Beatrice Hamblett Photography

Strolling in Permet

3 min read

Permet is a bustling town in southeastern Albania bookended between the Vjosa River and the towering Dhembel Mountains. On a Friday or Saturday night—actually any summer night—the shops are open, the side streets full of people, and in the wide open town square kids cluster in groups or race to and fro. Babies and toddlers are set astride ponies and unicorns on a small carousel that circles round and round into the night. Meanwhile, the promenade along the river teems with families—couples, solos—strolling and chatting.

People in Permet dress simply—young fashionistas are nowhere to be seen in this town. Boys and girls appear happy licking a one euro ice cream bar and teenagers dress in the universal uniform—t-shirts and jeans. Men gather in informal clubs and bars and play boisterous games of checkers or dominoes. The shops are pre-90s many still with a Communist feel and a minimum of advertising in the windows. Nothing looks particular enticing to buy, not the dresses nor the shirts nor the shoes. However, in the town’s dressmaking shops, women are busy guiding bolts of flowing fabric through humming sewing machines. Curtains for a local matron or a traditional costume for the next holiday celebration? Cafes, tiny hole-in-the-wall groceries, a pharmacy the size of a bathroom with just fifty items available—all line the labyrinthine back streets. But on this early summer evening, there’s a feeling of enjoyment for the simpler pleasures—a drink with a friend, a stroll with the family, an outing—any outing—to escape the confines of hot, Soviet block apartments which populate the edges of town.

Tonight I stroll with a new friend, Anilla. We met on the stone pathway descending into the village and now struggle to communicate in broken English and Albania. Then I ask, “Milate Ellenika” and sure enough, Anilla speaks very good Greek as do many Albanians I meet in this area that sits just 60 kilometers over the mountains from Greece. She immediately showers me with questions. Where am I from? How am I spending my time here? Do I like Albania? A brunette with a thick mane of straight hair and pale skin, she puffs a cigarette held between lips painted dark red. We enjoy a 15 minute friendship and then, when we reach the central square, say goodbye and wander off in different directions into the night. Friends for just a blink in time.

Strolling in Permet

3 min read

Permet is a bustling town in southeastern Albania bookended between the Vjosa River and the towering Dhembel Mountains. On a Friday or Saturday night—actually any summer night—the shops are open, the side streets full of people, and in the wide open town square kids cluster in groups or race to and fro. Babies and toddlers are set astride ponies and unicorns on a small carousel that circles round and round into the night. Meanwhile, the promenade along the river teems with families—couples, solos—strolling and chatting.

People in Permet dress simply—young fashionistas are nowhere to be seen in this town. Boys and girls appear happy licking a one euro ice cream bar and teenagers dress in the universal uniform—t-shirts and jeans. Men gather in informal clubs and bars and play boisterous games of checkers or dominoes. The shops are pre-90s many still with a Communist feel and a minimum of advertising in the windows. Nothing looks particular enticing to buy, not the dresses nor the shirts nor the shoes. However, in the town’s dressmaking shops, women are busy guiding bolts of flowing fabric through humming sewing machines. Curtains for a local matron or a traditional costume for the next holiday celebration? Cafes, tiny hole-in-the-wall groceries, a pharmacy the size of a bathroom with just fifty items available—all line the labyrinthine back streets. But on this early summer evening, there’s a feeling of enjoyment for the simpler pleasures—a drink with a friend, a stroll with the family, an outing—any outing—to escape the confines of hot, Soviet block apartments which populate the edges of town.

Tonight I stroll with a new friend, Anilla. We met on the stone pathway descending into the village and now struggle to communicate in broken English and Albania. Then I ask, “Milate Ellenika” and sure enough, Anilla speaks very good Greek as do many Albanians I meet in this area that sits just 60 kilometers over the mountains from Greece. She immediately showers me with questions. Where am I from? How am I spending my time here? Do I like Albania? A brunette with a thick mane of straight hair and pale skin, she puffs a cigarette held between lips painted dark red. We enjoy a 15 minute friendship and then, when we reach the central square, say goodbye and wander off in different directions into the night. Friends for just a blink in time.

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Categories: AlbaniaTravelPhotographPermet