The strangest check-out ever while our boat is boarded by strangers

After waving farewell to our friends Cathy and Peter, who had travelled with us to Albania from Greece, we spent a few days in Vlore waiting for favourable weather to set off for our next destination in Albania – Durrës.

The anchorage in Vlore was starting to get a little noisy – pile drivers were being used at regular intervals to drive in massive poles for the new marina that was being built – so it was quite a relief to be setting off again.

We left early in the morning – just as the sun was rising – for the seven hour trip. The coastline between Vlore and Durrës wasn’t as interesting as we’d previously encountered in Albania as it was mostly flat and marshy – quite different from the towering and imposing cliffs that we were used to.

The anchorage in Durrës was roomy and quite shallow so we were able to anchor quite a long way from the shore which meant a lovely peaceful night.

We had another early start the next morning, leaving the busy port and industrial area of Durrës for Shenjgin – our final stop in Albania.

Just as we dropped our anchor outside the harbour in Shenjgin, a jet ski roared up to the boat and the young driver, sporting a massive solid gold crucifix on a gold chain with links the size of which wouldn’t be out of place on a fence, informed us to proceed to the “Yacht Club” where his father (with the unlikely name of Frok Frroku – try saying that correctly after a few drinks) was waiting for us.

We were just settling the boat down when the young man roared back to inform us once again that his father was waiting for us. So we hurriedly finished what we were doing so we could follow his unequivocal instructions.

While we were getting ready to go we noticed quite a few people on pedallos coming right up to the boat, circling round it and showing great interest. When we popped our heads out they asked the same question “where you from?” We of course answered politely but didn’t engage further as we were hurrying to get ready to meet Mr Frruku.

One couple seemed extra persistent and even after we had a short chat with them they were still hanging around while we were settling down the boat.

We lowered the dinghy and climbed aboard and as we moved off they were still circling our boat so we said “goodbye” in a cheery but “we are leaving and it’s probably about time you did too” kind of way. They waved back and pedalled away from the boat but just as we arrived at the yacht club jetty we looked back to see them doing something alarming and to us – very shocking. They had boarded our boat!!

Jonathan was furious and was scrambling back into the dinghy to go back to Sunday when Mr F. came to meet us and said “Don’t worry my boys will take care of this”. In my head he said it in an Italian accent sounding like Marlon Brando in the Godfather movies. Probably just my imagination but you catch my drift.

Indeed, one of his “boys” whizzed out to our boat at top speed and the poor guy on the boat (who was probably only after an Instagram shot) leapt off the boat as if his feet were on fire and he and his girlfriend pedalled off at an amazingly high speed for a pedallo !

Back at the Yacht Club (not a yacht or a yachtie in sight) the “doof doof”music was turned right up and we could hardly think let alone hear ourselves speak.

The place was filled with wealthy looking young men (judging by the amount of gold being worn) and the one solitary female was working the bar.

“You want something?” Mr F. said. “Oh yes please, could they turn the music down? Or could we go somewhere else?”

Clearly the answer was “no”. Instead, we moved tables a bit further away from the speaker but the music was still insanely loud with a very persistent pulsing beat to it.

Sandy McKinnon, author of “the Unlikely Voyage of Jack de Crow” who had recently sailed in a tiny Mirror dinghy from where his last adventure had stopped – in the Danube delta in Romania – to Venice, had also cleared out of Albania in Shenjgin and availed himself of Mr Frroku’s services.

Fortunately for Sandy, he had met Mr F. somewhere a good deal quieter than the Yacht Club although there was quite a story attached to his stay in Shenjgin (https://www.facebook.com/groups/778545930448380/permalink/840894700880169/?mibextid=S66gvF )

Sandy McKinnon is a wonderful writer and gave an excellently accurate description of Mr F. which I will leave you to read by following the link above.

Suffice to say, that while he riffled through our papers with his large paw-like hands Jonathan and I had to stifle our laughter as Sandy’s words were very descriptive and quite witty.

This had to be our strangest experience of checking out of a country ever. Apart from the inappropriateness of the agent’s “office”, we didn’t see any customs or immigration officers and our passports weren’t stamped.

Mr F. did go to get a signature for our exit papers from the Harbour Master who fortuitously happened to be sitting at a table a short distance from us in the “Yacht Club”. Bearing in mind this wasn’t a weekend it did seem odd that the place was full of guys with smart cars outside but didn’t appear to need to be at work.

We realised we didn’t have enough money to pay the agent’s fee (cash is always expected – no cards, even at some supermarkets) so Mr F’s son took Jonathan to an ATM leaving me to sit and watch the boat.

Off they went in a black Mercedes with blacked out windows. I did wonder for a moment if that was the last I’d see of Jonathan!

Meanwhile, sure enough, more pedallo riders tried to board Sunday and at a lift of Mr F’s finger another young man with gold chains and a hotted up jet ski zoomed off at ridiculous speed to the boat to fight off the culprits as though they were a member of a rival gang.

Reunited, Jonathan and I – with the doof doof music still ringing in our ears and heads – set off back to Sunday, to our great relief.

Although there were some very beautiful parts of Albania and we did meet some lovely people, we were so glad to be leaving.

Having emerged from being a closed communist country only in 1993, it felt to us that Albania had become a wild and indulgent teenager of a country and had a lot of growing up to do before it became reasonably mature and “ nice to know”. I’m sure some people will disagree with this but it was certainly our experience of the place.