The ferry from Corfu takes twenty-two minutes. I counted. On one side of that crossing: sunbed concessions, branded umbrellas, fifteen euros for a Mythos. On the other: Saranda’s low-slung esplanade curving around an almost implausibly blue bay, and a lek note so small it takes a moment to believe it’s currency at all.
We arrived in mid-October, when the summer crowds had thinned but the Ionian was still warm enough to swim until dusk.
The Promenade and What Lies Behind It
The Rruga Skënderbeu runs the full length of the waterfront — palms, a few too many souvenir kiosks, and vendors selling roasted corn from metal drums that smell of scorched sweetness. It is the obvious Saranda, the one in every photograph. Walk two blocks inland and the city changes register entirely. The streets steepen, laundry crosses between balconies overhead, and the scent shifts from salt to something oilier — grilled byrek from a bakery I could never find again, no matter how many mornings I tried.
On the southern end of the promenade, past the boats offering trips to the Blue Eye spring, the old Lëkurësi Castle watches from a hillside thick with pine. We climbed it at golden hour. The view takes in the full sweep of the bay and, beyond it, Corfu — close enough to read as a specific piece of land rather than an abstraction. Standing there, I felt a quiet satisfaction at having chosen the less-photographed shore.
What We Ate
Saranda eats simply and without apology. Most nights we ended up at a terrace tavern near the port where the grilled sea bass came with nothing more than lemon, olive oil, and a bowl of raw onion rings that I ate shamelessly. Fergëse — a baked dish of peppers, tomatoes, and cottage cheese — appeared on nearly every menu and improved at every table.
The surprise came on our second afternoon: a small café on the hill road above the bazaar where a woman in her seventies served us rakia she had made herself, alongside walnut preserves on a small saucer. No menu, no sign outside. Lia and I sat for an hour, watching the light flatten over the channel, not saying much.
There are cities that ask you to perform enjoyment. Saranda does not bother.
When to go: Late September through October offers warm water, emptied beaches, and prices that reflect a place still finding its footing with international tourism — which is precisely its charm.