Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“It’s cool. I’ve cleared my schedule for the week,” Thanas responds. “I’ve never been to Kukës myself, but Drita has.”
“What do you know of Kukës?” I ask Drita directly.
She gives Thanas a nervous glance.
“That bad?” I eye them both.
“It has a reputation. When the Communists fell, Albania was…” Thanas pauses. “It went through a difficult time.”
Tom rubs his hands. “I love a challenge,” he says, and Thanas and Drita have the grace to laugh.
“We shall be okay with the weather,” Thanas says. “The motorway is open, and it hasn’t snowed for a couple of weeks.”
“Shall we get going?” I ask, eager to leave.
* * *
The landscape has changed. Gone are the dreary, fallow fields of Northern Europe; the terrain is stark, rocky, and barren in the winter sunshine. Under any other circumstances, Alessia might have enjoyed this journey. She’s had a lightning tour of Europe’s highways. But she’s with Anatoli, the man she’ll be forced to marry—and she still has to face her father when they reach Kukës. She is not looking forward to the inevitable confrontation, and deep down she knows it’s because her mother will bear the brunt of his anger.
They tear across another bridge at an alarming speed. Below them is a vast body of water, reminding Alessia of the Drin—and reminding her of the sea.
The sea.
And Maxim.
He gave me the sea.
Will she ever see him again?
“The coastline in Croatia is very picturesque. I do a lot of business here,” says Anatoli, breaking the silence that’s hung between them since they left Zagreb.
Alessia glances at him. She doesn’t care about his business. She doesn’t want to know what he does. There was a time when she was curious, but that time has passed. Besides, as his wife—a good Albanian wife—she will ask no questions.
“I have several properties here.” He gives her a wolfish grin, and she realizes he’s trying to impress her, like he did when she first met him.
She turns away, staring out at the sea, and her mind spirals back to Cornwall.
* * *
The drive out of Tirana is frankly terrifying. Pedestrians have an unnerving habit of just stepping out into the road, and the roundabouts are free-for-alls—cars, trucks, buses all jostling for priority. It’s like a giant game of chicken, and at this rate my nerves will be in shreds by the time we reach Kukës. Tom is constantly slamming his hand on the dashboard, yelling at pedestrians and drivers alike. It’s bloody annoying.
“For fuck’s sake, Tom, shut the fuck up! I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Sorry, Trevethick.”
By some miracle we make it out of the city center unscathed. Once we reach the main road, I start to relax a little, but I drive slowly; drivers here are unpredictable.
There are several car dealerships and countless petrol stations on the roadside. As we leave Tirana behind, we pass a grand, imposing neoclassical building that looks rather like a wedding cake.
“What’s that place?” I ask.
“It’s a hotel,” Thanas says. “It’s been under construction for many years.” He shrugs when our eyes meet in the rearview mirror.
“Oh.”
The lowlands look fertile and green considering it’s February. There are squat, red-roofed houses dotted among the fields. While I drive, Thanas gives us a potted history of Albania and shares more information about himself. His parents lived through the fall of Communism, and both of them learned English via the BBC World Service, even though it was banned under Communist rule. It transpires that the BBC, and most things British, are held in high regard by Albanians. It’s where they all want to go. There or America.
Tom and I exchange a glance.
Drita speaks quietly to Thanas, and he translates. Kukës was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2000, after the town accepted hundreds of thousands of refugees during the Kosovan conflict.
This I knew. I remember Alessia’s look of pride when she regaled me about Kukës and all things Albanian in the pub in Trevethick.
It’s been two days since she left, and I feel like I’m missing a limb.
Where are you, my love?
* * *
We join the main motorway to Kukës, and soon we are flying into the chilliest of blue skies, steadily climbing higher and higher toward the majestic, snowcapped peaks of the Albanian Alps, and the Shar and Korab mountain ranges that dominate the landscape. There are gorges with clear white-water rivers, craggy canyons, and steep, jagged cliffs. It’s stunning, and apart from this modern motorway the land around us seems untouched by time. There’s an occasional hamlet with terra-cotta-tiled houses, smoke rising from chimneys, stooks of hay flecked with snow, washing on lines, goats free, goats tethered—this is Alessia’s country.
My sweet girl.
I hope you’re okay.
I’m coming to get you.
* * *
The temperature drops the higher we go. Tom has taken the wheel so that I can play DJ and take photographs with my phone. Thanas and Drita are quiet, enjoying the views and listening to Hustle and Drone, who are streaming through the car stereo system from my iPhone. We emerge from a long mountain tunnel to find we’re right among the peaks. They’re covered with snow but are surprisingly bare, with very few trees. Thanas explains that after the Communist regime fell, there were fuel shortages, and in some places the locals cut down all the trees for firewood.