotiation rather than rules. At one point, we found ourselves nose-to-nose with another car on a one-lane street—someone had to back up, and it wasn’t entirely clear who would blink first.

The weather carried a cool spring edge—borderline cold—but perfect for walking. As we explored, the city revealed itself through its skyline of mosques, their minarets rising above everything else. The call to prayer echoed across the streets, broadcast throughout the city in a way that felt both ancient and alive.

We checked into the Nile Hotel, dropped our bags, and headed straight out again. First stop: the bustling Grand Bazaar, a maze of color, texture, and energy. From there, we found a local kebab spot—simple, satisfying, and exactly what we needed after a long day of movement.

We wrapped up the evening with strong Turkish coffee and wandered the old city streets as night settled in. The day closed quietly, back at the hotel lobby, with a piece of baklava in hand—sweet, rich, and well-earned.

From missed breakfasts to midnight pastries, it was a travel day that delivered exactly what it should: movement, moments, and a memorable arrival into a city that already feels larger than life.

Day 15 Balkans May 1

 May 1

Tirana, Albania — A Day Between Shadows and Renewal

The day began early, as most good travel days do. I slipped into the hotel gym for a quick workout—“quick” being the operative word, given the modest selection of equipment. Still, it did the job. What the gym lacked, the breakfast buffet more than made up for. It was one of those spreads that reminds you Europe takes its mornings seriously: fresh breads, fruit, eggs, bacon and strong coffee—the kind of start that sets the tone for a full day ahead.

Just a couple of blocks from the Wagner Hotel stood our first destination: the striking and unusual Pyramid of Tirana. Recently renovated, the structure now feels more like a symbol of transformation than of its origins. It was originally built as a mausoleum for Albania’s authoritarian leader, Enver Hoxha—a man whose regime left deep scars across the country. The pyramid itself had been damaged during the rebellion that followed the collapse of his rule, making its modern rebirth all the more symbolic of a country reshaping its identity.

From there, we descended—both physically and historically—into Bunk’Art 2. This museum is housed in one of the staggering 170,000 bunkers constructed during Hoxha’s regime. Walking through it felt less like a museum visit and more like stepping into the psyche of a nation gripped by paranoia. The tunnels and rooms told the story of a government obsessed with control, where fear of external enemies justified internal oppression. Surveillance was constant, carried out by a secret police force reminiscent of the Stasi of East Berlin—and in some ways, even more pervasive. Albania’s version of communism was uniquely harsh, isolated even from the Soviet sphere, and brutally enforced.

Later in the afternoon, the tone shifted as we wandered into a local bike shop and met its owner, Dennis. His story—and those of others we met—brought the history we’d just learned into sharp, human focus. Dennis had learned English by listening to rap music. Others told us they picked it up through Netflix. These weren’t just anecdotes—they were reminders of how recently Albania opened to the world. Dennis mentioned he hadn’t even seen a banana until 1992. It’s hard to process that kind of isolation in today’s hyper-connected world.

After lunch, we set out on a bike tour with our guide, Stevie—named, fittingly, after Stevie Wonder. Following the fall of Hoxha’s regime, many Albanian parents gave their children names inspired by American culture, a small but telling sign of newfound openness and aspiration.

The ride lasted about three and a half hours and offered a deeper look at Tirana than we’d seen the day before. We cycled through the city’s vibrant streets and out toward the peaceful expanse of the Grand Park of Tirana, circling the lake that serves as a kind of communal heartbeat for the city. Along the way, one thing became clear: Tirana takes pride in its architecture. From bold, colorful buildings to stark remnants of its past, the city tells its story visually and unapologetically.

After dinner, however, the day took an unexpected turn. Our travel companion Rick realized his passport was missing—lost or possibly stolen. What followed was a scramble that shifted us from sightseeing to problem-solving. Fortunately, help wasn’t far away. The Embassy of the United States, Tirana and a nearby police station became our next stops, thanks in large part to a hotel attendant who went above and beyond, personally driving us to get the process started.

In a strange twist of coincidence, the attendant’s last name was Hoxha—a name tied so heavily to the country’s past, now helping us navigate a very modern travel mishap.

It was a chaotic end to a day that had otherwise been reflective, educational, and surprisingly uplifting. Albania is a place where history isn’t just remembered—it’s lived, discussed, and, increasingly, transformed.

Day 14 Balkans Trip Tiranë, Albania Food Tour

 April 30 – Tiranë, Albania

The day began under a blanket of gray—low, heavy clouds hinting at what was to come. Springlike temperatures made it feel inviting enough, but the air carried that unmistakable promise of rain. And sure enough, it didn’t take long before the skies delivered.

After the familiar comfort of a hotel buffet breakfast, and a quick weight workout, we set out into the city, stepping into what quickly revealed itself as an architectural surprise. Tiranë doesn’t ease you in—it contrasts itself boldly. Our first stop was the striking Pyramid of Tirana, a relic of a different era that still feels oddly futuristic. Once a monument to a repressive regime, it now stands reimagined—part ruin, part symbol of reinvention.

