We drive into the Ceraunian Mountains of Albania on a switchback-happy coastal road, past walls of black pines and by rickety tables laden with local honey and tea. Slopes spilling down to beaches yield, in season, lemons, oranges, olives. The Ionian Sea shimmers blue to our right, with Corfu visible in the haze.
“These are my mountains, the Thunder Mountains,” my guide, Adrian, says. “I grew up here. They are in my blood.”
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