Arrival in Tirana

A reasonable night's sleep was had on the SS Adria, although the scent of eau de pissoir from the bathroom was a little overbearing at times. We went through immigration efficiently and then encountered a few taxi drivers who not only offered a ride into Tirana, but also provided money changing if needed. We politely declined their offers and jumped on the public bus into Tirana. I must admit that the Albanian taxi wallahs are pretty tame in comparison to others I have encountered. A polite 'no' and they leave you alone. I'd give them about 1/10 in terms of their ability to get under your skin. An epic fail by international standards.
Unfortunately our journey coincided with peak hour. Tirana is home to not much more than 300 000 people, but it's traffic congestion puts many much bigger cities to shame. The driving definitely errs on the side of cavalier. I thought riding a Vespa in Rome was challenging, Tirana would be another league again.
We made it in one piece to the so called 'regional bus centre' which was not much more than a dusty car park full of ageing buses. Signposting was pretty close to zero and there seemed to be no tourist information, so we hot footed it to a place where we saw local buses arriving and figured we could take our chances that this was a public transport hub for the city. Chaos appeared to override efficiency, but within a minute we were on a bus that was apparently destined for the 'city centre'. We soon came to realise that the very casually dressed men on the buses, and I mean casually dressed, are actually conductors. They are super helpful and watch out for the lost and helpless, like us, right through to the final stop.
We disembarked at Skanderberg Square and found our way to the wonderful Art Hostel, about a 10 minute walk from the city centre. We regrouped and then had lunch at Oda just down the road from our accommodation. Pronounce its name phonetically and you'd probably think this is not the hottest place to eat in town. The food is sensational and I washed my lunch down with a magnificent brew from the north of Albania. I might also mention that the courtyard is the place to be on a spring day. All up, perhaps our best meal of the trip thus far.
It was then back onto public transport and the usual battle through Tirana's narrow streets and crazy traffic. We made our way to Dajti Ekspres an impressive cable car that takes you to a great hilltop view over the city. We then snuck in a game of mini golf on a course that was, to say the least, challenging! One more bus trip and we were back at home, exhausted but really loving this city and its people.

A note on Albanian history.
Albania didn't exist as an independent country until 1912. It's probably fair to say that throughout the course of its history it hasn't made the best choices when it comes to choosing its friends and allies. There's been everything from Turkish (the Albanians had little say in this one) and Soviet overlords and a dalliance with Italian fascism.
There's also the legendary Ahmed Muhtar Zogolli, better known as King Zog 1. He became PM at the ripe old age of 27 and then declared himself King of Albania in 1928 a position he held until Mussolini decided he had had enough of Zog, invaded the country and turned Albania into an Italian protectorate. The royal families in Europe, didn't take Zog too seriously as he was a self anointed monarch with none of the genetic compromises that are required to make you part of their inner circle.
Of course, there's also the truly awful Enver Hoxha, who ruled Albania with an iron fist from the end of World War Two until his death in 1985. Hoxha took the idea of totalitarianism and paranoia to new levels. A friend of Stalin, who then swung towards Mao in China, because he quite liked the values of the cultural revolution, Hoxha was the prototype arsehole for whom no idea was too extreme. Pol Pot in Cambodia and the Kim family in north Korea were probably inspired by Hoxha's deep seated paranoia and hatred of the outside world. Hoxha's paranoia was best exemplified by his obsessive bunker building program. By the time of his death there were something like 1750 000 bunkers across the country.