Tirana’s Heat & Hormones: A Street Artist’s Unfiltered Walk Through Chaos

tirana’s streets didn’t care about my blistered feet or the fact that my camera was dead. again. the sun here doesn’t play games-it’s 19.69celsius and somehow feels like 18.65. i guess that’s the ‘mild’ oversell, right? everyone here seems to have forgotten what actual summer is. anyway, true to form, the old plaza outside the *provo cake had its usual crowd of grandmothers whispering about the latest roadwork rumors. ‘albania has always been a country of bridges and lies,’ one muttered, clutching her half-eaten tissue.



nearby, someone’s aunt was yelling at a pigeon. classic. the local told me to avoid the taxi drivers near the ancient library-‘they’ll charge you for the next heartbeat’. solid advice. instead, i stumbled into this 100-year-old coffee shop with peeling posters of mao on the walls. the barista just nodded when i asked for a rakia. ‘yes, yes, come back soon.’ cryptic, but vibes check: passed.



lessee, more chaos. i passed a mural of a dancing vampire tearing into a bureaucratic form. symbolism of the century. overhead, some guy was ranting about the mayor on a megaphone. ‘we want transparency, not another renovation!’ the youth center down the street had a flyer: free sketch classes. obviously, i was there. the instructor handed me a charcoal stick and said, ‘draw the chaos. it’s all there’s ever been.’ such a vibe check.



rumor has it the hidden alley bar is actually a museum of expired in-flight meals. heard from three different people. also, the street cat population here is basically a protected species. one fam’s outdoor cat is a better negotiator than half the local market vendors.



quick trip to the riverwalk for sunset. it’s basically a concrete myth. locals swear the abandoned bridge has ‘more wifi than sense.’ tried hiking. my sneakers were happy. my socks? not so much. neighbors said if you wander too far from the city center, you’ll find a spider cave. thanks for that.



losses: missed the vegetarian spot because the taxi driver insisted we make a pit stop at his nephew’s kebab truck. winner. gain: a drunken bowl of plowman’s salad at midnight, tasted like a petit four made of streetlamps.



if you’re coming: park like a pirate, haggle like your soul’s on sale, and never trust a tourist map. this place chews up your plans and spits out stories. which is good, because i’ve got a poem about the rainwater puddles here* to write.

[1]=tripadvisor.com/tirana-hotels [2]=yelp.com/tirana-food-reviews [3]=albania-travel-guide-for-real-people [4]=ig-tirana-street-art-spots [5]=local-tourist-conflicts-2023

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