WATER POLITICS

Under communism Albania got about 5,000 tourists a year. Tirana, the capital, had two hotels for foreigners; at restaurants outside the city, the menu might consist of a tin of tuna with a spring onion. Yet by 2014 Albania had some 3.4m foreign visitors, and last year the official number hit 11m. That figure is misleading: many are members of Albania’s global diaspora who have foreign passports, visit several times a year and are counted anew each time. Still, it is clear that tourism is exploding.

Hotels and villa complexes are mushrooming along the coast. A new airport will open soon to serve Vlora, a southern beach destination. Diaspora Albanians may not be classic tourists, but they buy holiday flats, go to the beach and eat out just like anyone else. Property agencies advertise in Russian. Italians come for cheap dental work. Kosovars now grouse that Turkey is cheaper. Over-tourism is becoming a worry, as once-small resorts like Saranda and Ksamil grow crowded. Hotels, lacking skilled staff, are recruiting Filipinos.

The tourism boom is starting to create headaches over a scarce resource: water. In principle, Albania has plenty. But after a century of underinvestment, its towns are running short. With the coastal construction boom, pipes are being laid to divert water from the interior. Locals there say they already have too little for themselves and their fields; now it is being piped away to fill swimming pools for foreigners.

One high-profile case concerns plans to divert water from the Shushica river to the resort region of Himara. Most of the Shushica is inside a national park. Astrit Balilaj, the village head of Kuc, one of over 30 protesting settlements, says the river used to have more water; climate change is shrinking it. Local officials told higher-ups of their concerns, “but we were ignored.” Olsi Nika, head of EcoAlbania, a campaign group, says that if the Shushica loses more water it will disrupt the region’s ecosystem. He also points to tourist restaurants built illegally in the park, and to oil spills from badly maintained wells just outside it.

Last year angry villagers in Dukat, south of Vlora, blocked work on a €9m ($10.5m) project to divert water to luxury seaside developments. In March villagers in neighbouring Tragjas clashed with police over the same project. Edi Rama, Albania’s prime minister, says there is enough water for everyone. That would have been true, says Mr Nika, if the state had planned for the long term. “The government cares only about its own interests,” says Salibe Daupi, who runs a local restaurant. “They should take care of us.”

Restricting tourism can anger locals, too. Last week in Theth, a mountain village in the north, protestors threw Molotov cocktails at bulldozers demolishing illegally-built rental cabins for hikers. The owners said the government had promised to legalise them.

Jared Kushner, Donald Trump’s son-in-law, has had better luck with Albania’s government. Mr Kushner wants to build a resort in Zvernec, an unspoiled beach area between the Adriatic and the Narta lagoon, a haven for flamingos. He also wants to develop Sazan, an island 10kms away. Shortly before Mr Trump’s inauguration, Albania approved initial plans for Mr Kushner to invest €1.4bn on Sazan. Zvernec, however, lies in a protected area. EcoAlbania is fighting the government in court over a new law permitting luxury developments in these areas. If his plans proceed, Mr Kushner will expect the government to find sources of water for both. Mr Nika says that fighting the rich and powerful, who normally get their way in Albania, is depressing. But hope, like water, springs eternal. Unless it is diverted.