From there, it became clear: this is a modern city… mostly. The layers are impossible to ignore. Ottoman influences, stark communist blocks, and sleek contemporary designs all compete—and somehow coexist—within the same skyline.

And then, the rain finally came . Ponchos went on, umbrellas popped open, and the adventure continued. We met our guide, Markel, near the Twin Towers of Tirana, kicking off a food tour that would turn out to be as much about history as it was about flavor.

Markel didn’t sugarcoat Albania’s past. Under the rule of Enver Hoxha, the country was often dubbed the “North Korea of Europe.” It was a time of deep isolation and fear—where attempting to leave the country could mean death, and even possessing certain foreign or religious items could carry severe consequences. No prayers or religion was allowed in this Aethist only country.Buildings from that era, often limited in height and stark in design, still stand as reminders of that controlled, closed-off world.

And yet, resilience defines this place. Between 1991 and 1993, nearly half the country’s men left Albania in search of work abroad, sending money home and helping rebuild the nation from the outside in. That legacy still echoes in today’s economy and culture.

We wandered through bustling markets filled with everything from fresh fruit and nuts—sampled on this food tour—to rows of knockoff goods that gave the area a gritty, entrepreneurial edge. The city itself felt alive with color, from painted apartment blocks to unexpected artistic flourishes,  the result of an artist turned mayor!

Another architectural standout rose above the skyline—impossible to ignore and even harder to forget. The Skanderbeg Tower isn’t just a modern high-rise; it’s a piece of storytelling built in glass and concrete. Its undulating, wave-like balconies aren’t merely stylistic—they’re deliberate. From the right vantage point, the building forms the unmistakable side profile of Gjergj Kastrioti Skanderbeg.

What looks at first like fluid, contemporary design reveals itself as something far more symbolic. The contours of the façade trace his helmeted head and facial features, turning the entire structure into a quiet but powerful tribute. It’s not an added feature or decorative façade—it’s embedded in the architecture itself.

The food told its own story. We were introduced to byrek, Albania’s beloved savory pastry—flaky, rich, and filled with anything from cheese to spinach or meat. It’s not just eaten; it’s a daily ritual, often grabbed on the go, folded into paper, and enjoyed as a quick, satisfying bite.

Later, at a traditional restaurant, we sampled a slow-cooked dish known as tavë—a hearty, clay-baked meal that felt like the Albanian answer to comfort food. Simple ingredients, deeply flavorful, and clearly rooted in tradition.

And then there was raki. Served in a small, unassuming bar, it’s Albania’s version of homemade moonshine—strong, sharp, and deeply personal. Markel spoke proudly of helping his grandfather make it, a reminder that in Albania, even the drinks carry family history.

The day wrapped much like it began—back at the market, this time with a bit more energy and confidence. A little bargaining, a few laughs, and some well-earned souvenirs rounded out the experience.

By the end of the day, the rain had stopped, and our tummies were full, Tiranë revealed itself not just as a city, but as a story—layered, resilient, and unapologetically itself.

Day 13 Balkans Trip

 April 29 — Coastlines, Crossings, and a Long Road to Tirana

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By 0800, we were on the road, hugging the coastline toward the airport. The drive was nothing short of spectacular—cliffs dropping into the Adriatic, the morning light catching the water just right. One of those stretches where you don’t mind going a little slower.

Returning the rental car turned into its own mini-adventure. A required fuel stop bottlenecked into a two-man operation—something straight out of a Progressive commercial. Not exactly efficient, but memorable.

From there, we met our driver, Matea, and piled into a full-size van to continue south. Another border crossing—this time from Croatia into Montenegro—and then onward to a ferry crossing that added a bit of novelty to the journey.

We made a stop in Budva, where the old town felt like a “mini Dubrovnik”—stone walls, narrow alleys, and a seaside charm—but without the crush of cruise ship crowds. A welcome change of pace for a couple of hours.

Then came one of those moments you don’t quite expect: a roadside stop involving a radar gun, a 61 in a 60 zone, and what can only be described as a “local resolution”—€40 lighter, but back on the road. Chalk it up to travel stories.

The rest of the journey tested everyone’s patience. Between cows being herded down the road, construction slowdowns, winding mountain passes, and multiple border crossings, what should have been manageable turned into an 11-hour odyssey. At times it felt like driving the length of A1A Scenic & Historic Coastal Byway from Jacksonville to Miami—slow, congested, and relentless.

Frustration crept in as the hours wore on. Traffic patterns shifted, rules felt more like suggestions, and navigating into Tirana required a bit of patience and a steady nerve—somewhere between organized chaos and big-city energy.

Finally, we arrived at the Rogner Hotel Tirana. A welcome sight after a long day on the road. Clean, comfortable, and exactly what was needed.

Dinner came late but well-earned at Era Vila—a satisfying end to a marathon day of travel.

Phew. One of those days where the journey truly was the story.

