I’ve had my fair share of unforgettable travel moments over the years, but this one, which led to milking a sheep in a hailstorm on a remote mountain in North Albania, is right up there.
This summer, my 11-year-old daughter and I joined a ‘tester day’ for a new experience we’ve included on our Family Peaks of the Balkans Hiking Holiday. I stumbled across Nina on social media a while ago; a fellow foreigner who’d fallen as deeply for this region as we have, she’d begun connecting travellers with shepherd families in the highlands of Kelmend.
It sounded like exactly the kind of local encounter we love to include in our trips: authentic, meaningful, and rooted in everyday life.
Arriving at the ‘stan’
We met Nina early at our Lëpushë guesthouse, and set off on foot towards the Nikaj family ‘stan’ (a shepherd’s hut where the family spend the warmer months tending to their flock). Our walk took around forty-five minutes through rolling countryside, with a few stops to admire the bucolic views, greet a passing goat-herder, and pause by a large white cross that marks the entrance to these Catholic highlands.
When we reached the stan, we were greeted by a barking but friendly dog and the comforting chaos of family life. Lule, the chief shepherdess, greeted us with a smile that could light up the valley. She and her husband have seven children ranging in age from seven to 24. Within minutes, we were sitting around their outside table with Turkish coffee, ‘raki’ brandy (“it makes things easier,” laughed Lule) and, for the kids, fresh sheep’s milk. I tasted it too, and to my surprise, it was closer to creamy cow’s milk than the stronger flavour I’d anticipated.
Meanwhile, the kids were already off making friends with piglets and adorable dog, chasing chickens and exploring the pasture.
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The last of the Malesorë
The people of these mountains call themselves the Malesorë (‘highlanders’) and they’ve been herding sheep here for millennia. Their way of life, moving seasonally between low and high pastures, has shaped not just the culture but also the extraordinary biodiversity of this region.
Yet it’s a fragile tradition, increasingly hard to sustain. Families like Lule’s are among the last to live this way, and sharing even a glimpse of their daily rhythm feels like a privilege. For travellers, it’s a chance to connect—not just to the landscape, but to the people who know it best.
Life in the Albanian Alps
When it was time for the first walk of the day with the sheep (they usually get two outings), Lule invited us along. I eagerly joined with two others in the group, while our kids stayed back to play football with the Nikaj boys under our guide Aurora’s watchful eye. The climb was steep and rocky but Lule, in her everyday shoes, glided over the terrain like it was flat ground, and I, in my sensible hiking boots, felt pretty clumsy beside her.
The flock was huge and skilfully directed by Lule and her two formidable shepherd dogs. Nina explained that many of the sheep belonged to other families who pay the family to care for them. It was hypnotic to walk as one with so many animals on the fragrant grassy slopes.
As dark clouds began to gather, we made our way back towards the hut. Soon, fat drops of rain began to fall, and by the time we reached shelter, the storm was threatening in the distance.
A home-cooked feast
The scent of woodsmoke and baking bread hung in the air inside the stan. We peeled potatoes and chatted as Lule’s daughters marked a cross in the dough before sliding it into the tiny wood-fired oven.
When lunch was ready, we gathered around the outdoor table to devour the feast: homemade tzatziki, fresh bread, local Mishavina cheese, cheesy potatoes, chips, peppers stuffed with garlic and cheese, and pickled green tomatoes.
We learned a lovely Albanian ‘Geg’ phrase after eating: “T’lumshin duert” — “thank you to your hands.” It felt entirely fitting after such a generous meal. By now, the rain had turned heavier, with flashes of lightning on the ridge and thunder echoing through the valley. But life on the farm doesn’t stop for the weather…
Milking sheep in a hailstorm
As the rain set in, we abandoned hope of a second outing with the flock. Lule decided it was time to teach us how to milk a sheep. My daughter opted to watch as I made a very poor attempt under Lule and Nina’s patient guidance. I’m not sure who laughed more as the heavens opened and little rocks of ice began to fall.
Racing under cover, we all retreated to the main room, a cosy space that serves as a living room, dining room and bedroom all in one. Joining the Nikajs, we played Uno, arm-wrestled (my daughter Evie was delighted to have beaten all the boys), and swapped stories while hail hammered the tin roof. I’ve weathered a few Balkan storms in my time and this one was a beast.
When it finally eased, Lule had waited as long as she could, took up her umbrella and set off again with her flock, undeterred by lightning still flickering in the distance. A tough woman, eyes twinkling. I hope we meet again.
As for us? It was finally safe to leave and we stepped outside to find the hillside transformed. Streams gushed where there’d been dry paths only hours before. Everything gleamed. It was time to head down the mountain, muddy and happy.
Our day with the shepherds wasn’t what we expected. The storm cut short our afternoon hiking plans, but it was still one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve had in Albania. Real, raw, and full of life—just as adventure travel should be.
You can spend time with the Albanian shepherds yourself as part of our new Family Peaks of the Balkans Hiking Holiday, or on several of our Albania adventures that explore the remote Kelmend region.
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