The Great Albanian Giveaway
Who Decides About Tourism?
Albania is a fascinating country, one that until recently remained almost hermetically sealed from the outside world. Under the communist regime of Enver Hoxha, it lived for decades in extreme isolation. Borders functioned as hard barriers, both physical and mental. Travel existed only as a rare exception. Foreign influences stayed out, while society turned inward — controlled, tightly organized, and deeply wary of the unknown. Readers familiar with the work of Ismail Kadare will recognize this atmosphere.
Since the 1990s, that reality has shifted rapidly. Albania opened up, first cautiously and then at speed. An intense catch-up process followed: economic, cultural, and touristic. Today, travel media promotes the country as "the last undiscovered paradise of Europe," fuelling both visitor curiosity and investment ambitions.
Tourism has become a key lever. It promises jobs, infrastructure, and visibility. These promises are visible along the Albanian Riviera, with new resorts, improved roads, and a growing hospitality sector. Tourism is often framed as an unquestioned driver of development, with limited debate on its direction or impact.
But who defines development? And for whom?
These questions are now being raised across Albania. The Pink Flamingo movement has brought citizens into the streets in response to the planned sale of a coastal area for a luxury resort. The project, expected to cost about 5 billion euros ($5.8bn), has sparked outrage due to its location near a protected wetland with flamingos, seals, and sea turtle nesting sites. Local communities, supported by organizations such as BirdLife International, are making their voices heard.
At the same time, national leadership strongly backs the investment, positioning it as a pathway toward a high-end tourism destination, a strategy to manage overtourism, and a source of employment. This framing reflects a broader pattern in which tourism legitimizes large-scale developments that primarily benefit external investors, while local communities are expected to accept limited economic returns in exchange for profound changes to their environment and way of life.
Yet this is not the only tourism model visible in Albania. Five years ago, I went with my family to Albania for 3 weeks and discovered the beautiful country. In the north, tourism often grows in close connection with local communities.
photo credit: Elke Dens
Small-scale initiatives, family-run guesthouses, and place-based experiences create value that stays within the region. These models show that tourism can strengthen local economies, reinforce cultural identity, and build long-term resilience. They also make one thing clear: when communities benefit directly, they claim a legitimate role in shaping what tourism becomes. This is a very different development from the development in the south of the country.
With these protests, Albania stands at a turning point. Tourism here is not a neutral or inevitable process; it is a matter of choice, power, and governance. The protests reveal a society actively negotiating its future.
So the real question is no longer whether tourism should develop, but who gets to decide how it develops.
Governments? Investors? Or the communities that live with its consequences every day?
The answer to that question will define not only the future of tourism in Albania, but the future of the places it seeks to transform.
- ELKE DENS
