Last week I returned from a short holiday to Albania. It was my first trip to the country, and my first taste of the Balkans. But it wasn’t an accidental choice of holiday.

Why? Well, I’ve been somewhat obsessed with Albania for many years now (almost 20 to be precise).

My interest peaked during my second year of university when I met my then Albanian boyfriend. I was Anglican at the time and he was Greek Orthodox.

A country I knew little of, I was soon hooked. Albania had everything – mountains, beaches and a very diverse people and history.

Muslim, Catholic, Orthodox – it was particularly noteworthy for its religious diversity.

This is a diversity that the iron-fisted Communist dictator Enver Hoxha tried to squash during his rule when he announced Albania as the first “Atheist State”.

Hoxha feared that religion would drive people apart and so he banned it – along with freedom of expression as a whole.

Mosques and churches were closed or used for other purposes such as cinemas or dance halls. People would hide in the woods to pray and the population lived under immense surveillance and fear of being thrown into a prison/forced labour camp.

The country was isolated from the rest of the world as security guarded the country’s barbed wire trawled borders. When Communist rule eventually collapsed in 1991, the country began to look to the future.

Many Albanians (had already) fled abroad – something I was also discovering through my undergraduate and postgraduate studies in Italian and Translation Studies.

I fell in love with the Albanian author Anila Ibrahimi and dedicated myself to translating her work from Italian into English.

I discovered the experiences of three generations of women amid great political, social and cultural change in her first book “Rosso Come Una Sposa”. I later glided through the tragic love story between a Kosovan and Serbian in her second book “L’Amore e Gli Stracci del Tempo”.

I learnt about the discrimination faced by Albanian refugees in Italy and I explored Arbëreshë language and culture through the medium of poetry.

I was particularly interested in the Arbëreshë– having first learning about their unique history during a family visit to Italy in my late teens.

Hearing my cousin’s wife on the phone one evening, I realised she wasn’t speaking Italian and was rather confused. It turned out she was speaking Arbërisht – a medieval pre-Ottoman form of Albanian (of the Tosk variety).

Fleeing Ottoman invasion, groups of Albanians (Catholic) fled to nearby Italy where they’ve resided ever since. With their language given historical minority status, they’ve upheld their language, literature and traditions for centuries.

Now able to indulge in Albanian-Italian culture through my studies, my love of Albania was growing.

Add the later discovery of how Albanians saved a number of Jewish individuals during WWII from persecution during my recent years as an interfaith activist, and my love of Albania has been cemented for life.

As it stands, Albania is the only country in Europe to have a larger Jewish popular post-WII than before the war. And I couldn’t be prouder. I’ve written and spoken about this on many occasions.

However, I still hadn’t visited the land I loved so much. Until a few days ago.

In need of a holiday, and with my plans to visit Algeria paused, I speedily booked a return cheap flight in a “flash sale”, along with accommodation for four nights in Tirana, Albania’s capital.

And it was everything I’d hoped for. But, beyond the joys of a holiday and a chance to take a break from work and daily life, my trip was something I knew I had to write about.

For Albania stands as a lesson for us all: a reminder of how to approach faith and religious pluralism.

Faith in Albania: a diverse interfaith tapestry

As a Muslim, I’ve had quite a mixed background when it comes to different faiths. And I’ve had quite a conservative experience across the board in regards to Islam.

Growing up, Anglicanism was central to my childhood, which was also scattered with Catholic tradition from my Italian side and from attending a Catholic school till I was 12 years old.

Later converting to Islam in my early 20s, I remained a liberal British-Italian.

However, I quickly turned rather conservative, losing my liberal self and immersing myself in a mixture of British Muslim Orthodoxy and Algerian conservatism.

So, it’s been quite a split yet mixed bag overall!

Now a very progressive Muslim, I can honestly say that visiting Albania was healing, refreshing and incredibly insightful.

As an interfaith activist and big believer in religious pluralism – and a progressive Muslim who’d never really visited any Muslim countries other than in conservative areas of North Africa – it was like a big warm hug.

A warm hug to the person – and Muslim – I am today.

Of course, it’s worth noting that Albania isn’t actually a Muslim country – it’s secular. And the population is very much secular too.

It’s also a very diverse country too when it comes to faith.

The latest census figures show that, for the first time in 200 years, Albania no longer has a Muslim majority population.

Figures from 2023 revealed that:

• 45.7% identity as Muslim
• 19.4% are non-denominational believers
• 7.2% are Orthodox Christian
• 8.4% are Catholic
• 4.8% are Bektashi
• 4% are atheist

It’s certainly refreshing to see people freely identifying as atheists and non-denominational, as well as Bektashi. I’ve very much aware of countries where apostasy is taboo and even punishable under death in the Muslim world.

Likewise, I’ve also been a Muslim for over a decade and had never heard of the term Bektashi until I met my friend and fellow Albania-enthusiast Matt. He also later explained that the Bektashi world headquarters are located just outside Tirana.

So, who are the Bektashi? Well, they’re a Sufi-Shia sect originating from 13^th century Anatolia who spread during the Ottoman era.

