From Walking Without a Destination to a Journey with a Vision

Reflections of an adventurer who never quite learned how to stay in one place.

My name is Bledi. That’s what I’m called.

Like everyone else, I have people around me. Some know me well, others only a little, some perhaps a little more than that, and maybe a few who think they know me better than they actually do. I don’t know whether any of this matters to what I am about to write. But since every journey has a starting point, let this be my introduction.

One beautiful day, I had a vision. I cannot remember whether it came suddenly, like a flash of inspiration, or whether it was an energy that had been quietly growing somewhere deep inside me. All I know is that it happened. And from that day on, I began to walk on my own.

To discover on my own. To understand on my own. To choose on my own. To make my own decisions. Sometimes wrongly, sometimes wisely, but always with the conviction that my path had to be mine.

The Boy Who Wanted to Cross Borders

Years passed. Seasons came and went. People, places, experiences, mistakes and small victories followed one another. And before I quite realised how it had happened, I found myself in my forties

Perhaps that vision had first appeared much earlier, somewhere in my early adolescence. In any case, more than twenty-five years have passed since I embarked on a journey without a clearly defined destination.

Walking without really knowing where I was going!

There was a certain pleasure in it, because to me, walking was much like living. Walking without a destination was like living without knowing how life would end. And that was where both the beauty and the irony lay. After all, does anyone know how their own life will end? Nobody does. And yet we continue to love life, pursue it, enjoy it and make plans for the future, as though we had some secret agreement with it.

Perhaps that is one of its greatest wonders.

It was with this little philosophy that I began my own adventure.

I’m going to Filat. I’m going to Gumenicë. I’m going to Athens. I’m going to Kea. I’m going to Rhodes. And one day, I’ll go even further, somewhere towards the western edge of the continent.

These were my earliest thoughts, already taking shape when I was fourteen. I don’t know whether they were dreams, childhood whims or the first signs of a soul that was simply not made to stay in one place for too long. All I knew was that I wanted to walk. To leave. To see what lay beyond the horizon.

Crossing a border had a special kind of magic. For me, getting across it was a victory in itself. I had little patience for visas, paperwork or residence permits. After all, I didn’t want to settle down. I wanted to travel! Back then, I needed a travel permit far more than a residence permit.

To leave without being tied to anything. Without a grand plan, without promises and, if possible, without asking permission. Neither from the state nor from my family.

Without anyone’s permission, for any reason.

I simply wanted to go, by night or by day. With a backpack or with nothing but my hands in my pockets. Often alone, though sometimes accompanied by a friend who needed my guidance. There were occasions when I wasn’t supposed to go, but temptation was stronger than prohibition. And, strangely enough, I often managed to get away with it.

That was the kind of person I was. A traveller without a map, without a flag and without any diplomatic mission looking after my fate.

Many of those who knew me back then still remember me that way. One of my uncles even gave me the nickname “The Ferry”. The reason was simple: on one occasion, I had secretly boarded a ferry to travel.

I’m not sure whether I should have been proud or concerned about that nickname. But since I have never lacked unusual names or unconventional ways of travelling, I accepted it gladly.

After all, some people are born to have an address. Others are born to have a horizon.

Many stories unfolded during those years. Some are beautiful, some strange, and a few perhaps a little hard to believe. But I have no intention of telling them all. Not now. Some stories are best left resting in our memories, just as some places become more beautiful when you don’t photograph them.

A Different Kind of Journey

As time went by, however, even adventurers began to change. The world changes, people change, and without noticing it, we begin to negotiate with ourselves.

Leaving was no longer an end in itself. For several years, I even refused to go anywhere. I wanted to stay in my hometown, Sarandë, and try a different way of life. Perhaps I needed a break from roads, borders and my former self.

I began taking part in social activities in the town, getting involved in various initiatives and even organising some of them myself. Environmental issues and community life gradually became increasingly important to me.

Meanwhile, another kind of traveller was beginning to awaken within me. One who needed no suitcase, tickets or passport. One who travelled through words.

In February 2013, I published a collection of poetry entitled “SEASONS OF THE SEA” (Stinët e Detit). It was a book of poems about love, Sarandë and life in general. In that book, the sea was more than the sea I could see every day from my hometown. It was a metaphor for life itself, with all its seasons, its calm and its turbulence, its departures and returns, its clear skies and waves that never ask whether you are ready for them.

I held the book launch on 21 July 2013, the very day I turned thirty.

It was a slightly different kind of birthday celebration. Instead of simply celebrating the years I had lived, I decided to share with others a part of what I had thought, felt and written along the way.

I don’t know whether, at the time, I had more poetry about life or more life to turn into poetry.

Sometimes I felt as though I had spent too many years wandering aimlessly, chasing dreams that had brought little material reward, or little bereqet, as my father would have called it. I had gathered spiritual, physical and cultural experiences, but I had no great fortune to show the world.

And yet, perhaps my wealth was not something that could be counted.

I had stopped a marathon with no finish line, no flag and no uniform. I had decided to make a long stop in my little Sarandë. But every now and then, when everything seemed quiet, my feet would begin to betray me. They would not leave me alone. Thoughts of new trails returned, like waves coming back to shore even after the sea appears calm.

