Walking back from the bar, I spotted something that made me feel very alone and a long way from home. The valley was slowly being swallowed by shadow as the sun dropped behind a far ridge; I was on a track surrounded on both sides by a thick tangle of beech and silver birch, about an hour’s walk from my hotel. And frozen in the snow in front of me was a huge paw print.
I’d paid little attention when someone had mentioned that these forests were home to bears, lynx and wolves. Now, I bent down and used my pen to measure the print — my 15cm-long biro fitted easily inside, four claw marks protruding further still. It didn’t look very fresh but then what did I know about wolves? The trees began to rustle in the breeze.
It wasn’t just the wildlife tugging at my anxiety as I hurried back down the track that night. I was deep in Albania’s Accursed Mountains — a name that seems to have numerous explanations but none of them exactly jolly. Off limits for five decades during the country’s communist era, the region later became known for its blood feuds, severe depopulation and casual violence.