Note: I’m continuing the travelogue I began a few weeks ago about the recent visit to Albania that my wife Mary Pat Treuthart and I made with our Spokane friends Ann and Matt. Click here to begin the series.

The thing about hiring a driver, in the U.S. or in a foreign country, is that unexpected things always crop up. Either your plans change, or the driver’s do.

In a trip that Mary Pat and I made to South Africa in 2022, our most dependable driver was a guy named Basit Ali, whom we had been put in contact with through our hotel. Ali not only drove us to the nearby city of Stellenbosch, where Mary Pat was attending a legal conference, but he also took us to where we embarked on an all-day photo safari. And he took us on a long tour down to and around the Cape of Good Hope.

Ali wasn’t always available, though, so we were forced to get around by hiring drivers – Uber or otherwise – or by booking seats on the Cape Town Hop-on Hop-off line. (Mary Pat is not fond of buses, and I won’t rent cars in countries that require you to drive on the left side of the road.)

One last note about Ali, when I stupidly left my laptop at the security check in the Cape Town airport, he – with whom I communicated through WhatsApp – went to a lot of trouble to retrieve it and then arrange to have it shipped to Spokane. (If you’re considering a Cape Town trip, you can contact Ali on WhatsApp through his phone number: +27 62 126 7902.)

So we’ve had good experiences with drivers. I’ve already written about our Albanian driver, Martin Mustafa, who drove us from Tirana to the city of Shkodēr. We wanted him to pick us – “us” being me, Mary Pat and our Spokane friends Ann and Matt – when our two-night stay in Shkodēr ended. But he had already made alternate plans.

However, he wasn’t about to leave us stranded. He made other arrangements, which involved his cousin Edwin, who drove us the 140 miles south to the beach town of Vlorē.

A note here on the roads in Albania, taken directly from my journal: “The roads here are far better than I had been led to expect. Even those in the countryside are paved. Sometimes in the cities, Tirana and Shkodēr, you run across potholes. But the same is true in Spokane. And anyway the roads are far better than in many parts of Italy or Greece. And while the drivers are aggressive, they’re no different from Italian drivers – especially those in Sicily.”

All that said, the drive took a full five hours, mainly because of heavy traffic. We stopped twice, once for lunch and the other for gas, and drifted into Vlorē in the late afternoon. Our hotel was the fancy-sounding Hotel Priam Luxury Resort (“est. 2020”), which overlooks the sea – both our rooms had sea views – and offers beach access. (And remember: Albanian prices are half what they are in, say, Seattle.)

Too tired to explore, we opted to have dinner in the resort's restaurant, Amadeo, outside on the terrace. And the meal, served by – yet again – unfailingly polite hotel employees was tasty: pasta, fish, risotto and wine for Mary Pat and me. Then early to bed.

At this point in the trip, Mary Pat and I had been on the road for a dozen days while Ann and Matt were still feeling the effects of jet lag. So aside from short walks along the boardwalk that leads into the city proper, we passed on exploring the rest of Vlorē. The value of a beach stay is the chance to simple relax.

In fact, we spent most of our one full day in Vlorē ensconced in beach chairs, under umbrellas, either reading or napping – or both. Again, from my journal: “It’s hot, maybe in the 80s, and the clouds drift back and forth but can’t shield us from the sun’s rays. The sound of the waves hitting the shore mixes both with the cries of children playing in the water and the pulsating tunes emanating from the bar down the beach.”

During my own solo walk, I managed to make a 7:30 reservation at a restaurant called Yacht, which turned out to be barely a 10-minute stroll from our hotel. When we arrived, the courteous and competent host shepherded us to a table on the terrace. Not only did we enjoy a view of the sunset as it set over the sea, but we were serenaded by a talented, young violinist.

While we ate – more mixed fish dishes, pasta and salads – a sudden rainstorm, accompanied by lightning and thunder, inundated the streets. By the time we’re finished, though, the sky was clear. So we walked back to our hotel on streets that had been washed clean.

The next day Martin showed up, as promised. And we headed south, toward the southernmost beach town of Sarandē. To get there, though, Martin took us on a winding coastal road that, ultimately, went along what he called the “Albanian Riviera.”

As we climbed in altitude he asked us, “Are you ready for a wow?” And then he parked at a road-side café, where we sat at a table overlooking the steep slopes that led to the sea far below. Martin ordered a dish of sheep cheese and walnuts covered with honey, the taste of which – as he knew – was almost as satisfying as the view.

Then we headed down from the heights, stopping at Porto Palermo Castle, an ancient fortress that once was the home of the area’s ruler, Ali Pasha. Amid the stone hallways, in the castle’s museum, we discovered Ali Pasha’s sad end, betrayed and beheaded by agents of the Ottoman sultan.

Like much of the rest of Europe, such stories of cruelty and death co-exist with the area’s natural beauty.

Which leads us to our next stop: Sarandē and the Da Luz Boutique Hotel.

Next up: Breakfast pastries and a beach-side boardwalk.