Shkodër: Cycling Towards Clarity
SHKODËR
Cycling Towards Clarity
June 18, 2025
PART I
The next morning, I made my way to Tirana’s bus station and began the two-hour journey north to Shkodër. God I had missed long bus rides with good music, good books and wonderful vistas to keep me entertained – not to mention the promise of new adventures.
One of Albania’s oldest and most culturally significant cities, Shkodër lies near the southeastern shore of Lake Shkodër, close to the Buna and Drin rivers and within reach of the Albanian Alps. Long associated with art, literature, music and photography, the city carries traces of its Illyrian, Venetian, Ottoman and modern Albanian past. As one of the main gateways to the Accursed Mountains, it would serve as my base before the adventure beginning the following morning.
In the meantime, I had the entire afternoon to myself. With no set plans, I decided to take it easy and have a nap while the scorching midday heat abated. Once the evening breeze had made it bearable to venture outside, I decided to step out of my comfort zone and do something I had always been scared to attempt – go on a solo bike tour of the city.
You see, I had only learnt how to ride a bike a year earlier. Back home, I cycled as often as I could, but I always stuck to quiet rural roads with little traffic. Cycling along busy roads in a foreign country was something else entirely. That said, I had joined a group cycling tour in the Philippines and managed just fine. So, when Adi, my host, told me that they had bikes I could use for free, I took him up on his offer.
Trusting the Bike
Let’s just say it wasn’t the best bike out there. It was heavy and clunky, and the pedals occasionally got jammed. I started slowly and cautiously, trying my best not to flip over the bumpy, uneven pavement as I slalomed around pedestrians. Though the whole thing felt slightly hazardous, everyone else seemed to be doing it. Despite how busy the roads were, Shkodër was surprisingly bike-friendly, and the locals clearly took full advantage of that.
Once I became a little more comfortable riding the old contraption, I could finally begin enjoying myself. I made my way down the main road from my hotel and cycled alongside the Buna River – the river that flows out of Lake Shkodër and eventually empties into the Adriatic Sea.
In the distance, I could see Rozafa Castle, one of the city’s main highlights, rising above the confluence of the Buna and Drin rivers. However, having visited Berat Castle the previous day, the thought of cycling all the way up another steep hill made it remarkably easy to give this one a miss. Instead, I continued along the river until I reached Buna Bridge. Here, I took a quick break to admire the views over the river and the surrounding wetlands.
That is, until I got back on the bus. I immediately noticed that someone had taken the seat I had so carefully handpicked. No big deal – I sat somewhere else. Big deal. A grumpy older woman immediately demanded that I move, claiming that it was her seat. Lacking the energy to argue, I conceded and gave her the spot I had originally claimed. Now stuck in an aisle seat and unable to appreciate the views, I spent the rest of the drive reading. Not a bad compromise.
Where the River Meets the Lake
With a destination recommended by my host in mind, I crossed the bridge and followed the road west towards the lake, with spectacular wetlands spreading out beside me.
Turns out, the Lake Shkodër-Buna system forms one of Albania’s most important wetland landscapes, with marshes, reed beds, floodplains, lagoons and channels supporting an extraordinary variety of wildlife. Lake Shkodër – the largest freshwater lake in the Balkans – rises and falls considerably with the seasons, periodically flooding the surrounding lowlands and creating fertile habitats where plants, fish and birds thrive.
During the many stops I made along the way to appreciate the views, I spotted all kinds of birds – from pelicans and herons to cormorants and egrets. All the while, the lake, wetlands and mountains stretched out around me, making it increasingly difficult to keep my attention on the road.
Sunset at Shiroka
It took me a while – probably not helped by the beers I stopped for along the way – but I managed to reach Shiroka in time for sunset.
The peaceful lakeside village sits on the southwestern shore of Lake Shkodër and is known for its quiet waterfront, fish restaurants and views across the lake towards the surrounding mountains. Here, I parked my bike and strolled along the promenade.
