Is Albania really as good as everyone says it is?

Alphabetically speaking, Albania is the first of European nations – but throughout much of modern history it was the last anyone would consider for a holiday. 

Signs are that’s now changing. ‘Is Albania the new Greece/Italy/Spain?’ journalists have variously pondered.

Travel companies, too, have been keen to promote the beaches of a Mediterranean getaway that is gentler on the wallet in leaner times. Albania welcomed 12 million annual visitors in 2025 – up from four million a decade ago when my girlfriend and I explored the country in a hot-pink Fiat 500, rented from a company that communicated only through thumbs up and mime. 

Ours was a wonderful trip. The beaches were half-empty, the hoteliers backslapped us like long-lost relatives. The beer was 50p – although the raki was often free, raised in toast to the trickle of visitors who made it to Albania. Fast forward 10 years, and I find myself on a flight to Tirana, keen to see how the country had changed. 

But even before we skidded onto the runway, I knew one thing was true: Albania could never be the new Greece, Italy or Spain. Its language, history and geography made it a unicorn case on the European continent. It was nothing if not stridently itself.

This article first appeared in Which? Travel magazine. We don't accept freebies from travel companies, airlines, or hotels, so you can be sure that our investigations, recommendations, and reviews are completely unbiased.

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A singular capital 

The Albanian capital, Tirana, is among the ugliest of European capitals – a thicket of tower blocks wreathed in exhaust fumes. It is often bypassed by tourists beelining for the country’s coastline – which is a mistake. Florence this may not be, but it is eccentric, energetic and fun, and the best place to understand the country’s singular story. 

I started in the city’s great public forum, Skanderbeg Square, gazing up at a shining 1980s mosaic of comrades striding into a glorious future. Albania was, of course, a communist country – yet even here it very much trod its own path, initially comrades with the Soviet Union, then China and lastly with itself. 

Its leader, Enver Hoxha (a name still reluctantly spoken) was the cruelest of despots – casting his country adrift from the world, paranoid that spies lurked around every corner. Close to the square you can explore the intriguing (and free) Pyramid of Tirana – initially built as a memorial to the tyrant, rebuilt in 2023 as a cultural space.

But Hoxha’s enduring architectural legacy was in fact pillboxes – these bunkers are estimated to number as many as 750,000 – built to repel invaders who never came. They’re dotted about Tirana’s grid of streets, they watch you slurp ice creams on Albania’s beaches, and surveil you as you wheeze up its mountain passes. 

In retirement, some have been repurposed as garden sheds, others as pizza ovens. Most are just quietly crumbling, looking like a race of gormless Daleks, a reminder of those years of isolation.

Sadly, Tirana lacks a good museum to relate all this extraordinary history. Bunk’Art 2 – a museum set in Hoxha’s former nuclear bunker – is overcrowded and full of poorly translated exhibits, while the National Historical Museum is shuttered, set to reopen in the near future. 

Yet just walking around – drinking in cafés, chatting to locals – you understand that the hangover of this isolation was long and painful. In comparison with many popular European city-breaks, locals are grateful to see tourists finally thronging Tirana’s boulevards and bazaars.

The truth about the beaches 

Before leaving Tirana, I caught the Dajti Ekspres cable car out of the capital’s smog and up into the green mountains that define much of Albania’s geography to get a bird’s-eye view over the land. Albania is a small country – yet journeys here can be long, looping affairs, for drivers must navigate the nooks of these ranges. Later, having rented a hire car from a man with impeccable English, I drove south.

Albania – it can’t be said enough – has changed drastically in a short time. Ten years ago, many drove with the urgency of people escaping an asteroid impact – we spent much of our time sheltering behind horses and carts in the slow lane. Now, the roads are better, the driving sober and a nationwide litter problem is much improved (although packs of feral dogs are still a problem). 

Prices, admittedly, are not quite the bonanza they once were – something particularly obvious on the country’s most-hallowed strip of coastline: the Albanian Riviera.

South of the city of Vlore, the improbably named Thunderbolt Mountains rise high over blue Ionian waters – a range believed by classic sailors to be an abode of Zeus. Clinging limpet-like to their slopes are stone villages, monasteries and groves of olive and Aleppo pine. The main attractions for most visitors, though, are the beaches – the best being Gjipe, Dhermi and Livadi, each enclosed by craggy limestone peninsulas.

