Journey to TUÇ
For Zefi.
Reservoir in Tuç, Northern Albania
I’ve been travelling to Albania for five years now and have seen more of the country than perhaps even your average Albanian. Until this summer, one place remained fixed at the top of my visit list and has held a place there for some time, safe in the knowledge that this would be one of the most emotive journeys I would ever make in Albania.
Reservoir in Tuç, Northern Albania
Hidden at the end of a winding track, set high into the dramatic peaks of Northern Albania is Tuç, a tiny village occupied today by only a handful of families. As the cluster of homes and farmsteads gives way to the landscape, blending into the gentle stream and steep surrounding forests, hidden among the dense fauna is a small stone house that has been in my husband Çesk’s family for generations.
Although his family left for Tirana many years ago, there is still a deep rooted history within the house and surrounding land. It’s the sort of history that, no matter how much time passes or the changes that occur, you always remain connected to it in a way that runs deeper than just a memory.
Turquoise reservoir waters, Tuç Village, Northern Albania
I have always been fascinated with the history of families. How people meet, how they build a life and a family together and the events that mould history as it stands now. In Albania, modern family history reflects what feels like several different eras, although it may only be from the past 30 years. After the fall of communism, many small communities such as those in the North didn’t have a structure that supported their families anymore. The jobs and the infrastructure that formed the foundations of most other aspects of society, vanished. Driving to Tuç, you pass many abandoned buildings that were once bustling high streets, bakeries, schools or training centres under the communist regime. They would have been anchors within the surrounding communities and their derelict state is a stark reminder that in many ways, Albania is still emerging and developing from that time.
Like many other families in the area, Çesk’s left for Tirana to build a new life and have seldom returned to the village. The untended nature surrounding the house has encroached upon every available space, making it hard to visualise the home and land it once was. However, battling through the unruly foliage with only the sound of the river below to set my bearings, I couldn’t help but feel connected to the land in some way. I imagined a time before nature took ahold of the house. Its pale, textured stone gleaming brightly in the morning sun as the volume of the forest’s radio rose gently to awaken the day, a fresh breeze carrying the scent of pine trees dancing through groves of olive, apple and thana.
Stone house, Tuç
When I was young, we lived in a small town on the outskirts of Edinburgh before moving into the city centre. There was a large reservoir, set among undulating hills and dense pine forests that formed the backdrop to many of my childhood memories, long after we lived nearby. It was a place I always felt connected to and somewhere I always felt a restorative sense of calm. Arriving into Tuç, the resplendent turquoise reservoir and pine forests sang to the part of me that has always been connected to the tranquility and natural beauty of home. Despite it being some 2000 miles away from where I grew up, it felt so familiar. It felt like fate.
River in Tuç Village, Northern Albania
The connection only embedded deeper when I discovered the culinary gems that remained within the overgrown landscape. Fruit trees laden with ripened treasures; contorted trunks coiling into tendrils adorned with bursts of grapes; blankets of thyme delicately covering the fields and sweeping through your nostrils with every perfumed breeze. What from the outside appeared an untended landscape was actually a foraging paradise!
I find it incredible how nature can persevere and thrive with no interference. These natural culinary wonders had survived almost 20 years of no maintenance and even a forest fire, yet there they were, blossoming and fruitful! Into plastic bags we piled grapes, thana berries, walnuts, apples, figs and thyme and each time I picked something new, I paid a silent homage to the beautiful land that had provided us with these gifts.
As a cook, there will never be anything quite like finding your food at its source and to find it somewhere like Tuç, with sun beaming down on the backdrop of dramatic mountains delicately sliced by a glittering, meandering stream, is something I feel honoured to have experienced. My time here was a profound reminder of the connection that I have subconsciously built with Albania over the years; and the special place that the ingredients and food of this country have within my heart. All of what had inspired me to create Tavoli felt like it was right there in one place.
Harvesting walnuts, Tuç Village, Northern Albania
Freshly harvested walnuts
This summer, Çesk’s grandfather sadly passed away and standing at the door to the house he once built, his name proudly engraved on the stone above the entrance; my own late grandfather’s camera strapped across me and my hands gripping tightly to the bulging bags from our forage, I couldn’t help but reflect on the things that lead us to certain points in our lives. In many ways, history had come to a close but in that moment, it felt as though it was only beginning.
Entrance stone to Cesk’s family home