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

We arrived Shkodēr, a city that sits at the southern end of Lake Scutari, early in the evening of May 22. Our driver/tour guide Martin Mustafa had no problem finding our hotel, Hotel Tradita, which sits on the city’s main drag.

No less an authority than the Encyclopedia Britannica states this: “Shkodër is the most historic town in Albania.” Enough said there.

Here’s how Booking.com, not exactly the most objective of sources, describes the place where Mary Pat had booked our rooms: “(O)ne of the oldest and most historic places in Albania, Hotel Tradita is a traditionally decorated boutique hotel. It features a locally famous restaurant and bar with a spacious terrace that serves homemade delicacies.”

That, of course, is ad-speak narrative. It took Martin to amplify things by informing us that the building, which dates to 1694, was the house where the famous Albanian poet Filip Shiroka once lived.

Furthermore, Martin told us both that Lake Scutari (also known as Lake Skadar) is the biggest lake in all of the Balkans and that Albania shares it with the country that lay directly north: Montenegro.

We checked into the hotel after saying goodbye to Martin, who had to return to Tirana. Our plans were to stay two nights in Shkodēr, after which Martin would drive us south to Albania’s coast. Since we would have no transportation while in Shkodēr, we’d have to figure that part out. But working around such problems are always a part of international travel.

Our rooms were comfortable enough, though we had to climb a number of steps to get up to them (so much for “boutique”). Since we had enjoyed such a big meal at the late lunch we had enjoyed at the winery/restaurant Mrizi I Zavane, we weren’t interested in eating dinner.

But there’s always room for gelato. So after getting settled, as what looked to be a full moon rose in the darkening sky, we went for what the Italians call a passeggiata (or a stroll) through the city center. (To catch a feel for what it was like, this YouTube video that I found will give you, a good idea).

The high point of our passeggiata was passing by the picturesque Ebu Bekēr Mosque, which was built in the 18th century. Demolished by Albania’s former communist government, the mosque was renovated in 1995 (with, reportedly, funds provided by Saudi Arabia).

The low point of the stroll, surprisingly enough, was the gelato. Not only was the scrawny kid who took our order one of the only rude Albanians we met during our entire nine-day trip, but the stracciatella (an Italian version of chocolate chip ice cream) we ordered featured at best only a couple of sprinkles of chocolate. (Travel note: When in Shkodēr, avoid Gelateria Bell’Italia – which, I have to add, has to be the most ironic name ever for a gelateria).

Since we would be without Martin for a couple of days, we decided to see what kind of deal we could make with a local cab driver. And, fortunately, the guy we booked turned out to be great – and, as with pretty much everything else in Albania, inexpensive.

First, he took us to Rozafa Castle, the remains of an ancient fortress that sits on a promontory that offers an imposing view not just of the city center some two miles in the distance but also the lake beyond and, in the distance, the stark green and gray mountains of Montenegro.

Afterward, our new driver took us to the Bar Restaurant Elite, an eatery with outdoor seating right off the lake.

At that point we had a decision to make: Our driver offered to drive us up the coast and into Montenegro, a country that three of us hadn’t yet visited (Mary Pat had been there years before). We were tempted, but one of us (I plead guilty) had left his passport back in the hotel, so … we had to decline.

As an alternative, he took us to two of Shkodēr’s more popular sites. The first was the Mesi Bridge, a stone construction on the Kir River that built in the late 18th century (around 1770, according to Wikipedia). Matt and I walked across while our wives took photos of us from the nearby modern bridge.

The second site was the Venice Art Mask Factory, a business that owner Edmond Angoni founded in 1997 after living abroad for many years – including several in Venice, Italy. We were given a tour of the factory, which features an impressive collection of exquisite masks, each of which is made by hand on the premises.

The day ended when, later that night when – after saying goodbye to our driver – we walked a few blocks to the Aroma Restaurant. Over our Italian dinner (prosciutto and burrata appetizer, soup, spaghetti, risotto and glasses of raki for some of us), we recalled the day’s most pleasant encounter.

It had taken place at Rozafa Castle when we were approached by a group of high-school-age students. One of the members of the group, a small, extroverted boy, called out to us. “Hello Germans!” he said. Clearly he had mistaken our nationality, and that of Matt’s in particular.

That was when Matt, who is fluent in several languages – and who had studied Albanian in preparation for this trip – answered back in their native language. His linguistic ability, not surprisingly, excited the kids. They conversed both in Albanian and English with Matt for several minutes, impressed that an American had taken the trouble to learn their language.

“I’ll never forget you,” the same boy told Matt when we parted ways.

The feeling was, and remains, clearly mutual.

Next up: Heading to the beach.