When Walking Became a Profession

During that period, I also decided to return to education. I had abandoned school years earlier, back when I first began discovering other paths. Eventually, I completed vocational training in hotel management and tourism.

And so another chapter began.

I remember my final year of school, when I organised a trip with some friends to Stani i Seferit, in Ksamil. Seferi was a friend of mine who owned a traditional shepherd’s hut there. I was the one who gave the place its name, “Stani i Seferit”. I liked it, and I wanted to introduce it to others.

Perhaps, without realising it, I was already doing something that would later become an important part of my life.

Among us was also a visitor from Central Europe. It was one of those occasions when a journey begins to take on a different meaning: when you are no longer simply discovering a place for your own pleasure, but start seeing it through the eyes of someone who has travelled from far away.

It felt as though I was returning to walking once again, after a long interruption.

But this time, something had changed.

The walks had a destination, a purpose and a vision.

What had until then been a personal desire, a kind of adventurous instinct, was beginning to take the shape of a profession. It was not yet a fully established profession. My everyday work was something else, while this was something I did for pleasure. But some things don’t need to be given the right name immediately for you to understand where they are taking you.

At first, they were simply experiments. Then came improvements, new ideas and fresh experiences. Until one day, those walks began to turn into proper guided excursions for visitors from different parts of the world.

A hobby becoming a profession.

In a way, however, it was a profession I had not learned only at school. It was something that had been growing inside me long before I knew that one day I might actually be paid for it.

I simply wanted to walk, show people places, enjoy myself and discover untrodden paths. I wanted to promote local values, meet people and tell stories that could not always be found in tourist brochures.

Showing someone a beautiful landscape was never enough for me. I also wanted to introduce them to the people who lived there. Taking someone to a place meant little if I could not explain why that place mattered. To me, a trail was never just a route between two points. It was a story waiting to be discovered.

Eventually, I even registered a travel agency with the National Business Centre. Something that had begun as an old personal desire was now taking the shape of a real undertaking.

A few more years passed. And for the first time, I began to see my future along this path. Not as a temporary adventure, but as a way of life and a profession I could develop with dedication.

A New Horizon in Germany

Yet life has a curious habit: just when you think you have found your place, it reminds you that the horizon is still out there.

After such a long time, when my path had finally taken direction and begun to bear fruit, I suddenly brought that chapter to an end.

It wasn’t enough!

When I was a child, I had dreamed of going further. Much further than the borders I knew. Somewhere in the West, in a bigger world, with more places, more people and more experiences.

That desire had never really disappeared. It had simply been waiting for its turn.

This time, it wasn’t just about wanting to leave. I wanted to walk more of Europe’s trails, to learn, to gain experience and to become more professional. I wanted to discover new places, cultures and ways of life. And, after a few years, to meet people in Germany whom I could one day introduce to Albania.

So I decided to move to Germany.

And that is what happened in the years that followed.

Perhaps, in someone else’s eyes, this might have looked like yet another departure. To me, it was a new chapter in the same adventure. This time, however, I was not simply following a horizon. I was preparing for something that would come later.

But walking without a destination could never quite return. That belonged to the boy I once was, the one taking his first steps. He didn’t need to know where he was going; it was enough to know that he had to set off.

Today, I am different. Not necessarily less adventurous, but perhaps more aware of what I am looking for. I no longer live on dreams alone. I am trying to bring discipline to the road ahead: to calculate my steps, build on my experience and put everything I have learned in the service of a mission.

Sharing the Journey with Others

For many years, I have wanted to show Europeans Albania. But not just the Albania found on tourist postcards. Not only its beaches, hotels, restaurants or places photographed thousands of times.

I want to show another Albania. The one that exists beyond the tourist façade. The Albania of its people, everyday customs, hospitality, food, old paths, nature and stories that have not yet found their way into any guidebook.

I want to share a more genuine way of life. A life in which people don’t always have to rush after something; where a simple meal can become a celebration, where a conversation with a stranger can turn into a friendship, and where an unfamiliar trail can offer more than a famous destination.

I don’t believe we need much to be content. Sometimes all we need is to find our own path, the people with whom we want to share it, and a way of life that makes us feel truly alive.

The world is becoming smaller and smaller. Borders are gradually losing the meaning they once had. Today, we have the opportunity to meet people from different corners of the planet, share experiences, learn from one another and build an international community in which our origins are no obstacle to feeling close.

Perhaps, when all is said and done, we are more alike than we think. We all seek a little happiness, a little freedom, a little love and a place where we can feel at home.

I want to give the very best of myself to show people that this world is a wonderful place to live in. That there is still so much to discover, so many people to meet and so many beautiful ways to experience life.

And perhaps, after all these years, I have not travelled quite so far from the fourteen-year-old boy who simply wanted to cross borders.

He is still somewhere inside me. Perhaps a little wiser now, perhaps carrying a map in his pocket and no longer setting off without a second thought. But the desire to walk is still there.

The difference is that once I was searching for a bigger world for myself. Today, I want to share that world with others.

And if I once walked alone, today I would like to have people beside me who share the same curiosity, the same love of life and the same desire to discover.

Because adventure is not always about distance. Sometimes, it is about the way you choose to see the world.

To live simply and beautifully.