On Thursday evening I arrived in Tirana, the capital city of Albania (country #48). The owner of the hostel I stayed at picked me up from the airport, and drove a lap of the city to point out landmarks for me to visit the next day. The bed in the hostel was marvellous, and I woke up on Friday ready for a day of exploring.
I’d pre-booked a guide, Adam, who was built like a brick shithouse, had a dashboard lit up like Blackpool with warning lights, used to play for the Albanian U21s football team, nearly played for Middlesbrough but didn’t for visa reasons. He now smokes like a chimney and likely has emphysema, alluded to a history of people smuggling, casually mentioned spending a few nights in the cells, and proudly stated his father was the “4th most powerful man” (?where). Despite all of this he was just as friendly as the other Albanians I’d met, I immediately trusted him, and he drove me through the snowy mountains to Ohrid in Macedonia (country #49).
Ohrid is a tiny city which sits on the shore of the aptly named Lake Ohrid. There’s a castle and some churches with gorgeous views of the lake, but more importantly a shop which sold postcards and a post office. Adam commended my fast walking pace, and rewarded me with a free 90 minute walking tour of Tirana when we arrived back in Albania with the time that we’d saved by not dawdling.
This was a busy day, and my flight home was scheduled for 21:15 but was predictably delayed. All this made for a knackered Emily who was not in the mood to respond to the first “could any doctors or nurses on board please make themselves known” announcement I’ve heard in 75 flights, and anyway, I am neither a doctor nor a nurse. No-one answered, and eventually the crew lowered their criteria to “anyone with any medical training at all” which I had to concede did include me. Some woman had gone slightly too hard on the sauce and had a woozy moment, but was conscious and very clearly fine. I applied a facial mask which was shaped like a cup so the oxygen just puffed out of the sides rather than into her airway; not that it mattered because she didn’t need it, I just felt like I had to do something because a lot of people were watching. I’ve heard tales of doctors being given free tickets with BA for dishing out a gram of paracetamol on a flight. WizzAir’s offering? Charging me the full €2.50 for a Pepsi bastard Max.
Bottom line: I’d totally recommend Albania as a place to visit but screw Wizz Air.
Love Emily x
