Valbona: Chasing a Wilder Life
VALBONA
Chasing a Wilder Life
June 19, 2025
PART I
I woke up feeling as though I had an emotional hangover. I had been so deep in my feelings the previous day that I now felt strangely light – almost as though I had spent the night hurling all my negativity out of my system.
That isn’t to say I didn’t curse the universe when I realised my water bottle had leaked and everything I owned was now soaking wet – a recurring theme in most of my travels. I did my best to contain the damage before rushing to the pick-up point, where a minibus would take me towards Lake Koman.
Lake Koman is a long, narrow, fjord-like reservoir in northern Albania, formed when the Drin River was dammed at Koman in the 1980s. From there, I would be boarding a ferry to Fierzë – another stop along the increasingly convoluted journey to my next destination. It might not have been the quickest way to reach Valbona, but it was certainly going to be the most scenic.
Two Hours of Pure Bliss
The ferry ride was exactly what I needed after the previous day’s enlightening internal monologue, which had left me appreciating the present once again.
Surrounded by sheer rock walls, emerald-green water and tiny settlements tucked into the remote mountainsides, I could finally understand why the journey is often described as one of the most beautiful boat rides in the Balkans. The reservoir twisted and narrowed between towering canyon walls, with every bend revealing yet another seemingly untouched landscape. I swear, every single angle offered a stunning view. I practically filled my entire camera roll – it was that breathtaking. Two hours of pure bliss!
I found it funny how, up until the previous day, this trip had felt forced and perhaps slightly untimely. Now, I found myself facing a completely different existential crisis: I probably only had around forty summers left – if I was lucky. With my family history, smoking habits and the life I led, I sometimes wondered whether I would even make it to sixty. I felt as though I had barely started living or seen anything of the world, yet almost half my life was potentially already behind me. No wonder I had imposed that travelling quota on myself!
The Trouble with Being Ordinary
When we arrived in Fierzë, my FOMO intensified by several billion orders of magnitude. Around the port, people were preparing for what looked like real adventures. Some climbed onto off-road motorbikes, others pulled on cycling gear before setting off on multi-day journeys, and a few more launched their kayaks onto the water. Meanwhile, I would be climbing into another shuttle bus that would take me directly to my homestay.
You see, I fancy myself a relatively cool and interesting guy. I dive, I trek and I can do a mean Bird of Paradise yoga pose. I occasionally cut people open and then sew them back up. I talk down aggressive junkies and save lives. Plus, I was chosen by the most incredible cat ever. I am relatively cool and interesting. But whenever I meet people like these, I look at myself and see a sheltered, spoilt brat who has barely begun to live. Like, really live. I dive, but I don’t do technical diving. I trek, but I don’t do mountaineering. I practise yoga, but I could never pull off the Scorpion Pose without snapping something important. Most days, I’m perfectly content with being ordinary – a jack of all trades but master of none. Yet, whenever I see people doing these incredible things, I find myself feeling equal parts inspired and jealous.
I suppose my apprehension about taking things to the next level comes from a healthy combination of fear and self-preservation – especially after seeing the injuries that come through the emergency department. I know precisely how badly things can go wrong, which makes recklessness considerably less appealing. Still, maybe I could do with taking a few more risks. Maybe I needed to let go of my fears and inhibitions for once.
This was probably the first time that backpacking as a way of travelling had started to feel a little boring. I had already done my fair share of it – so much so that backpacking had effectively become another comfort zone. Maybe I needed something more challenging.
Something like the Arctic survival camp I had booked in 2019, before COVID came along and a bizarre alleged insurance-fraud arson involving the company manager derailed the entire operation, taking my hard-earned money with it. Or perhaps a bikepacking expedition. Or a multi-day kayak-camping trip. Something different, you know?
PART II
Into the Accursed Mountains
As I sat there daydreaming about my future expeditions – one of which apparently involved a brief stint in outer space – the shuttle bus arrived.
The road wound through narrow mountain passes, offering spectacular views of the Albanian Alps, otherwise known as the Accursed Mountains. My destination was the Valbona Valley, which has formed part of the much larger Alps of Albania National Park since 2022. The new national park brought the previously separate protected areas of Valbona, Theth and the Gashi River together into one enormous protected landscape covering more than 82,000 hectares.
The valley is famous for its dramatic alpine scenery – rugged peaks, dense forests, deep valleys, waterfalls and traditional mountain settlements. The clear Valbona River threads its way through the landscape, its blue-green waters framed by forests, wildflower meadows and steep mountainsides. This had been my goal all along. Having heard so many incredible things about trekking in Albania, I could hardly wait to set myself loose on the mountains standing before me.
Before that, however, I had to check into my homestay – and lemme tell ya, I could hardly believe my eyes when I arrived. It looked like something straight out of a fairytale. I had an entire two-storey wooden cabin with a pitched roof to myself. A gorgeous green meadow stretched out in front of it, while the jagged mountains provided the most serene of backdrops. I had splurged a little on the accommodation, and I was so glad I had.
After settling in, I sat down for lunch – barbecued goat meat accompanied by roasted potatoes. Once I had eaten, I asked Lorna, one of the homestay staff, to recommend some of the most beautiful hikes in the area. Given that it was already quite late, she suggested a short looping trail that would take around four hours to complete.
This, I figured, would serve as a good warm-up for the adventures awaiting me over the coming days. And so, after donning my favourite bandana, I took to the road and embarked on a new adventure.
Back Where I Belong
The sun was scorching, and by the time I reached the trailhead, I was already sweating buckets. Still, the breathtaking views kept me moving.
The trail carved its way through a tapestry of meadows brimming with wildflowers and low, prickly shrubs. Sharp limestone peaks rose above the green slopes, and every so often the trees would part to reveal sweeping views over valleys thick with forest. It was so, so good to be back. And, it felt as if the dry, herbal scent of sun-baked grass and pine welcomed me back into the mountains!
As the incline steepened, I realised that I was more out of shape than I had thought – especially after giving up running a few weeks earlier because of the heat and my knee injury. I paced myself in short but frequent bursts, occasionally pausing to photograph the panoramas or whichever creature happened to catch my attention. These included a Balkan green lizard and a nose-horned viper that a random German hiker pointed out to me after I nearly stepped on it!
Outrunning the Storm
By the time I reached the viewpoint Lorna had mentioned, the clouds that had been taunting me all afternoon finally unleashed their fury. A nasty thunderstorm erupted within seconds.
On the bright side, at least I was no longer going to die of heatstroke. On the downside, being struck by lightning while standing on an exposed mountainside did not seem like an ideal alternative. I had little time to appreciate the view, but hey, at least I caught a quick glimpse.
I practically ran the entire way back down, drenched in both sweat and rain. Somehow, I completed the four-hour trail in half the time. Lorna was shocked when she saw me. Apparently, there hadn’t been any rain whatsoever around the homestay. I shrugged and blamed nature’s unpredictability. By then, I had grown accustomed to its mood swings.
In fact, I found it strangely fitting that I had started the day soaking wet because of my leaking bottle and ended it drenched from head to toe by the sky itself.