Domenica del Corriere September 19, 1972

At the top of their dreams: a Chinese bicycle

We republish a 1972 article from Domenica del Corriere, accompanied by a personal reflection.

We present a photographic album of Albania, the most closed of the communist countries. Enver Hoxha's regime now encourages a bit of tourism, but the Party seems scarcely willing to tolerate Western fashions. Albanians do not allow themselves to be approached by visitors at all, taking literally their leader’s motto: “It is fear that guards the vineyard.”

Photo by VITTORIANO RASTELLI

A hotel in Durrës reserved for tourists. In front, a slogan praising Mao can be seen.

Only about ten years ago, a tribe of Shqiptar nomads managed to live along the border between Albania and Yugoslavia, taking advantage of the climate of hysteria between the two countries (the first Stalinist and pro-Chinese, the second on the path of revisionism), through episodes that bordered on the grotesque. The nomads crossed back and forth over the border, and in each country they were caught and imprisoned. They could leave prison only after promising, in exchange for a bit of money as well as their freedom, to cross over to the other side and return with confidential information. The game went on for years, giving rise to the first and perhaps only case of mass espionage in history. It came to an end only when relations between Albania and Yugoslavia deteriorated—when Albania, coming out of isolation, began to look at the outside world with less suspicion, while still remaining faithful to the words of its leader, Enver Hoxha, an uncompromising supporter of Chinese-style communism, who said: “It is fear that guards the vineyard.”

The Albanians clearly took his words literally. In fact, they are suspicious, never smile at you—though curiosity shows on their faces—and they rarely allow themselves to be approached, even though they have started to frequent the hotels in Tirana and Durrës.

Their cities are wrapped in somber silence, devoid of cars but full of pedestrians and vegetable carts pulled by donkeys. It is extremely difficult to find a beverage that isn’t non-alcoholic, and the few hotels offer more slogans than actual goods to their guests.

After years of isolation, Albania has cautiously resolved to open its borders and now encourages tourism from those who wish to experience “raw” socialism in exchange for some hard currency. Unlike Yugoslavia, it is not very willing—even tolerant—of Western fashion trends.

At Tirana Airport, a new building next to the only runway, the staff informs and warns that Socialist Albania is against opinions and miniskirts, and naturally, against plunging necklines as well.

A Swedish flight attendant once left her hotel wearing a miniskirt and was insulted (some say people even threw stones at her) simply because she did not respect the rules.

Today, it is possible to travel to Albania from Italy through an international organization that operates departures from Milan, Rome, and Bari. The trip costs around 140,000 lire per week and includes visits to Tirana, Durrës, and twenty small, traditional localities.

Travel takes place aboard a Chinese-made minibus, moving through a landscape where common slogans read “Long live comrade Enver” and “Glory to the relatives of the workers.” The scenery thus appears monotonous, but it represents the other side of a country that Hoxha now proudly displays after twenty-five years of near-total rule: a nation that has emerged from poverty and backwardness, with food and clothing for all two million inhabitants, free housing, and free medicine.

Hoxha also boasts of other achievements: literacy (before the war, 90 percent of the population was illiterate, but today there are many schools and even a university in Tirana); irrigation canals that allow cooperatives to cultivate every meter of arable land; hydroelectric power plants and, above all, a modern railway that connects the main urban centers.

The Albanian state, which sees Khrushchev’s revisionism as an enemy, considers Stalin sacred. This bust is located in Korçë.

Such a state-controlled effort imposed on Albania a heavy economic dependence, first on the Soviet Union, then on China. As a result, Albania imports from the Far East matches, lamps, and bicycles which, in the absence of household appliances (inaccessible to private citizens) and with cars being rare (nonexistent for individuals), represent the most common luxury item.

A red Chinese bicycle still remains a distant dream in the Albanian consumer universe: it costs the equivalent of a month’s wage for a worker, about 600 lek, or 40,000 lire—enough to give an idea of a standard of living that is certainly not comparable to that of Western Europe, even though for Albanians it already means a lot.

