Wild camping in Albania

After negotiating the steep, rutted road along Cape Rodon, Mr G was ready to lie down in a darkened van. There are no campsites in the area, but wild camping is legal in Albania, so we spent our very first night off the grid. We felt like we were in the middle of nowhere, but there was still a fair bit of passing traffic waving and tooting to a couple of mad Brits.

We hiked down the cape to the fifteen century Rodoni Castle, which was part of an Illyrian settlement. I’m such an ignoramus, I had no idea that Illyria was a real place, I thought Shakespeare made it up in Twelfth Night. Turns out it was a real place on the Eastern Adriatic coast, and it’s so wild and otherworldly it seems a fitting setting for Shakespeare’s magical land.

The Cape landscape really reminded me of Worm’s Head, on the Gower Peninsula, it was glorious. Mr G was particularly taken by the, what he informs me are, machine-gun pillboxes and large gun emplacements, an indication of this area’s defensive importance much more recently than Medieval times.

Tony and a pillbox

There were a couple of scattered restaurants and, what looked like a very smart resort, but the single cafe that was open only served espressos and nothing else. It wasn’t clear whether it’s because we’re early in the season, a result of Covid, or because our Albanian isn’t very fluent. Fortunately we had a van and plenty of food, drink and pioneering spirit. Well, enough for two or three days anyway!

Toilet talk

There’s a real danger that this is TMI, so please click off if you have a sensitive disposition.

We’ve never been wild camping before because of the lack of on-board facilities in our van. We’ve hauled a porta-potti ( yes, it’s exactly what you think ) and a pop-up toilet tent all around the UK and Europe without ever using them. I’m just a little squeamish about the whole idea, and I’m in charge of campsite booking , ergo we’re always in campsites with convenient loos and showers. Until now.

On this big adventure I was fairly relaxed about wild camping, because when I go on holiday my bowel does too. It takes sluggish to a whole new level, so surely I could wild camp for a couple of days. We have an outdoor shower, and the chances of me having to actually use the porta-potti were small, vanishingly small. But OF COURSE, my toilet paranoia tickled my intestines up nicely. They haven’t been so active since I was waiting for A-level results ( mine and the kids’). Still squeamish, I walked/jogged/squirmed back and for to the single café to use their loo. I bought so many espressos that it’s a miracle I haven’t got a heart arrythmia. But, the good news is that the porta-potty is unsullied by me and I managed a record number of steps to and from the loo. It’s a win win!