Albanian Hospitality for Real: Why Strangers Will Invite You for Raki at 10 AM

You haven’t really experienced Albania until a stranger waves you over to their garden, pulls out a plastic bottle of homemade raki, and hands you a glass—before you’ve even had breakfast.

And no, it’s not weird. It’s actually kind of… normal.

Down here on the Albanian Riviera, especially in places like Saranda, Ksamil, and Borsh, hospitality isn’t something we switch on for tourists. It’s just how we are. It’s in our bones.

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You Want Coffee? Sit Down First.

There’s this unspoken rule in southern Albania: if you ask someone for directions, you’re getting more than directions. You’re getting a seat. A coffee. Maybe a plate of fresh figs if it’s summer, or hot petulla with honey if it’s winter.

The first time I brought a German couple to view a seaview apartment in Saranda, we stopped to ask a farmer about the walking path to the beach. Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in his courtyard, sipping strong raki and eating pickled vegetables his wife had made the day before. The couple looked at me like, “Is this part of the tour?”

I smiled. “In Albania? Always.”

And yes, that apartment was fantastic—here’s the one, actually—but what sold them wasn’t just the view. It was the feeling.

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Raki at 10 AM Is a Love Language

Listen, I’m not saying we drink every morning. But I am saying that if you’ve got a big decision to make—buying a house, for example—raki might be involved.

There’s a little bar in Borsh, no name, just a few plastic chairs and a wood counter. The owner, Agron, makes his own raki from black grapes and serves it with slices of cucumber and salt. He once told me, “A house is important. You need to toast before and after signing.”

He’s not wrong.

Honestly, one of my favorite projects right now is in Borsh. White Residence Villas—quiet, elegant, modern builds with sweeping views and private pools. You’re close enough to nature to hear the waves at night, but still have all the comfort you need. Take a look here if you’re curious.

And if you go see the property in person, don’t be surprised if the neighbor walks over with a tray of coffee and insists you try their homemade olive oil. It happens. A lot.

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Ksamil’s Kind of Magic

Ksamil is different, but the kindness hits just as hard. It’s softer here. Quieter.

There’s this one lady who runs a tiny seasonal stand near the Three Islands. She sells roasted corn, cold water, and watermelon slices bigger than your head. One day I stopped by with a young couple from the UK. We had just come from a tour of White Residence Ksamil—that’s this one, tucked beautifully near the beach, hotel-apartment style—and they were asking me about local life.

Before I could answer, the watermelon lady pulled up a third chair and started explaining Ksamil’s history. In Greek, in Albanian, in whatever language she could manage. By the end, she gave the couple a jar of fig jam to “remember Ksamil with.”

They emailed me a week later. Not about the property (though they did end up reserving a unit). They wrote, “We’ve never felt that kind of warmth from strangers before.”

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A Little Tangent on Grandmothers

I’ve always said the true spirit of the Albanian Riviera lives in its grandmothers.

If you walk past a gate and hear someone calling “Hajde!”—go in. You might get fed. You might get your cheeks pinched. You might be leaving with a bag of lemons and a new friend.

One time, after showing a beachfront plot to a client in Lukova, we passed by an older woman drying oregano on her terrace. We smiled. She waved us in. Two hours later, we were full of lamb stew and laughter.

Did we close the deal? Yep.

Did the client joke that the grandma sealed it? Also yes.

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