They console themselves with the thought that, with a well-paid state job—about 140,000 lire per year—it is possible to obtain from Hoxha one of the thousands of apartments built by the state at 150 lek per square meter, that is, 4,500 lire per square meter.

In Tirana: men at the café, women in line

In the evening, Albanians enjoy sitting outdoors in front of cafés and drinking tea. Throughout the country, it is very difficult to find beverages that are not non-alcoholic.

A group of women in Tirana in front of a fruit stand.

Despite the extremely low standard of living, Albanians have made enormous strides toward well-being: there is enough food for everyone, as well as clothing. The houses, built by the state, cost between 1,500 and 4,500 lire in monthly rent, and medicine is free. Taxes have been completely abolished, and the treasury is funded by factories, cooperatives, and Chinese aid.

Fifteen hundred Chinese treated “as equals”

With its presence, even if discreet, China strongly influences all of Albania’s economy and daily life.

A Chinese bicycle, the most desired luxury item in the country. Its price is roughly equivalent to a worker’s monthly wage, about 40,000 lire.

A group of Chinese technicians.

There are fifteen hundred Chinese in Albania, and they live like Albanians, with the same salaries and in the same accommodations. Albanians appreciate this very much, remembering the “Soviet period,” when the Russians demanded the best apartments and earned eight times more than their local colleagues.

A Chinese-manufactured train.

The railway is the pride of Enver Hoxha, the Albanian leader. Before him it didn’t exist; now the network connects the main cities. Albania also imports matches and lamps from China—considered luxury items.

The beach in Durrës, which has been reserved exclusively for foreign tourists, who are still few in number.

Albania is a country of pedestrians; cars are extremely rare and, in any case, inaccessible to the general population—just like even the most basic household appliances. A square in Tirana.

Following is the author's reflection

That Albania seen from the outside. But lived from within.

Today we bring back to life a remarkable photo-reportage published in Domenica del Corriere in September 1972. For some time now, I have been searching for foreign articles that discuss Albania across different historical periods, in an effort to understand how our country was perceived through the eyes of outsiders—journalists and travelers who, even if only briefly, gained access to a society as profoundly closed as Albania once was.

The piece I present today captures a snapshot of Albania in the early 1970s. Despite its isolation, it was not described by foreign observers as a nation in deep crisis. After the definitive break with the Soviet Union in 1968, the Albanian regime had found a new ideological partner in Maoist China. The Chinese were, in fact, the only foreigners allowed to move freely within the national territory.

In the eyes of the journalist and the photographer, Albania appears as a deeply patriarchal country, where men spend their days in cafés and women stand in long lines for groceries. Where the forbidden dream is a Chinese bicycle and private cars do not exist. Some of these elements are indeed true: cars were extremely rare, and bicycles—imported almost exclusively from China—were a precious commodity. But more than a dream, they were an essential means of transportation for the daily life of workers.

The absence of private cars was not experienced as a problem: public transport was efficient and widespread, and the country’s infrastructure wasn’t even designed to accommodate heavy automobile traffic. As for the stereotypical image of idle men and burdened women, it’s important to clarify that Albanian society, while retaining patriarchal structures, was regulated by community oversight bodies—such as the “neighborhood councils”—which actively monitored social behavior. Wandering around during work hours or mistreating one’s family was not tolerated: there were clear rules, and those who broke them were held accountable.

Of course, in the afternoons after work or on Sundays— the day of rest— it was natural for men to gather together and for women to take care of the household and children. But these moments did not define the entire social structure of the country, as they might have appeared to outside observers unfamiliar with its internal dynamics.

Communist Albania, so closed off and impenetrable, inevitably aroused curiosity. And while it’s true that many foreign reporters made a sincere effort to understand, their lack of real insight into the Albanian mentality and the structure of its society often led to imprecise or rushed interpretations.

Even so, these reports—despite their naiveties and distortions—remain valuable testimonies. They are documents useful not only to scholars, but also to the curious and, above all, to Albanians themselves, because they help us understand one of the harshest and darkest chapters of our recent history.

Elton A. Varfi – Albanian Chronicles