The Hidden Corners of the Albanian Riviera – Places Instagram Hasn’t Found Yet

There’s a bend in the road between Qeparo and Borsh where the view opens up so suddenly, it almost feels rude not to pull over. No signs, no parking spot—just you, the sea, and this wild stretch of coast that still looks the way it did fifty years ago. I’ve passed that bend dozens of times, but it still stops me.

It’s places like that—unmarked, unfiltered, untagged—that remind me why I fell in love with this part of Albania.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about all the corners of the Albanian Riviera that haven’t made it to Instagram yet. The spots you can’t find in guides. The tiny bays you stumble upon by accident. The trails that don’t have names but lead somewhere unforgettable.

This isn’t a list of “secret beaches” or clickbait. It’s more like a letter from someone who spends their days exploring, guiding clients, sipping coffee with locals, and yes—occasionally getting lost on purpose.

A Trail with No Name (But the Best View You’ll Ever See)

Let me start with something real.

About two weeks ago, I had a property viewing in Borsh. After we wrapped up, I suggested we skip the highway and take the old walking path that locals used before the roads were paved. It winds through olive groves, past a half-abandoned stone church, and ends on a small cliff overlooking the entire Borsh bay. No signs. No railing. Just silence and sea.

My client—he was from Germany—just stood there, stunned. “Why doesn’t anyone talk about this?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Because most people are chasing the same five photos.”

And that’s the thing. The Albanian Riviera is full of beauty, but some of it is quiet. It doesn’t advertise itself.

The Forgotten Village Above Lukovë

There’s a tiny stone village tucked just above Lukovë. I won’t name it—partly because it doesn’t really have a name anymore. A few families still live there. Chickens roam freely. A small fig tree grows right through the center of an old roof.

One afternoon last summer, I wandered up there after a long meeting. I had no reception, no plans, and no rush. A woman saw me passing and offered me a cold glass of dhallë and some home-baked bukë misri with olive oil.

We ended up talking about the old days, when the only visitors to this area were merchants and the occasional Italian fisherman.

That moment didn’t make it to Instagram—but I carry it with me every time I talk to clients who say they want something “authentic.”