BunkArt, Tirana

I was none too pleased when I heard that we were going to go back to Tirana just to see a bunker. For goodness sake, I’ve had my fill of Albanian bunkers. They’re everywhere! Over 173,000 of them in the country, to be exact. Apparently the locals call them ‘mushrooms’, but there’s nothing magic about them, I can tell you. They’re ugly and kind of creepy too, with those slits in them. I keep thinking they’re some kind of weird alien popping up of the soil, staring at me with vacant eyes. 

I am not the only one who would rather not have to look at these ugly monstrosities. The locals have apparently spent years trying to get rid them. But when that doesn’t work, fair dues to them, they come up with some creative ways of making them a little more attractive. This is a wonderful example of the Albanian attitude to dealing with the past. If you can’t demolish it, turn it into a smiley ladybird!

However, the bunker we were going to see could definitely not be turned into a cute creature. Unlike the two-man and family-sized bunkers, Enver Hoxha’s nuclear bunker, now a museum called Bunk’Art, took over six years to build and consists of 106 rooms over five floors. Amazingly, it had been kept secret for years. How on earth can you hide something that big? When I saw the entrance tunnel to the bunker area though, I understood how it kept any curious eyes averted. Simply the thought of going through it gave me the willies.

Hoxha’s conviction that Albania was under constant threat of attack inspired his crazy country-wide bunkerisation programme. But the full extent of his paranoia really becomes apparent at Bunk’Art. The bunker entrance alone consists of no fewer than three massive concrete doors. This was a guy who was taking no chances at all, at all, at all!

Enver Hoxha’s own suite of rooms were fitted out luxuriously by the (Albanian) standards of the time. There was no expense spared. The panelling on the wall supposedly cost a fortune. I wouldn’t give you a thank you for that pukey green colour though, no matter how much it cost. And I couldn’t believe his red toilet. I know he was a true blue red, if you know what I mean, but that’s surely taking things a bit far.

The sign here invites you to talk to the man himself on his telephone, but of course, it only plays a recording of his voice. Pity I couldn’t really talk to Hoxha. I’d have been happy to give him a piece of my mind…

In comparison to Hoxha’s and Mehmet Shehu’s suites, the officer’s quarters were very spartan, not even a red loo in sight.

Incredibly, the bunker includes a large assembly hall. This was to ensure that parliament could continue to sit even in the event of a military attack. I was pleased to see that this space is nowadays used for a variety of cultural events. Events I’m sure that Hoxha would definitely not have approved of! After wasting so much of the country’s resources on his bunkermania, it’s good to see that at least this one is being put to good use these days.

The rest of the bunker is laid out as a museum, covering much of the recent history of the country. There were also some fascinating details of everyday life in Albania during the communist dictatorship in the section displaying a typical shop, classroom, kitchen and living room from the 1970s. The living room even had an original ‘official’ TV programme from the time showing on the screen. Many Albanians apparently added illegal receivers to their TVs so that they could watch foreign programmes. Gosh, that was very brave of them indeed. I shudder to think what would have happened to them if they’d been caught.

The Oldies were so impressed with Bunk’Art that they decided to visit part two, named … you’ve guessed it … Bunk’Art 2. Once again, we plunged into the darker side of the Hoxha era. This bunker was originally only accessible from inside the Ministry of Internal Affairs in central Tirana. It consists of a mere 24 rooms. A hovel in comparison to the palatial Hoxha bunker.

The museum deals with policing during the dictatorship and some details were quite amusing, such as this extract from a police report: ‘By the late ‘50s there was a worrying number of accidents for the Traffic Police. The drivers’ preparation was poor.’ Some things never change!

I was amazed to discover that when certain party members or officials fell out of favour (which usually meant imprisonment or execution), their faces in official photographs were blacked out, crudely removed, or simply replaced by someone else’s photo. Can you spot the Hoxha-style photoshopping here?

I was also gobsmacked to discover that foreign visitors used not be allowed to enter the country if their appearance was deemed ‘inappropriate’, i.e. modern or hippie-like. For this reason, there were official barbers on duty at every border station and at the airport to shave off beards and cut long hair. Then again, you practically have to get undressed at every airport security nowadays. Having to get a haircut or a shave doesn’t sound so bad after all.

The section of the museum dealing with the Albanian secret police, the ‘Sigurimi’, was far from amusing however. Yes, the spying equipment and techniques were like something out of a James Bond movie, but the torture, imprisonment and execution of thousands of men, women and children simply defies belief.

The wanton terrorisation of the Albanian people for decades is something I will never understand. Like those bunkers, there is only one word for it: bonkers.