Celebrating Albania: From Unofficial Tourism Minister to Personal Liberation

A few years ago, if you had asked me about my greatest passion, I would have confidently declared, "Dissuading anyone from vacationing in Croatia and persuading them to explore Albania instead." Friends and acquaintances would raise an eyebrow, their scepticism thinly veiled, until I'd reveal my hidden agenda: "You see, Croatians may not be the warmest hosts, and I might even prefer the Serbs, who occasionally harbour less-than-friendly sentiments toward us Albanians. That's my secret card to pique their curiosity." In truth, I'd never vacationed in Croatia, and I cherish many Croatian friends deeply. But, as they say, sales can be a dirty business, and I was tasked with promoting a country that didn't enjoy the best reputation.

Perhaps, deep down, it was also a personal vendetta against a Croatian girl who once refused to align herself with the Balkans, proudly declaring herself European. "Bitch, please," I'd think, "Your customs officers still solicit bribes from my family under the counter. That's as Balkan as it gets." Nevertheless, I was relentless in my mission to extol the virtues of my homeland. At times, my enthusiasm even led people to wonder if I was on the payroll of the Albanian Ministry of Tourism. I'd chuckle and remind them that Albania was still a struggling nation, and the ministry would prefer to line their own pockets than pay someone like me.

However, after a recent trip to Albania with friends from abroad, I find myself harboring mixed feelings about my zealous promotion of my country. It's akin to adoring someone so deeply that you spend all your time convincing others of their worth, only to feel a pang of exhaustion when they finally receive the recognition they deserve. It's a bittersweet sensation – you revel in the "I told you so" moment but must now share your beloved with the world. It's also disheartening to hear self-proclaimed "travelers" with a string of flags in their Instagram bios, hailing from affluent countries, lamenting about how expensive Albania has become, oblivious to the relative affordability for them. It's a challenge to refrain from pointing out that we may be poor but not cheap. Explaining the concept of value to people who are rich but cheap can be a battle. It's tough to convey that our perception of time here differs, and if you're a control freak, perhaps you should stay home. Loving Albania necessitates mastering the great Albanian art of "making do," a skill we all practice on a national scale. Your driver might arrive late due to a lack of road signs, but he'll bring fresh figs to savor during the journey. Albania epitomizes raw kindness, exuberance, and wildness. 

@Marjana Koçeku copyright - Lake Koman, North of Albania

The other day, I stumbled upon an article about Albania, highlighting the agritourism efforts of Mariana, an Albanian who, after traveling the world and studying abroad, chose to return to her remote, untamed corner of the country. She offers visitors an unfiltered Albania – a chance to reconnect with nature and immerse themselves in the legends and values that have guided this secluded place for so long. Seeing this feature in How To Spend It, a supplement of the Financial Times, felt like the ultimate validation. I recall seeing that magazine in the homes of the elite in Milan. It was the culmination of a mission I had silently nurtured in my heart for years.

I remember my French boyfriend once cautioning me about the immense weight I carried on my shoulders. Attempting to alter the perception of an entire nation seemed like an overwhelming task. He was right, as I now realize. However, he couldn't fathom how deeply intertwined my identity was with my homeland. I say "was" because, lately, as perceptions surrounding Albania have shifted, I feel I can finally breathe easy.

For many second-generation migrants, defending our homeland against racist remarks felt like defending our very selves. Over the years, bringing someone to Albania held nearly the same level of intimacy as them seeing us naked. It also reflected our own insecurities and feelings of inferiority. Ascribing so much significance to a summer trip with friends only set us up for crushing expectations. We tried to mimic Italians or Greeks, bars and clubs were a bit of a reflection of those you could find in Southern Italy or in a Greek Island. Some of the promotional material utilized to lure visitors compared Albania to a cheaper version of those countries. Seeing businesses such as that of Mariana, which offer an authentic experience is proof of a newly acquired honest sense of self. Albania is a place unlike any other, and there's no place quite like Albania. If you are going there because you cannot go somewhere else, perhaps it is better to stay home.

Now, I no longer place such significance on who I introduce to Albania. The allure of Albania as a tourist destination doesn't define my self-worth. I've freed myself from the burden of validation. As for the friends, I'll accompany there from now on, they should understand that they're embarking on a vacation with someone who has grown to love herself far more than in the past. Perhaps, by stepping down from my unofficial role as the Minister of Tourism, I can finally make plans for a summer getaway elsewhere.

Vilma Djala