The lost city

by Erilda Selaj (Albania)

A leap into the unknown Albania

My nan's stories always started there, amidst the mountains of Mat in Stelushi Castle somewhere in northeast Albania. Her stories stopped with her heart and my mom had taken up where she left it. “Centuries ago there was a city there. I don't know about your history book, but the locals call it Varosh... ” said mom, driving from Tirana to Burrel. The sound of the gushing river accompanied us till we reached Shkopet lake where a short tunnel brought us on the shore of the emerald water lake. Our car was passing it sooner than I accepted and I turned around to enjoy the view from the back window. Two high, white rocks closed like gates on both sides of the lake leaving just enough space for a dam. The vegetation was thick around the narrow lake who was slowly diminishing in horizon till it disappeared behind the gray rock. "Turn around," said mom from the front seat. "In a bit, we will pass near Ulza lake." Its wideness dwarfed the previous lake and its still surface mirrored the summer sky. After we passed the small city of Burrel finding directions became challenging. The GPS was not working and later we lost even phone service. We found the way but the mountains where our destination was becoming more distant. Somewhere we must have taken the wrong turn. But which one? Yet my father would not turn back. No passengers or other cars to exchange. We had to rely on our prehistoric sense of orientation. After a long hour of driving through pine hills, my tummy started to turn in the ups and downs of the off-road shortcut. Back on track, the narrow road twisted and turned on mountain slopes, like a snake. A queer old snake who was slowly scraping the new skin of asphalt to reveal the pink scales of the old cobblestone street underneath. My sister was amazed by the many layers of the cliffs. “I can almost touch them,” she said sticking her arm out of the window. On my side, all I had close were treetops. When they were no more, I focused on the beauty of mountains in the side of the valley, refusing to acknowledge the edge of the abyss. At the end of the serpentine road on a mountain slope laid a small village with grey stone houses, quite apart from each other. The car came to an abrupt halt. “We are almost there.” Mother tried to be positive. As positive as one can be when your car is broken in the middle of nowhere. We walked on foot, father back to the village to ask for some help with the car and us forward in the quest for Varosh. We followed the roadside between high trees until the path opened to a goldfield that dominated the whole valley. On the side stood proud, a big grey rock. Trees grew between the ruins in its top and there were ruins and piles of fallen stones everywhere around its base. Under it, a river gushed, its small yet persisting stream had cut through the rock dividing it into two and the modest ruins stood right in the edge. Behind, a mountain sheltered the field who dropped into a hillside and the river surrounded the rest. “It is gone.” Mother whispered incredulously. “The city is gone.” Her eyes slowly filled with tears. “There were ruins of buildings here… at least 3 meters high,” she continued frustrated. Then I realized. This was more than an old lost city to her. It was her childhood. We helped her climb to the top of the rocks hoping the ruins of Stelush and the breathtaking view would make her less sad. From above we could see earth had claimed what was hers but amidst the vegetation of the hill beneath, thick lines of limestone walls appeared. They formed streets, houses and buildings plans and they seemed to continue even on the other side of the river...everything was there. “No mother. It’s not gone, it’s here...” She finally smiled. Her childhood was not gone.