Escaping Island Fever! How I Rediscovered Adventure In Albania After A Winter In Saranda

Breaking Free from the Blues: My Journey to Adventure in Albania

And why I choose experiences over photos and how it’s changed my travel forever.

After three months in Saranda, Albania, I felt like I was living in a postcard.

The kind where the sea is impossibly blue, the buildings hug the coast, and the sunsets are painted in pastels.

But as beautiful as it was, by January, the town had turned into more of a prison than a paradise.

In the off-season, Saranda was quiet, “too” quiet. The tourists had long gone, leaving behind shuttered cafes, empty beaches, and me, walking the same streets every day, staring out at the same stretch of sea, and feeling more alone than I ever had before.

The isolation was starting to get to me, and I wasn’t living in those picture-perfect moments anymore.

I was stuck in a routine, staring out at an empty beach, hearing the same sounds of off-season construction jackhammers echoing off the cliffs they were pounding into.

The town’s charm had dulled, and I was slowly fading into the background, unseen and untouched by the beauty that surrounded me.

And here’s the kicker:

I didn’t take a single photo during those months. Not one.

It wasn’t that the place wasn’t worth capturing, it’s just that I’ve never been one for photos.

In a world obsessed with documenting every moment, I’ve always preferred to stay behind the scenes, soaking in the experience rather than framing it.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate a good image, believe me, I’ve seen stunning shots of Saranda online.

But I’ve long accepted that the world doesn’t need “my” badly lit, poorly framed contribution to its digital landscape.

This has never been a popular stance. My friends, family, and fellow travelers don’t get it.

They give me grief for not capturing every “epic” moment, for not documenting my travels with a carefully curated collection of scenic shots.

But for me, that’s not how I experience a place. I’ve always been more comfortable observing, absorbing, and, eventually, writing about it.

That’s how I process the world, not through photos, but through words.

The Off-Season Trap in Saranda

Saranda is stunning, don’t get me wrong. But in the dead of winter, the beauty started to feel hollow.

With no one around, I felt like I was trapped in a postcard I couldn’t escape.

Each day blurred into the next as I wandered the empty streets, trying to make sense of my growing restlessness.

There was nothing new to see, no fresh spark of inspiration.

I needed something to shake me out of the monotony. I needed to feel “alive” again.

So, I packed my bags, said goodbye to the local mini-market cashier who had become my de facto therapist, and set out in search of something different.

I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I knew I wouldn’t find it along the deserted beaches of Saranda.

I needed a change of scenery, something that would reignite my love for travel.

A Winter on the Albanian Riviera

The “Albanian Riviera” was my first stop in the country, but winter had stripped it of the vibrant energy it’s known for.

There were no yachts, no crowded beaches, no overpriced cocktails, just rugged coastline, fierce winds, and me, standing alone on the edge of the world, trying to figure out my next move.

It was beautiful in its own stark way, but it didn’t give me the sense of adventure I was craving.

The mountains were calling, and I knew that if I wanted to break out of the funk I’d been in, I needed to head for higher ground.

I had heard of Theth, a remote village in Albania’s Accursed Mountains, where snow-capped peaks and untouched wilderness promised the kind of challenge I was after.

The Journey to Theth: No Photos, Just Memories

I didn’t need photos to remember Saranda’s emptiness, and I wasn’t about to start taking them in Theth either.

As beautiful as the mountains were, I wasn’t there to capture them, I was there to feel them.

I left my cracked cellphone camera tucked away in my pocket as usual, choosing instead to focus on the experience itself.

There are thousands of pictures of Theth online that capture its breathtaking beauty better than I ever could, but for me, the real value of the place was in the way it made me feel.

Getting to Theth was an adventure in itself.

After getting to Tirana from Saranda by minivan, the “bus” from Tirana itself, turned out to be, yet another minivan, and the driver seemed to know everyone on the road.

We made stops to chat with friends, deliver packages, and even once to help wrangle a runaway chicken. No really, a runaway chicken!

By the time we reached Theth, I already felt like I’d seen a slice of Albania that no photo could ever convey.

When I arrived, I found myself standing in a village that looked like it had been lifted from a storybook.

Stone houses dotted the landscape, surrounded by towering mountains covered in snow.

The air was crisp and clean, and for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe again.

Lost in the Accursed Mountains, and Loving It

Hiking through the mountains alone, I felt more alive than I had in months.

With no camera slung around my neck, I wasn’t thinking about how the view would look on Instagram, hell I don’t even have Instagram. I was just “there”, fully present in the moment.

The trails were unmarked, which led to plenty of moments where I found myself wondering if I was hopelessly lost.

And yet, that was part of the thrill.

At one point, a shepherd appeared out of nowhere, grinning as if he had seen a thousand lost hikers like me before.

He pointed me in the right direction with a knowing smile, and without a word exchanged, we shared a connection that no photo could capture.

Moments like that are why I travel, not to snap a picture, but to feel the depth of an experience.

Later that evening, back at my guesthouse, I sat by a roaring fire with a glass of homemade raki in hand.

The guesthouse owner, a man who looked like he had wrestled bears in his youth, told stories through gestures and smiles.

We couldn’t speak the same language, but it didn’t matter.

The warmth of the fire, the taste of the raki, and the simple joy of being in that moment were more than enough.

A photo could never have done it justice.

Why I Don’t Take Photos, and Why You Don’t Need to Either

People always tell me I’m missing out by not taking pictures, but I don’t feel like I am.

Photos are just a snapshot of a single second, they can’t capture the way the air feels, the way the fire crackles, or the way a stranger’s smile can make you feel at home in a place you’ve never been.

I’ve spent years writing about my travels, using words to paint the pictures that cameras can’t.

When I think back on my time in Saranda and Theth, I don’t regret the absence of photos.

In fact, I think it made my experience richer. Without the pressure to capture every moment, I was free to live them fully.

And isn’t that the point of travel?

From Isolation to Adventure

The time I spent in Theth reignited something in me that I had lost in the solitude of Saranda.

Hiking through Albania’s rugged mountains, getting lost, meeting strangers, and embracing the unknown reminded me of why I travel in the first place.

It’s not about the pictures, it’s about the stories.

It’s about the moments that stay with you long after the trip is over, the ones that can’t be captured with a camera.

Could You Travel Without Taking a Single Photo?

The next time you find yourself reaching for your camera, stop and ask yourself: Do I really need this picture?

Could the moment be better experienced without the distraction of trying to capture it?

For me, the answer is always yes.

What about you? Could you travel without documenting every moment?