European Reflections

 The pace of life here feels noticeably slower, but in a way that doesn’t feel inefficient—more intentional. There’s a rhythm to the day that seems built around presence rather than urgency. Cafés are consistently full, not just with people grabbing coffee, but with people sitting, talking, watching the street, and letting time pass without rushing it along.

It’s striking how normal it is to simply occupy space in public life. Tables stay full for hours, conversations linger, and no one seems in a hurry to turn over a seat. It creates a kind of social energy that feels different from the constant motion and multitasking pace back home.

Whether it’s “more healthy” is hard to measure, but it does highlight an alternative approach to daily life—one that prioritizes connection and pauses in the day. There’s something to be said for that balance, even if it doesn’t fit neatly into a productivity-driven mindset

Day 12 Balkans Trip

 April 28 

Goodbye to Fair Sarajevo — Onward to Dubrovnik

The day started early—quietly slipping into the gym as the first patron at 6 a.m., followed by a hearty buffet breakfast and one last look at Sarajevo. There’s something about this city that lingers with you. Maybe it’s the resilience, maybe the layered history—but either way, it’s not an easy place to leave.

We checked out of the hotel and began the roughly 4.5-hour drive toward Dubrovnik, a route that turned out to be far more than just a transfer from point A to point B.

The road itself felt like part of the experience—one of those drives you wish you could slow down even more. Leaving Sarajevo, the urban edges quickly gave way to sweeping valleys and dramatic mountain ranges. Snow still clung to the peaks in the distance, creating a striking contrast against the deep green forests below. The roads twisted and turned, hugging hillsides and tracing the contours of rivers that cut through the landscape like veins.

We passed through small lakeside towns that looked almost untouched by time—clusters of red-roofed buildings reflected in still water, with cafés just beginning to stir for the day. The winding roads made the journey feel intimate, almost like you were being guided through a hidden side of the Balkans. Along the way, the cultural identity of the region was unmistakable, with mosque minarets rising above many towns—a quiet but clear reminder of Bosnia’s strong Muslim heritage.

One of the highlights was stopping in Mostar to see the iconic Stari Most. The old stone bridge arcs gracefully over the Neretva River, a symbol of both division and reconciliation. Walking through the old town felt like stepping into another era—cobblestone streets, artisan shops, and the steady hum of travelers drawn to its beauty and history.

Back on the road, we crossed another border—Bosnia into Croatia—and the scenery subtly shifted again. The mountains stretched on, but eventually the landscape began to open up. Then, almost suddenly, the deep blue of the Adriatic appeared on the horizon. After hours of inland terrain, that first glimpse of the sea felt like a reward.

We followed the coastline into Dubrovnik, where rugged cliffs meet the water in dramatic fashion. Our stay at the President Hotel Dubrovnik was brief but memorable—perched right along the Adriatic, it offered stunning views that made it hard to believe we wouldn’t be staying longer.

After settling in, we hopped on local Bus 6 toward Old Town. By the time we arrived, it was too late to walk the full city walls, but wandering through the historic center more than made up for it. Dubrovnik Old Town is a place that feels almost unreal—smooth, polished stone streets worn down by centuries of footsteps, narrow alleyways that twist and climb unexpectedly, and old churches that stand quietly among the bustle.

There’s a beauty here, but also a sobering history. It’s surprising—and deeply unfortunate—to learn that Dubrovnik itself was shelled during the conflicts of the 1990s. Knowing that adds another layer of appreciation for what still stands today.

Dinner was along the Adriatic, just outside the fortress walls—fresh seafood, the sound of the water, and the glow of the old city behind us. An unexpected detail: a noticeable presence of U.S. State Department personnel in town, reportedly including Marco Rubio for an economic summit. We didn’t catch a glimpse, but it added a bit of intrigue to the evening.

As the night wrapped up, one thought kept surfacing—we needed more time here. Dubrovnik isn’t a place you rush. But with Albania on the horizon tomorrow, this stop would be short.

Still, what a drive. What a day.

Pickpocket prevention Bosnia, Herzegovina

 For pickpocket prevention, I kept things intentionally minimal and hard to lose.

I carried only a single credit card, tucked into a slim key card holder, and stored it in a hidden pocket inside my shorts. In addition, I used an around-the-neck pouch for extra security, which I kept inside my backpack when not needed. The idea was simple: reduce exposure and avoid ever needing to access a full wallet in public spaces.

I also made a habit of keeping my phone in my hand or in my front pocket most of the time. If it wasn’t in my hand, it was secured in my back left pocket—the spot where a wallet would normally go—so I stayed aware of that area without actually carrying anything important there.

To add a layer of distraction, I created a decoy “wallet” using a plastic bag filled with folded papers. From the outside, it had the bulk and shape of a wallet, but it contained nothing of value. It sat in an easily accessible pocket, acting as a deliberate diversion.

Overall, the approach was about reducing risk rather than reacting to it: carrying less, hiding essentials, and making anything visible or reachable intentionally worthless.