Rejected as “non-Muslim” by the majority of the Muslim world, they are decidedly more progressive in their faith.

The Bektashi do not believe in head coverings for women, they approve of the use of alcohol (in moderation and in worship) and follow spiritual guides called baba.

The centre was my going to be my first port of call of my first full day in Albania. And it offered a beautiful source of peace and tranquillity as a tourist, Muslim and interfaith activist.  

It was a rather eventful but worthwhile mission to get to the headquarters just outside the centre of Tirana.

Attempting to catch buses along two different bus routes, I eventually ordering a taxi, only to then be forced to ignore Google Maps’ route after finding myself on an industrial estate!).

Eventually however, I arrived!

So, what did it involve? Well, the site hosts the main office, mosque (which was unfortunately closed) and shrines to several important Baba.

With the shrines open to visit, and my head uncovered (as per usual), I took off my boots and entered. There lay two beautiful cocoons adored with Islamic calligraphy and flowers placed before the tombs.

I was one of very few visitors (women) and despite the language barrier was greeted with kindness by all.

Sat before one of the tombs, I prayed and released. I released with utter thankfulness another wave of the conservative trauma that has weighed me down for many years (and am gradually releasing).

A beautiful site, it was refreshing to not have to cover my head (obliging the rules of others) or to worry about segregation. I spent the afternoon in gratitude, peace and cat cuddles (having been befriended by a local cat who was more than happy to oblige for pictures).

With my main aim of the day accomplished, I headed back to central Tirana (via two buses – having first caught the wrong one!). It was time to eat!

I visited a local restaurant for some traditional food and very much tired after a long day, I gobbled down several dishes of soup and various pies to line my stomach before the somewhat large portion of grappa (liquor) I’d been served awaited me.

There was just one problem… I wanted to go to the mosque. It was going to be my interfaith day after all.

So, I caught the attention of the waiter to ask him what time the Great Mosque closed. With not an ounce of judgement he explained that the mosque was open 24 hours.

With no take away cups in sight, we came up with a plan: to drop the grappa off at my room (in the plastic water bottle I had) and head straight to the mosque.

The conversation was refreshing, human and quite typical of my experience in Albania: do what you like. Muslims drink, Muslims don’t (all) cover. There’s no shameful contradiction there. Just be you.

This is not an attitude I have encountered much (at least openly) in the Muslim world – either inside or outside the UK.

As so, after dropping off my beverage, I headed to some religious sites for the rest of the evening.

First, the Sacred Heart (Catholic) Church – the oldest of its kind in Tirana. Next was the Resurrection of Christ Orthodox Cathedral. This is one of the largest Orthodox churches in the Balkans.

Lastly, I headed to the Great Mosque – the largest mosque in the Balkans.

They all had one thing in common – other than being very beautiful. They were all closed (a theme I would encounter throughout my trip!).

Nonetheless, I was pleased to get a glimpse from the outside and chat with a lovely Albanian mother and daughter duo outside the mosque (both in jeans/trousers without a headscarf).

And it was this friendliness, non-judgement and acceptance of others that followed throughout my trip.

Take the next day: coffee with a museum guide who was happily married to a non-Albanian who’d been living in Tirana for many years.   

We joked and laughed as we picked apart my experiences (for better or for worse) – with no offence taken.

Here in Albania, talking religion isn’t taboo. You’re free to question, to criticise, to laugh, to tease.

This was something later confirmed by Beji – my guide across the lakes and mountains outside Tirana later that afternoon.

That afternoon, the trauma of my misogyny-infused trek across Mount Toubkal in Morocco was soothed by a mini hike up Gamti Mountain. It was the highlight of the trip.

Grabbing a coffee before the drive back to Tirana, the afternoon was fun, insightful and refreshing.

Neither of these men believed in any faith and they came from diverse traditions (Catholic and Bektashi). We talked faith, culture and diversity.

Once again, I’d see that as a country, Albania is diverse and free. Here, you’re free to believe or not to believe and safe to express your beliefs.

Travelling as a single woman in Albania for several days, I felt safe, at ease and at peace throughout the entire holiday. This was vacation that I very much enjoyed but was sadly too short.

Nonetheless I made the most of my time and was sure to not return home before a trip to Berat to see the castle/citadel (a world-famous UNSECO site).

Strangely, it was in Berat that the beauty of Albanian’s pluralism was challenged – not by an Albanian, but by an anti-Muslim tourist from the Netherlands.

Surprised to discover that around half of the Albanian population are Muslim, the lady in question was rather shocked to find out I was a Muslim (understandably).

However, the tip of the iceberg was her admission that she “wouldn’t be Muslim” and that it was all rather “difficult”.

Her abruptness shocked me. I politely explained that if she wanted to be a Muslim she’d already be one and that any faith is what you make of it. I do me – and I’m just as valid as a Muslim.

I remained calm but inside I was hurt, disappointed and angry. The diversity – including the Muslim present – of Albania was lost on this woman. As was the tolerance of varied beliefs, pride in diversity and the progressive approach to faith and groups such as the Bektashi.

