Our last stop in Albania was Permet - and our journey was a bit of a disaster, partly because, for some reason, we still believed in the online bus timetable at that point.
Having just missed a bus from Ksamil to Saranda, we panicked and got a taxi instead, as our bus was due to leave in just over half an hour. We thought. Which meant that we arrived in Sarande to find that the bus to Gjirokaster didn't leave for another hour and a half - plenty of time to determine the fact that Saranda was infinitely nicer than Ksamil, with a wide esplanade planted with palms and banana trees and boats rocking idly in the glittering blue water. There are even the ruins of a Roman something-or-other fenced into the central park. We toyed with the idea of staying on for a bit longer at the coast - Lydia wanted more beach time, but decided instead to head to Permet which we had been told was the "jewel in Albania's crown," and how can you miss out on that?
Bus to Gjirokaster arrived half an hour early, only for us to find that the onward bus to Permet was not till 7am the next morning. So it was taxi again - the most terrifying journey I have been on, the driver driving at at least 150 miles per hour, whilst shouting at people on his mobile and zipping around hairpin bends up and down the mountains. I am assured that the scenery was amazing, but I have to take that on trust.
Permet. Unlike the Berats and Gjirokasters of this world - or, indeed, Albania - Permet does not have a charming old town from a gazillion years ago, or a castle of any sort. It is, however, a clean, modern town where they have done their best to contrast the horrible old communist buildings with wide, stone, tree lined streets and is framed on one side by the green beauty of Vjosa river and on the other by the rising of dark, rugged mountains. On arrival, against my better instincts, we booked ourselves a white water rafting experience for the next day and then there wasn't much tie for anything else. We ate one of the best meals of our lives and retired to our spanking new, but tasteful, guest house where a family of four kittens frolicked in the garden and where we were serenaded by some local folk musicians who appeared to be having a spontaneous jam session - accordion, drum/singer and clarinet.
Got up bright and early the next day, feasted on the massive spread of food which Albanians seem to think we foreigners need for breakfast - cheese, bread, omelets, fruit, the inevitable tomatoes and cucumber, fritters the size of a baby's head - and set off for the rafting, me quaking in my boots. I'm a wuss at the best of times and my impression of white water rafting was of teams of antipodean youths with a death wish flinging themselves down Niagra falls in nothing but an outsize flipflop - a thong for any Australian friends reading this.
It wasn't quite like that.
Apart from us, there was a busload of middle aged Bulgarians, none of whom could understand the safety instructions, but didn't admit to it until after lecture. Two large, sturdy looking rafts, with a professional on each one. And - wait for it - a kitten. Gingy, a tiny, mewing scrap of ginger fur had been found in the river a couple of weeks ago and adopted by the American woman, Stacy, who was working for the rafting company. Since she spends the best part of each day on the water, she decided to take Gingy with her, rather than leave him at home - and I have to say that I couldn't help thinking that if a kitten could survive a white water rafting experience, than I probably could too. Gingy spent the bus ride to our take-off point, climbing all over the passengers, trying to burrow into their hair and mewing at us all with his big, pathetic green eyes wide and scared. But once on the water, tucked into Lydia's life jacket, he calmed down, purring and giving every appearance of contentment as we sped downstream - as did I. Well, I didn't purr, but you know what I mean. Actually, I may have purred, I felt like it. Turns out that rafting was more like a gentle stroll in the park, the "rapids" being nothing more than a bobbing and plopping over rocks, the sight of the green water gleaming in the sunshine as it spooled through the tree gorged channel of rock, mountains soaring either side of us, Elgar and Bach and Tchaikovsky in the form of nature. When we came to the end, after only two hours, it was hard to get out of the boat and get back on a bus again.*
After our courageous fight with the Vjosa river, we headed out to the thermal baths - another canyon where there are natural springs which are said to have healing powers - some for your kidneys, some for your liver, one for your skin. The Ottomans built a very fine bridge here "at the turn of the 18th century" Whether they built it because they wanted a bridge to cross the river or whether they built it because they couldn't think of anything that could be more picturesque, I'm not sure, blending into the stone of the surroundings, but giving a focal point through which you can gaze at more mountain and river views.
We walked a little way down the canyon - note to self:bring proper water shoes next time we go to Albania - soaked in either a kidney or liver pool, I'm not sure which. The one thing I do know is that it stank of rotten eggs so presumably it must have been good for us, eh? Then on to another pool which is a warm 25 degrees all the year round - the locals come and soak in here in the winter, whilst taking in the views of the snowy mountain peaks around them apparently. ( I'm sure the view of fields round Adstock is just as nice...) Then back to guest house for hot shower and lots of soap where we emerged only smelling slightly rank for another amazing Albanian meal.
And to think we nearly stayed in Saranda!
* On this page is a very rare photo where there are three members of our family all smiling and looking happy AT THE SAME TIME. And it was not done with photoshop, I promise. So is worthy of posting in spite of my fat legs. Sorry.
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