Border Crossing: Greece to Albania

Daily miles: 32.35 | Total miles: 12,320.94

I got up before 8 a.m. The usual routine, nothing fancy, just the small rituals that carry me into the day. By 8:50 I was out the door. First stop: the bakery. Stocking up for the miles ahead. Then to another important place—I had sent myself a package with a new rain jacket. And finally… I got it. Such a small thing, but it felt like a quiet win.

Leaving town, already rolling, at the first roundabout something felt off. The right wheel was wobbling. I stopped, took it off, and saw the problem straight away. I called Panos. Without hesitation, he came, took the wheel to the shop, and got it fixed. While waiting, I had a lovely conversation with Leonidas—one of those unexpected pauses that make a hard day softer. Panos returned, wheel fixed, and I moved on again.

Just three miles later—pouring rain, no shelter anywhere—the other wheel decided it wanted attention too. Same story, different wheel. I called again, and this time Giannis came and fixed it right there on the spot, rain soaking everything. Help appears when you really need it.

Then I moved on. The last miles in Greece unfolded gently. The ocean carried a deep, beautiful color, the kind that stays with you. One woman saw me passing, ran into her house, and came back out with an apple and two mandarins. The best I’ve ever had. Simple gifts somehow always taste the richest.

After about ten miles the rain stopped, though the clouds still looked undecided, heavy and dramatic. Crossing the border, Albania revealed itself from a beautiful side. I could have taken so many pictures today, but my phone was deliberately wrapped in a Ziploc bag—safe from the rain, but too complicated to take in and out constantly. So I let my eyes do the remembering.

Like in Greece, there are many unfinished or broken-down houses here. Some I can hardly believe people live in—yet laundry hangs outside, and people move in and out through door holes without actual doors. Life happening anyway.

Walking through Albania, the pastel-colored sunset over the lake on my left and mountains all around me was stunning. The sky shifted—from soft pastels to yellow, then to a greyish tone—while the lake kept illuminating everything with the last traces of light. Even after the sun had set, it held on.

The last two hours were in the dark. I kind of like walking in the dark, especially in places I’ve never been before. My mind paints the surroundings for me. At one point, I saw two green eyes reflecting in the distance on the road. I wondered what animal it might be. Of course—it was a cow.

As I got closer to Vurgu i Ri, I had to find my place. For a moment, I felt a bit nervous—it just didn’t look right. After a while, I asked a family sitting in a car, and they helped me locate the house I was looking for.

Once inside, Martina, the daughter, showed me everything and made sure I was comfortable. Dimitria, the mother who lives downstairs, brought me tiger slippers, offered me food—spaghetti with cheese and egg, mmh, delicious—and prepared drinking water for me. Such warmth, such care. It’s a very cozy place to stay.

I’m so tired. Thanks for checking in, Andrea