Albania: Of broken brakes and the warmth of the people

A not so beautiful campsite, constant mosquito attacks, poorly adjusted disc brakes, and boom! All the oil from the hydraulic brake leaks out while changing the brake pads. We haven't seen many bicycle workshops so far, and the nearest major city, Tirana, is over 100km away. Riding through Albania with only one brake, and that too, only on the front wheel? Not recommended at all considering the mountains and the traffic.

The man from the campsite tells us about the workshop in the next village, but we can't find it. So Lucas and I are standing at the gas station, feeling somewhat helpless, and ask the gas station attendant about a workshop. Without any common language, it's impossible. But sometimes you're in the right place at the right time, and just at that moment, an Albanian who has been living and working in Mannheim for four years stops at the gas station. He translates our question, and we get directions to the bicycle workshop. Not only that, but the man accompanies us in his car, keeps asking for directions, and thanks to his help, we end up in a bicycle workshop that looks more like a private garage. We would have never found it on our own.

After a few minutes of knocking and calling out, Lucas and I would have given up long ago, an older gentleman comes, unfortunately he can't help us. Doesn't matter! The two men, who have become part of our repair journey, immediately become friendly, shake hands, chat for a bit, and then take us to another workshop. Coincidentally, the man there has a bicycle with disc brakes and coincidentally also has the right mineral oil for my brake. With the help of the person from Mannheim, he repairs my bike in a few minutes. Lucas and I stand nearby, unable to help in any way. Another man who passes by brings us some fruit. We are just grateful and somewhat incredulous that we managed to get there at all and apparently can continue riding with a repaired brake. We want to give the man some money for the repair, but he refuses. To show our gratitude, we go out to eat Pica and Byrek with the person from Mannheim. But instead of letting us pay, he insists on paying.

It is a kind of people that Lucas and I cannot get used to until the end of our two weeks in Albania. Wherever we go, we meet incredibly nice and warm-hearted people. People greet you wherever you go. Cars honk to express respect or to cheer you on during the uphill rides. They give you small things in minimarkets or cafes. These countless experiences with the people we encounter along the way and the atmosphere that is created cannot be quantified. I realize that it's hard to describe when I try to do so. It is almost uncomfortable, and at the same time, we hope to take some of these experiences home with us, to carry them forward, whether through storytelling or in our own interactions.