From Tirana, I hopped on a bus to Vlorë, where I had booked a night in a tiny hostel. A middle-aged lady greeted me at check-in, exuding the warmth of a classic Italian nonna, though she spoke only Albanian and Italian. Armed with a translation app and infinite patience, she carefully explained every detail of my stay. For dinner, accommodation, and breakfast, she produced three separate handwritten invoices, each more meticulous than the last.
She led me to my dorm, which required a detour going outside first and then back in again. In the dorm, I met Thomas, a Czech guy permanently attached to his beanie. He was working remotely and mentioned he’d be heading back to Tirana the next early morning. It was already late, so I decided to get a bit of work done myself before heading to bed.
At dawn, Thomas woke me up to say goodbye and to make sure I’d close the door behind him. After closing the door behind him, I attempted to steal a bit more sleep. But just as I began to drift off, my alarm jolted me back to reality.
The bathroom turned out to be a peculiar cubicle with the toilet positioned directly under the shower. No curtain, no separation – everything, from the sink to the floor, was destined to get drenched. I scouted for hooks to hang my clothes, but there were none. Walking out au naturel risked an encounter with new guests, so I settled on the only option: a low-hanging silver tube that extended from the boiler into the wall. It didn’t seem ideal, but it had the potential to hold something light – like my undies. It would be better than nothing.
As the water warmed, I reached to hang my undies on the small tube. In an instant, I felt a jolt as a powerful electric current surged through my body, from my right hand to my right foot, which was standing in the puddle ofwater. My body locked up, and an uncontrollable scream escaped my lungs. A strange mix of agonising pain and a disbelief washed over me – is this how I will go? Electrocuted by a tiny tube, naked in a random hostel in Albania?
Then it hit me: my left arm was still free of current. Summoning every ounce of strength, I grabbed my right arm and managed to yank it loose. Silence.
Am I okay? My foot throbbed, but I was alive. Shaken, I stumbled out of the bathroom, outside the dorm, and back inside again to the reception. “Shower, no good,” I blurted out. Nonna looked at me, puzzled, and handed me her iPad. I typed into her translation app: “I just got electrocuted in your shower.”
Her face drained of color. She asked if I needed a doctor, but aside from my aching foot, I seemed fine. A friend in Australia wasn’t so sure and urged me to get my heart checked. Reluctantly, I agreed. Nonna quickly called a taxi.
At the hospital, they hooked me up to monitors and ran some tests. The doctor informed me I was incredibly lucky – the current had traveled down the right side of my body and exited through my right foot. If it had crossed to my left side, it might have gone through my heart.
Back at the hostel, Nonna told me an electrician had confirmed a 220-volt short circuit. She offered me a free night in a different room, and though I accepted – it was late, after all – I didn’t quite have many happy associations left with this hostel anymore.
The next morning, she directed me to the nearest bus stop for Sarandë. Limping along the streets, I eventually found what locals insisted was the right spot. “The bus will come soon,” they said. Four hours later, a different local casually informed me, “No more buses.”
I messaged the Sarandë hostel to say I wouldn’t make it that night. Eventually, the hostel owner came to pick me up, though it cost me another several hours and an additional fee. He seemed extremely entertained by my electrocution story and could not wait to share this with his guests later that night.
Exhausted, frustrated, and a little wary of Albania’s quirks, I later learned an intriguing fact: many Albanian buildings remain half-finished because unfinished structures are exempt from taxes.
The Dutch have a saying, “Een ongeluk zit in een klein hoekje,” which roughly means “accidents lurk in the smallest corners.” It is perhaps also why motorcyclists stick to the well-trodden paths left by car tires – it’s not always the most adventurous route, but it’s often the safest.
The low hanging tube in this bathroom in a hostel in Vlorë had a 220 volt short circuit going through.
The room in the hospital where they ran some tests.
The room where I spent most time waiitng for tests and results in the hospital in Vlorë.
