One of the most fascinating and complex parts of immersing yourself in a new culture is learning how to interpret its customs—and how to respond to them with respect. In Albania, one of the most striking traditions I’ve encountered is Besa, an ancient code of honour that continues to shape everyday interactions.

As an outsider, I’ve experienced Besa as a deeply welcoming energy. It manifests in heartfelt hospitality—people who may not appear to have much will still invite you for a Turkish coffee, ask about your life (and, often, “Where are your children?”—to which my reply of “Just one” is often met with a sympathetic “Oh, I’m sorry…”), and proudly show photos of their families, homes, and jobs. Family is clearly the beating heart of this culture.

I hesitate to speak too authoritatively about Besa, as I’m still learning, and I want to honour its depth. But from what I’ve read and witnessed, this tradition may date back to the Bronze Age. It is considered one of the foundational principles of Albanian identity and culture—centered on trust, honour, and keeping one’s word.

As a visitor, I’ve been treated with consistent respect and generosity, and I’m deeply moved by it. What’s especially remarkable is that this cultural code has survived centuries of invasion, occupation, and hardship. Despite repeated attempts to dismantle the fabric of this nation, Besa continues to endure. There’s a powerful lesson here in resilience and values-based living.

And yet, as with any cultural code, there are nuances and complexities. While outsiders are often treated with unwavering hospitality, insiders may experience different dynamics. One of the traditional systems that shaped Albanian life—particularly in the North and Central regions—is the Kanun, an oral code of customary law that governed social behavior, family roles, property rights, hospitality, and even blood feuds.

While the Kanun contains elements of peace-making and moral conduct, its oral transmission over generations has also left room for misinterpretation. In some cases, this has led to cycles of violence that appear senseless to an outsider’s eyes. Like any cultural legacy, it contains both light and shadow.

I want to be clear—I have not had a single negative experience here. Albania has been generous and kind to me. However, I’ve occasionally glimpsed what I can only describe as envy or pride expressed through subtle social dynamics. With the help of a friend fluent in the language and culture, I’ve been able to better understand these moments and the emotions behind them.

It sparked my curiosity, especially because my personal experience has been so overwhelmingly positive. And, as with anything—once you see something, you can’t unsee it.

Today, Albania stands on the edge of change. With plans to join the European Union, a surge in tourism, and a growing expat community drawn by its affordable lifestyle and beautiful climate, the country is evolving quickly. As these changes unfold, the tradition of Besa may become even more vital—a cultural compass helping Albanians hold fast to their identity, even as the world around them shifts.

For those of us fortunate enough to be guests in this land, it’s a reminder to receive that generosity with humility—and to reflect on the values we bring with us in return.