Surviving Our First Night in Albania 🇦🇱: When Chaos Meets Unexpected Calm

Tirana, Albania, Part 1

I didn’t mean to fall in love with Albania. In fact, I was fully prepared to be underwhelmed. I packed low expectations next to my sweaters, threw on my most judgmental scarf, and said, “Let’s see what all the fuss isn’t about.” I mean, who goes to the Balkans when it’s cold, grey, and mildly threatening to snow? Apparently, we do. A group of us decided to skip the usual Christmas market clichés and instead land in Tirana with confused airport security, bulky winter wear, and zero enthusiasm.

And just like that, Albania won.

It greeted us with roundabouts designed by a chaos-loving cryptid… somehow worse than any I have ever experienced in all of Europe. In fact, I was almost claimed by one via carsickness. There were more bunkers than Starbucks and buildings that looked like they couldn’t agree on what time period we should focusing on: eclectic disarray and somehow pulling it off. Tirana is a heady mix of gritty charm and quiet rebellion where communist relics sit next to neon cafés, and traffic laws are more like vague suggestions. This was a group trip, yes, one which promises inside jokes, logistical nightmares, and group photos where half of us blinked. But somehow, Albania handled us. In fact, I think it liked us and we kind of fell in love with it back.

So here we are. Another travel series. Get ready for a wild ride through a country where wrong turns mean full-blown adventures and Albania somehow wormed its way into my heart without asking permission.

Next stop: Arrival and culture shock. Stay tuned. Things get interesting.

Day One: Albania Greets Me with Ryanair Trauma and a Interrogating Cop

Ryanair wins again

We left Milan Bergamo airport under the cover of night because nothing screams “this will go well” like boarding a Ryanair flight after dark. If you’ve flown Ryanair, you already know. If you haven’t flown Ryanair, imagine being gently herded onto a plastic-wrapped seat inside a hollowed-out sardine can, then flung through the sky by someone who lands like they forgot to take anger management classes and are taking it out on you. It’s not so much a flight as it is a shared trauma… one you survive, but never quite emotionally recover from (and somehow keep going back for more). Dramatic? Yes. Accurate? Also yes.

By the time we touched down in Tirana, I was already mentally Googling “flights back to Milan,” because I was already regretting not taking that fateful trip to northern Germany and soaking in all the Christmas cheer. We collected our bags, and I was thoroughly unimpressed. I was moments away from turning right back around and blaming it all on mercury retrograde.

And then… it happened.

As my friends strutted toward the exit, blissfully unaware of my slow descent into traveler’s regret, I was suddenly stopped by an airport officer. He touched my arm gently. Red flag. Full-body panic. Was I being detained? Did someone slip something into my personal item? Was I about to be deported for having too much attitude in my carry-on?

"Is this your first time here?" he asked, with a look that said either you're in trouble or I might be your long-lost Balkan cousin. I choked out a soft, confused “yes,” bracing for impact.

Instead, he smiled, n actual, genuine, human smile, and said:“Welcome to Albania! Enjoy your time here. If you need help, there will be plenty of people around to answer all of your questions.”

Excuse me?? Emotional whiplash, part two. Not only did I not end up in Albanian jail, but I was greeted with warmth, kindness, and helpfulness so pure I didn’t know what to do with it. My heart? Slightly melted. My paranoia? Still on standby.

And just like that, the energy shifted. Albania had my attention… but not my trust. Not yet.

Crazy Car Rides and Spaghetti (?)

Fresh off my “not arrested at the airport” win, I stepped into the night air of Tirana expecting things to calm down. They did not.

These Traffic Lights are on Another Level

We were greeted by our friends who’d been staying in Albania on a work assignment, smiling and unfazed as if what was unfolding wasn’t the beginning of a potential psychological unraveling. We had drivers waiting for us in cars that looked… brave. I wouldn’t call those cars road-safe. Hell, I’m pretty sure even the traffic cops would file a restraining order. But somehow the engines sputtered to life, the doors grudgingly opened, and with zero better ideas, we threw caution—and common sense—to the wind and climbed in, praying we’d make it out in one piece… or at least in one piece-ish.

The drive was next-level chaos. Rain hammered down, windshield wipers were doing overtime; apparently, the drivers didn’t get the memo. In Tirana, traffic rules aren’t rules, just vague suggestions open to interpretation. I tried to keep calm. Spoiler: I failed spectacularly, although not obviously.

After what felt like a survival exercise, we pulled up to our first destination: Spaghetti House and Fish. I wish I were making that up. A restaurant the size of a shoebox, with a name that sounded like someone made it up on a whim.

But here’s the twist: it was fantastic.

The staff greeted us like we were royalty. The food was rich, fresh, and way better than I had mentally prepared for. We had fish (obviously) with pasta that had just the right amount of garlic. That’s when I knew I was in the right place. After everything; the Ryanair descent from hell, the panic at the airport, the vehicular chaos; I finally exhaled. Just a little.

Albania had officially piqued my interest.

Hotel Colosseo, Tirana, Albania

After dinner, we finally called it a night, though the day’s madness still lingered in the air. Our hotel, Hotel Colosseo, was just two blocks away... close enough to escape, but far enough to feel like we’d just survived a real life horror movie. We checked in, crashed into our rooms, and waited for dawn to pull back the curtain on whatever Albania had next. Surprisingly, despite all the tension from the day, we slept like babies as if even our dreams needed a break from the wild ride.