SHKODER

The road northwards was easy and fast. Closer to the destination, the flat landscapes gradually gave way to mountains that emerged in a soft haze on the horizon. The closer we got to the border with Montenegro, the more significant they looked. Today I was about to meet a sporting city, a hipster city, a city that cannot be given the thousands of years it has under its belt.

The bus stopped in the middle of the city, and I stepped out onto the main square. Before I had a chance to look around, a bicycle came barreling towards me out of nowhere. Young, fit and bright, Shkoder, was looking at me.

- Hi! I decided to take the initiative to take us for a little bike trip. We' re going to talk about it on the way.

Without a word, the spirit of the city grabbed me under the arm and dragged me into the shade of a nearby tree. In the meantime, he had managed to talk on his cell phone, said something to a curious rider who had almost been run over by a Mercedes (of course), and winked at a pretty girl. I just watched the whole thing with my mouth hanging open.
And then a bike appeared next to me. Exactly like Schkoder's.

He was speeding up quickly, moving back and forth along the edge of the roadway and between cars and other cyclists. I tried my best, but it was hard to keep up. Seeing that I couldn't keep up with his pace, the owner slowed down and let me know his plans. As long as it wasn't too hot, he decided to take me to the Rosafa fortress, the city's landmark, then we should check out some museums and have an afternoon dip in the mountain river near Messi Bridge. I didn't mind at all and was ready to trust him completely in his choice of places of interest. Here comes Rosafa. We left our bikes at the foot of the hill, where we could see the ancient walls and towers, and walked along the paved road to the entrance to the fortress.

"This stone here is 2,400 years old. I remember it
being laid here, at the base of the fortress.
Do you know the local legend? Haven't you heard it?
All the guides here tell it. They say that three
brothers started to build a fortress. And
everything they were building during the day
fell apart at night. An old man passed by and
advised them to sacrifice the girl who would
come to them first the next day, and wall her up
alive in the wall of the fortress.
That girl turned out to be Rosafa, the younger brother's wife. The girl dutifully agreed to be a victim, but asked that her right breast not be bricked up to feed the child, her right eye to see him, her right hand to pet him and her right foot to rock his cradle.
There, look, there's a bas-relief of 'Rosafa' at the entrance to the castle. And the lime-stone water flowing at the main entrance is like Rosafa's breast milk. But what few people know is that the legend is not so legendary. In those distant times when Illyrians lived here, and in the Middle Ages too, making such a "building sacrifice" was the order of the day. This sacrifice to the gods was supposed to protect the building from destruction and the owner from death.

- This stone is 2,400 years old. I remember it being laid here, at the base of the castle. Do you know the local legend? You haven't heard it? All the guides here tell it. They say that three brothers started to build a fortress. And everything they were building during the day fell apart at night. An old man passed by and advised them to sacrifice a girl who would come to them first the following day and to immure her alive into the wall of the fortress. This girl was Rosafa, the younger brother's wife. She humbly agreed to become a victim, but asked that her right breast to feed the baby, her right eye to see the baby, her right hand to caress it and her right foot to rock its cradle, not be walled up.
There, look, there's a bas-relief of 'Rosafa' at the entrance to the castle. And the lime-stone water flowing at the main entrance is like Rosafa's breast milk. But what few people know is that the legend is not so legendary. In those distant times when Illyrians lived here, and in the Middle Ages too, making such a "building sacrifice" was the order of the day. This sacrifice to the gods was supposed to protect the building from destruction and the owner from death.

- Aren't you afraid of the dark? No? Then come with me.
We started down a narrow spiral staircase into the basement.
A metre, two, three, turn right, left, light oozing in a thin ray from somewhere above...

This hill is more than 120 metres high. Deep underground tunnels used to connect parts of the fortress, with dark cellars used to store weapons and supplies. It's cool and damp - the light from a mobile phone torch hits the stonework, behind it there's a narrow manhole, no further way in or out for us.

We headed back into town. Shkoder was somehow pensive... When we arrived at the dark doors of a building, he said:
- And this is a museum in memory of those who died at the hands of the executioners, the chain dogs of Hoxha's communist regime. Just walk there in silence and solitude yourself. It's hard for me to see those walls and pictures of the victims every time. I'm going to go and have a cup of coffee and do some business.

Careful,
it might impress

- Oh, I completely forgot, let's come and visit someone. I'm generally very fond of people who make money from their business ideas. But these guys are my favourites.

Impressed by what we saw, we moved on through the city, passing the Catholic Cathedral of St Stephen's, the Abu Bakr Mosque and further along the pedestrian street to the north-east. We drove on in silence, each minding his own thoughts.

Almost at the very exit from the city, Shkoder stopped abruptly and said:

- Do you know that the Venetian masks used at carnivals in this very Venice are made here?
We were greeted by the owner of the factory, as young and lively as Shkoder. We walked into the showroom and I just froze... at the amount of colours, lights, beauty.
Shkoder spoke passionately, "Remember the Tom Cruise movie, Eyes Wide Shut - here's the mask of the main character. And you know, I've been fond of working with neural networks recently and look what a bizarre mask of the Angel of Death I have got. I suggest that the guys create a whole series of such - generated by artificial intelligence. The process itself takes at least 5 days, and these masks can cost thousands of euros. Not all of these masks can be worn, many of them are just used as decoration. But in general, it's not a matter of talking, it's a matter of looking.

- This is where they make Venetian masks. Remember the Tom Cruise movie Eyes Wide Shut? Here's his mask. I've been getting into neural networking myself, and look at this fancy "angel of death" mask. I'm going to suggest that the guys create a whole series of such AI-generated ones. The process of making one mask takes at least 5 days, and they can cost thousands of euros. Not all of these masks can be worn, many of them are simply used as decoration. But in general, it's not a matter of talking, it's a matter of looking.

In good mood, we continued on our way, chatting about everyday trivia and comparing life in Shkodra with other cities in Albania.

Here comes the bridge. A stone giant. The full-flowing Kiri murmurs below. It was built in 1770 by the local Ottoman Pasha Mahmoud and it is the longest of the ancient bridges in Albania .
The water was cold, but I couldn't deny myself the pleasure of taking a dip on this hot day and listening to the song of the river. Shkoder said that if we had come here in summer, there would have been a big puddle in place of the rushing stream and the bridge would have looked like Tenners in Tirana.