I couldn’t help but foam at the mouth at the woman that seemed to both deny and despise the Muslim and pluralistic present of Albania – the country she had willingly chose to visit.

Towards the end of our tour, we listened to our tour guide Niku explain about the diverse religious landscape of the Albanian population in a country that prides itself on tolerance and religious pluralism (without conflict).  

In fact, Niku literally pointed out the proximity of a church and mosque only a few metres apart in the overlooking landscape.

This was a somewhat ironic message since our earlier discussions and having witnessed a beautiful Orthodox Church of the Holy Trinity from the view of the ruins of the Ottoman White Mosque (one of two on the site) and two other churches at the beginning of our tour (I myself later visiting St. Mary’s Orthodox church but sadly unable to take photos).

Niku’s message summed up Albania perfectly: Albania is a country that prides itself on mutual citizenship, whatever one’s faith.

And it’s on that note that after arriving in the centre of Berat for some free time, I headed to the local mosque Xhamia Mbret hoping to finally be able to pray.

As a non-Muslim, I’d found it difficult to visit local mosques. In fact, I’d only been able to enter one in the Maghreb due to my interest in the religion. Later visits were as a Muslim (as a very obvious hijabi).

Questioning across Egypt, Tunisia, Spain and Morocco, I’d heard diverse stories. But the conclusion was: it’s wasn’t free access. Mosques weren’t open to non-Muslims.

This however was off the record and not a unanimous or even official decision (my non-Muslim father attending Jummah in Algeria for one). Fellow travellers have also certainly confirmed that this is not the case across the whole of the Muslim world.

Nonetheless, I was understandably a little anxious on that day in Berat about having to possibly “prove my faith” as a European non-hijabi. But: my (Albanian) luck was in.

I made wudhu (ablution), put on my scarf and said salam to the men in the entrance. Directed to the English speaker, I was informed that I could pray in the (empty) main hall – unless I wanted to pray upstairs (I declined).

And so, on that afternoon, I prayed in the almost empty beautiful main prayer hall with a Muslim brother to my far right. I prayed, I took photos and I left.

Taking off my headscarf on the way out, I headed for lunch: peppers with stuffed rice, a sour cherry juice and an Albanian beer.

It was markedly different to my experience across North Africa (a region I continue to love and hold close to my heart). And I was thankful for Albania: for the experience, for accepting me, for showing me for me.

This was the Islam that I believed in, embraced as my true self and could feel at home with.

I had never felt more at peace with my faith. Something highlighted by a Facebook memory that popped up that day of me several years earlier in very conservative hijab.

It had been a long time coming my trip to Albania – but I realised that I appreciated it so much more now than I would have as a twenty-something cultural Anglican. It was part of my journey of healing, of embracing Liz the British-Italian Muslim and I can’t thank Albania enough for that.

Timing is everything and indeed Allah is The Best of Planners.

And so, with the day after marking Independence Day, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend last day in Tirana. I stood in Skanderbeg square, commemorating Albania’s hero for freedom and the freedom that Albanian’s had worked so hard to preserve.

I entered Et’hem Bey Mosque. I donned a Turkish style scarf – with the help of the lovely local manning the mosque, I made my visit taking lots of photos and then went to the adjacent ladies’ area (with a small curtain) and prayed.

I then headed out to join the celebrations in the main square – the stage sat between the view of a mosque and an Orthodox church and the newly erected Christmas tree in the middle of the square.

Beer on sale, dancing and music abound, I watched the joy of a proud, pluralistic people who warmed my heart.

With groups in traditional dress from all over – including northern Albania, Kosovo, North Macedonia and three buses of Arbëreshe groups from Calabria (Italy) – I photographed away, swayed to the music and smiled.

Several hours later, I was at the airport and I was rather sad to leave. Shedding a tear as the plane took off, I know I will be back soon (I’m already mentally planning the next trip!).

This trip was more than a holiday. It was the continuation of my journey. And to that I am thankful for Albania and to everyone I met for their warm welcome, their kindness – and their honesty.

Both the Muslim and non-Muslim world can learn a lot from Albania – a very special country, with a very special people and a very special history.

The lesson Albania teaches the world is that we’re all one. Let’s do it the Albanian way.

Conservatism is one form but not all forms of living faith. Embrace diversity within and amongst faiths (liberal, Orthodox, reform) and non- faith groups. Live and let live, without judgement.

Say yes to pluralism, yes to freedom and no to exclusivism, sectarianism and extremism.

Until the next time Albania. Te dua!

Acknowledgements

Big thanks go to Artur (Spiranca Apartments), Berji (Hey Albania), Niku (Smart Tour Albania), Matt and to everyone I met along the way.

Thank you for your hospitality, kindness, honesty and good humour.

Images

Elizabeth Arif-Fear © – Flickr: Albania (2024).

Featured image: Celebrating Independence Day in Skanderbeg Square with a group from North Macedonia (Tirana, 28 November, 2024).

This post was originally published on Voice of Salam.