Chance encounters and the generosity of strangers

Our Managing Director Chris recently visited Albania to look at a selection of properties for inclusion in our programme. This particular trip was a reminder of why we do what we do. Not just the chance encounters, the generosity of strangers, and the unexpected moments that leave you smiling long after the journey continues.

When my alarm went off at 02:30 on a Sunday morning, I can’t say I was full of enthusiasm. A 05:25 Wizz Air flight from Luton to Tirana isn’t anyone’s idea of glamour, but with several Greek airports closed for winter maintenance, I was forced to get creative with my routing to a meeting this week. I’ve spent chunks of the last two years in Albania, trying to get under the skin of the country and see whether it could genuinely work for our clients. There’s no shortage of headlines proclaiming “Albania - the next big thing”, but hype alone doesn’t make a destination sellable. What we look for is somewhere guests will want to return to, and somewhere the team can recommend with real confidence.

Sunvil has a long history with Albania, having featured it as early as the 1990s after the fall of communism. We’ve always known about the warmth of the people through first-hand connections. And yet, until now, aside from some excellent cultural touring, something hadn’t quite clicked for me.

After 35 years in the travel industry, I’ve learned that some destinations don’t reveal themselves on the first visit. Occasionally, it takes a few tries, and sometimes one unexpected day, for everything to fall into place.

That moment came on this trip.

I had phoned a number linked to a set of villas I wanted to see. The man who answered didn’t speak English and promptly hung up. I sent a WhatsApp message and heard nothing. Then, a few hours later, a reply came, not from him, but from someone in Tirana who spoke perfect English, telling me he would meet me at the airport at 09:30 on Sunday morning. When I landed, there he was, coffee in hand. Sam. He holds the concession for a luxury furniture store in Tirana but happens to be friends with the engineer who built the villas. Having lived in the US for ten years and with a sharp eye for quality, he was keen to learn more about tourism and instantly felt like one of those connections you don’t realise you’ve been missing.

Instead of heading straight to the villas, Sam took me on a detour to Krujë, the hilltop fortress town and former stronghold of Albania’s national hero, Gjergj Kastrioti Skënderbej. Walking through the castle and old bazaar, hearing the story of resistance and independence, was the kind of history you don’t learn at school, and exactly the sort of context that brings a destination to life.

Eventually, we reached the villas themselves, an evolving project developed over more than 20 years, with sustainability at its core. Green roofs, natural ventilation through planting, and architecture that works with the landscape rather than against it. Thoughtful, understated, and quietly impressive.

The engineer behind the project, the same man who had hung up on me earlier that week, met us there. With no staff around on a winter Sunday, he personally showed me the entire site, talking through his ideas and long-term vision. When the tour ended, he insisted we stop for lunch.

I assumed this meant something simple. Instead, half an hour later he emerged with a perfectly cooked tomahawk steak from his own aged beef collection, a fresh green salad, and a bottle of Primitivo. Sitting in the winter sun, neither of us fluent in the other’s language, we talked through ideas, possibilities, and what might work for future guests. One of those rare conversations where enthusiasm fills the gaps words can’t.

Grinning from ear to ear, I headed back to Tirana to collect my car and drive south towards the Greek border.

That night’s stop was Berat, a place friends had spoken about with real affection. Arriving after dark, I assumed I’d need to wait until morning to appreciate it. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Still lit with Christmas lights, my riverside hotel overlooked the footbridge and the dark silhouette of the castle above. I dropped my bags and wandered out, crossing the river to a traditional restaurant with views back across the old town. Dinner turned into a feast. Tavë Kosi, flaky byrek, rich bean stew, fresh salads. The sort of meal where travelling alone just means you end up with leftovers. The owner assured me nothing would go to waste, thanks to a local population of very hopeful cats and dogs.

The following morning, as the hotel’s only guest, I was presented with a breakfast spread of fresh fruit, bread, cheese, omelette, pancakes, and a strong espresso. And in daylight, Berat truly revealed itself. White Ottoman houses climbing the hillside, history layered everywhere you look. It’s easy to imagine our guests enjoying it at any time of year.

Trips like this are a true reminder of why we do what we do. Not just the destinations, but the chance encounters, the generosity of strangers, and the unexpected moments that leave you smiling long after the journey continues.