n the morning we stowed and made a slow down-wind hop around the corner, which saw us in Keci Buku, a great little bay divided in half by a spit. We made our way down to the end, out of the way of idiots on jet skis and tourists limping along the sand bar. As we surveyed our potential anchorage we were angrily waved off by a German who was insistent we didn’t drop our anchor anywhere near his precious boat (it was a hand-painted, rusty heap of shite).