With a cold beer and some petulla – traditional Albanian fried dough – I sat down on the pebbles of Zalli Beach as the sun slowly sank towards the horizon. It wasn’t a particularly incredible sunset – with the the soft pink sky and the muted colours of the lake, beach, and mountains making it somewhat dull. That said, it was all I wanted or needed at that point.
PART II
When Balance Becomes a Burden
As I lay there, feeling more at peace than I had in months, I couldn’t help but feel freer than ever. You see, the couple of months leading up to this trip had been fraught with uncertainty and emotional turmoil.
My routine – albeit varied and balanced – had started to become repetitive, not to mention exhausting. I was dedicating so much time to exercise, work and academia that I couldn’t remember the last time I had allowed myself an entire day to relax and simply be. Working overtime so that I could afford to travel so frequently was taking its toll on me. Travelling so much to avoid burning out at work was proving just as exhausting. It was a vicious cycle that I kept reinforcing in an effort to maintain my supposedly ‘perfect’, balanced routine.
Eventually, I had to take a step back, regain some perspective and allow myself to re-evaluate my entire life. At the heart of the matter was one simple truth: this routine no longer brought me joy. I was practising my hobbies out of obligation, as though completing them was necessary to preserve some ideal version of balance. Travelling had become another box to tick. This trip, in all honesty, had felt like a chore before it had even begun. I hadn’t felt ready to travel again so soon after Jordan, yet I had forced myself to go because of an arbitrary quota I had set for myself.
The Life I Thought I Wanted
That’s when I realised I wanted something different. I wanted to change my life completely. When I stopped and asked myself what I felt was missing, two things came to mind: love and independence.
Crazy, right? Me – the very person who cherished freedom more than anything – suddenly wanted to be shackled by adult commitments. I blamed societal pressure. Back home, all my friends and colleagues seemed to be moving forwards with their lives. Some were getting engaged, some were getting married and some were having children. Others were moving out or moving abroad. And then there was me – always single and ready to mingle without a care in the world. But was that my choice, or was I stuck? And did I really want to conform?
I still lived with my family because almost everyone in Malta does that until their mid-thirties. And, let’s face it, it was the most convenient and logical choice for me. I had one-night stands and dated casually because I didn’t have the time to commit to anything more. I had a full-time job I was passionate about and tons of hobbies that made my life incredibly fun and adventurous. Why would I want to change any of that?
Yet, just when I thought I had everything figured out, I began to feel suffocated. I started craving a major change, and moving out was going to be that change.
Permission Not to Grow Up
As I soon came to that conclusion it dawned on me that buying my own place would mean cutting back drastically on everything else. I would have far less time and money for travelling, hobbies and spontaneous adventures. It was a compromise I thought I was willing to make.
Yet, as I stared at the sun setting over the lake and felt the pure freedom of simply being, I realised that I would be an idiot to give up my current lifestyle before I was ready. Maybe I could postpone adulting for a little longer. Maybe, instead of spending all my money on a place that would chain me to Malta – and to a bank – I could take another gap year. Maybe, instead of conforming to what everyone else appeared to be doing, I could continue carving out my own path. Maybe I didn’t have to grow up just yet after all.
This nomadic lifestyle had uprooted me from my comfort zones and shattered boundaries I had once believed were permanent. It had given me some of the greatest experiences of my life, and it was not something I was ready to surrender. Compromise? Sure, eventually. For the time being, however, I didn’t need to. I could enjoy life as it came, live in the moment and forget about everything else. When the time came – when I actually felt ready – I would take that next big step. Every major decision that had completely upended my life had been one I felt 100% sure about. And, so far, my gut had never steered me wrong.
The ride back was infused with the new sense of clarity I had found beside the lake. The bicycle was still clunky, the road was still uneven and my life was still unresolved, but for the first time in months, none of it felt urgent. I was present again – and, for that evening at least, that was enough.