These are often touted as the last undiscovered beaches on the Mediterranean – but those expectations should be managed. The Riviera beaches aren’t as lovely or anywhere near as abundant as those found in Croatia. Nor are they particularly peaceful – an endless clang of drills and hammers attests to a wave of development here. But what makes the Albanian Riviera special is its particular geography – it has the same sublime steepness as Amalfi.

You can spend days on golden sands looking up at mountains sugared with spring snows, and watch long, bloody Ionian sunsets from the upper contours. My favourite spot on the Riviera was Old Himare – a fortified village high on a sheer cliff, where visitors were free to wander among half-abandoned villas and peek into tumbledown churches, where golden icons gleamed in the gloom. It feels delightfully raw – here, as in much of Albania, safety rails are yet to be installed.

Ancient settlements 

Old Himare was largely an ethnically Greek settlement, although elsewhere in Albania other cultural winds have blown. In the second city of Durres you sense the proximity of the Italian peninsula in the form of Venetian watchtowers and hissing espresso machines. In the far north, the mood turns deep Balkan as the borders of Montenegro and Kosovo collide amid karst mountains.

Venture inland from the Riviera and you come to two of Albania’s most beautiful towns – Berat and Gjirokaster. Here, old Pasha’s mansions teeter over cobbled alleyways, koftes sizzle on the grills, and mosques take architectural inspiration from their equivalents in Istanbul. The ghost of Ottoman rule over Albania looms large.

Of the two, I preferred Berat – where townhouses were stacked, Escher-like beside a bend in the Osum River, and Albania’s holy mountain of Tomorri rises over the rooftops. 

Tourism is on the rise here. But the imam of the Sultan Mosque still personally welcomed me with a complimentary chunk of Turkish delight. The caretaker of the Byzantine Church of the Holy Trinity brought smouldering incense to my nose unprompted, to inhale the aromas as frescoed saints loomed above. And at a restaurant in the citadel of Berat, a waiter was one of many across this country who asked, with great earnestness, ‘What do you think of Albania?’ For now, at least, people still seem to care.

Getting there

There are direct services from London, Birmingham, Edinburgh and Manchester, with Ryanair, Wizz Air or BA. Which? Recommended Provider (WRP) Jet2 Holidays offers Tirana city breaks, while several other operators, including BA, offer Albania beach packages. WRP Intrepid has a range of tours. Public transport in the country is very poor, so rent a car if you plan to move around.

When to go

Flight prices are expensive in the summer months, and heatwaves are a risk. Consider September, when it’s still a balmy 27°C. Conversely, the interior is mountainous, so if you plan to hike you’ll want to avoid winter months when passes are covered in snow

Where to sleep

Tirana

Sar’Otel

Tirana still doesn’t have an abundance of great hotels, but among the better options is Sar’Otel, set close to the hub of Skanderbeg Square. Rooms are comfortable, even if views over fire escapes and extractor fans are uninspiring – the best part is the welcome from staff, who are only too happy to provide a map and orientate you. It’s also handy for the airport bus. You’ll need to book via a third-party hotel website.

Average price per night: £105 

Breakfast: £30

Himare

Rea Boutique Hotel

Set on the edge of Himare’s sandy bay, the Rea is pioneering a new kind of accommodation on the Albanian coast, offering high-end rooms of the ilk more typically found on a Greek island. All feature wide balconies and private hot tubs – and, while there are minor teething problems, the price is still far less than the equivalents at Corfu (which is visible on the horizon). You’ll need to book via a third-party hotel website.

Average price per night (breakfast included): £117 

Berat

Hotel Mangalemi

A sign outside the Mangalemi proudly proclaims it was among the first hotels to open in Albania after the fall of Communism. Four decades on, it remains one of the best, with handsome rooms set around a historic property. It’s in the centre of Berat so finding a parking space nearby can be tricky. Take time to peruse the pictures and antique knick-knacks in the corridors (such as Communist-era radio sets).

Average price per night (breakfast included): £55