Photo by Jordan Scott of Lisa soaking it up in a remote sulfuric hot springs near Pёrmet, Albania. A stone bridge built by Ali Pasha during the Ottoman Empire arcs in the distance.
An excerpt from my Epilogue in Wild Life:
Dogs terrify me.
A pack of barking dogs unseen but heard approach us as we walk on the gravel road back to the Hotel Livia. It is an inky black night in the countryside of Butrint, Albania. The full moon late to rise.
Dogs with bared fangs in foreign countries are the most terrifying. Albania is not known for its modern medical facilities. The Bradt guidebook advises travelers to go to the military hospital in the capital of Tirana and warns that rabies are endemic.
Meanwhile, I ready the only weapon in reach—a jangling money belt filled with Albanian lek—to clout the beasts over the muzzle. In despair, I imagine a big-jawed mutt capturing a nylon strap in its teeth, playing tug-of-war, my hands inches from its salivating mandibles.
Jordan, my sweet love and knight in shining armor, pulls out his iPhone and, voila!, activates the flashlight app. The dogs slink into the scrub oak forest.
My heartbeat slows as a bronze-faced moon rises over the rim of Corfu, just two kilometers across the channel, lighting our way.
In blogs and guidebooks, we were warned about the perils of travel in Albania: gigantic ankle-twisting potholes, finger-busting gangsters, nothing to eat but 27 types of meatballs, no hot water, insane drivers, no English spoken.
All untrue.
Albania turns everything on its ear that is written about it. We encounter no thugs, no meatballs, and find plenty of hot water, safe drivers, and English spoken. Sure, there are a few potholes. And poisonous snakes, of which we’ve seen four, including the deadly Ursini’s Viper.
For one month we have relied on the travel mercies of the Albanian people as we explore their country via foot and public transport. The care and attention they offer us is remarkable, even though we speak only a few words of Albanian. “Po” means “yes,” and a hand on the heart is a blessing mixed with “thank you.”
That is all we need besides our money belt and a smartphone. And a large dose of trust and curiosity about all things human and earthy; dreamlike and inexplicable.
If you would like to read about my wanderings in other countries including Morocco, Kenya, Poland, Cuba, France, Fiji, Georgia, please go to my travel posts page.
Surviving the Salt River in Arizona is getting kudos from BATW travel writer Susan Alcorn: “WOW! Another side of Lisa Alpine is revealed. Here she is not dancing in some exotic remote place, but doing some wild kayaking on the Salt River on Apache tribal land in Arizona. She doesn’t chose to go kayaking during the summer when it would be a leisurely afternoon trip on calm water allowing your boat to gently drift downstream. She goes in spring time when the river is filled with snowmelt water–a roaring beast. Five days requiring constant alertness to avoid getting sucked underwater, thrown from the boat, crashing into boulders. And when quiet places appear, she is supposed to keep an eye out for the body of dead guy who had recently drown. Exciting stuff, Lisa Alpine.”
Also recently I was interviewed in this ATLAS OBSCURA PODCAST, about my wacky and mysterious trip to Damanhur in northern Italy, where a mysterious religious community founded by an insurance agent–turned–spiritual leader spent 15 years constructing an underground temple. Damanhur is covered in intricate paintings, mosaics, trippy colors, and images inspired by Roman, Greek and Egyptian mythology. You may read the entire intriguing story “Sleeping on Sekhmet” in Wild Life: Travel Adventures of a Worldly Woman
On distant shores lies treasure, food, and friends. — Gulliver’s Travels
Albania blessed us with abundantly fab food, cinematic scenery, easy public transport and cheap cheap cheap prices! Jordan and I even taught a salsa class to an Albanian youth group and then wined and dined with the missionaries who hosted us. The country has had a dreadful past. Their stories of tiny nuns in habits bearing machine guns to protect their orphanage during the anarchy period just 15 years ago were funny and tragic at the same time.
In California and at my writing shack on a bluff overlooking the Pacific on the Big Island of Hawai’i, I’ve warmed up my writing engine and published my next book Dance Life: Movin’ & Groovin’ Around the Globe. The Albanian salsa experience graces its pages as well as the dance and travel adventures in Cuba, France, Mexico, Spain, Morocco, Bolivia, and other exotic locales where I’ve vagabonded.. Dance usually plays an important or whimsical role in my travels—hence the title of my latest book. In-between my journeys I orchestrate travel tale events at Book Passage. Please join me on this wild, wordy ride and come to one of my many literary extravaganzas.
Where to after these past stories have been woven? My travel ventures lead me on a storytelling voyage to Fez, Morocco; then a walk-about in Georgia and Armenia. If you have any travel tips or connections in that part of the planet, please share them with me.
At a recent literary event I was asked, “What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned from traveling?”
The answers came as songs in my heart:
* That we are very fortunate to travel freely as women in this day and age. This is my first lifetime as a free woman.
* That the world is an inherently good place filled with kind and generous people who open their hearts, minds, and lives to wandering strangers.
* That the poorest people may be the most generous.
* To cook for people on the road and share food. I always traveled in South America with a wicker basket. In it were a stove, beans, popcorn, tuna, rice, oil. I served up meals to starving explorers and Chilean fisherfolk. Heard great stories and drank a lot of wine sitting on the ground or on porches listening to their stories. For they had experiences I will never have but I can live them through the teller’s tale. I danced in strangers homes and in carnival frenzies in wicked streets. Fabulous way to meet people!
* To keep my eyes open so I do not miss the green flash at sunset.
