The Bay of Vlora: How Far Can We Develop Without Losing What We Have?

When the sea is not simply water, the landscape is not simply a view, and land is not simply a surface to be built upon

In August 2026, an open letter signed by 212 architects, urban planners and territorial professionals, responding to the issues raised by the Albanian Files, opened an important debate about the way territory, landscape and major investments are being approached in Albania.

This debate prompted me to return to a territory I know well, but which perhaps we still do not read in all its complexity: the Bay of Vlora.

Here, the question is not simply whether or not a tower, a resort or another tourist structure should be built. We are dealing with a territorial system in which the sea, the city, the lagoons, the coastline, biodiversity, the landscape and the local economy are closely interconnected.

This brings us to a question that has long required a serious answer:

What kind of development can the Bay of Vlora sustain without consuming the very assets on which its future depends?

Considering the new tourism and residential projects, the transformation of the coastline, the development plans for Narta and Zvërnec, and the pace at which Vlora's urban landscape is changing, I believe that beyond every individual project lies a much larger issue.

We are talking about an entire territory. A territory where the sea is connected to the lagoons, the mountains to the coastline, the city to the landscape, tourism to the local economy, and nature to people's well-being.

And when all these relationships begin to change simultaneously, the question cannot be only how much investment we can attract.

We must also ask: How far can we develop without losing what we have?

A Necessary Clarification: The Bay Is Not a Lagoon

For some time, a figure of 90 days has circulated as the time required for the renewal of the water in the Bay of Vlora. This figure should not be attributed generally to the open marine bay.

The Bay of Vlora is not a closed lagoon system.

It communicates with the sea through the passage between Karaburun and Sazan and forms part of the wider Adriatic-Ionian marine system. The circulation of water masses is influenced by currents, winds, topography and changing hydrodynamic conditions.

The situation is different in the Narta Lagoon and the Orikum Lagoon, which are lagoon systems with different characteristics and more limited exchange with the sea. This distinction matters.

But correcting the 90-day figure does not diminish the concern about the future of the Bay.

On the contrary. The issue is not to find a magic number telling us when the bay will "suffocate." The real issue is to understand the actual capacity of a territorial system to absorb the pressures being placed upon it simultaneously.

A sea that exchanges water with the wider marine system is not a sea without limits.

Posidonia: The Infrastructure Nature Has Given Us for Free

At the bottom of the sea lies an asset that rarely enters the economic calculations of development.It is called Posidonia oceanica. It is often confused with algae, but Posidonia oceanica is not an alga. It is a true marine flowering plant.

Its meadows are among the most important ecosystems in the Mediterranean. They contribute to oxygen production, play an important role in the carbon cycle, stabilize sediments, help protect the seabed and coastline from erosion, support biodiversity and provide habitats for numerous marine species.

But Posidonia is also an important indicator of the health of the marine ecosystem. It requires relatively clean water and sufficient light. Increasing turbidity, sedimentation, pollution and physical disturbance of the seabed can threaten its survival.

Perhaps the best way to understand its value is to see it as natural infrastructure.

We build treatment plants. We build channels. We build barriers. We build protection systems. Nature, meanwhile, has created—without a bill and without human maintenance—an entire system that contributes to the functioning of the sea.

And this raises a question that is too often absent from discussions about investment:

How much would it cost to replace with artificial infrastructure what a natural ecosystem provides for free?

When a Posidonia meadow is damaged by turbidity, sedimentation, anchoring, physical intervention or deteriorating water quality, we have not simply lost a plant. We have lost a piece of the territory's natural infrastructure.

And this is where the paradox lies. A resort can be built in a few years. A tower can rise within a few years. But a mature marine ecosystem is built by nature on an entirely different timescale.

We can build very quickly what we see above the surface and destroy, much more quietly, what we cannot see beneath it.

That is why protecting Posidonia oceanica is not environmental romanticism. Protecting these meadows is not merely a matter of biodiversity.

It is a matter of the Bay's natural capital. And natural capital must be included in the development equation. This is also where the local economy comes in. Small-scale fishing, marine biodiversity and sustainable tourism are not sectors detached from the ecological condition of the sea. They depend directly on it.

If the ecosystem weakens, the loss is not merely ecological. It becomes economic and social.

Vertical Development: When Saving Land Becomes a Justification for Intensification

One of the most familiar arguments in favour of high-rise development is simple: If we build upwards, we save land.

In theory, yes. But in practice, the question is more complex. What happens to the land we claim to be saving?

If vertical development is used to reduce the footprint of buildings and genuinely create public space, greenery, squares, ventilation and better access to the city, then it can be a useful urban planning instrument.

But if verticality becomes a way of maximising the saleable floor area on a limited plot of land, then we are no longer simply saving land.

We are intensifying the value extracted from it. And here an important distinction must be made: The tower is not the problem. The model of using the tower is the problem.

If the investor benefits from:

• height,
• views,
• density,
• increased saleable floor area,

while the city bears:

• more traffic,
• greater pressure on water supply and sewage systems,
• greater demand for parking,
• less public space,
• more shade,
• greater pressure on public services,

then we have a problem that cannot be solved through architectural aesthetics alone. The benefit is private. The cost becomes territorial. This is one of the most important challenges of urban development.

Therefore, the question should not be: How many floors can we allow?

It should be: What quantity and quality of urban life does each additional unit of intensity create?

A city does not live only in square metres. It lives in the space between them. On sidewalks. In parks. In squares. In places where children play. In places where older people sit. On streets where people meet without being required to consume. These are not "leftover" spaces. They are the social infrastructure of the city.

Otherwise, the city loses the mission it has had since antiquity: social life, informal meeting spaces available to children and older people without payment.

The citizen gradually becomes a stranger in their own city.

When Landscape Becomes a Luxury

Perhaps this is one of the greatest paradoxes of Vlora's development today. Landscape is being transformed from a shared common good into an attribute of the real-estate market.

The sea view. The horizon. The light. The air. Proximity to the coast. All of these are increasingly incorporated into the price of a property.

But there is a question that the market cannot answer on its own: Who owns the value of the landscape?

The investor builds the building. But the investor did not create the sea. Did not create the horizon. Did not create the mountain. Did not create the light. Did not create the landscape. The territory created it. And society inherited it.

Therefore, landscape cannot be treated merely as the decoration of a private property. It is part of the identity and well-being of a community.

The European Landscape Convention places precisely this idea within a broader framework: landscape is connected to people's quality of life and well-being.

The debate over Vlora's landscape is therefore not simply a question of whether someone likes or dislikes a tower.

It is a much deeper question: Can we economically privatise a value created by nature and belonging to the shared experience of the city?

What About Light? What About the Existing City?

Every new building creates new value. But it can also create a new cost. A tower may offer extraordinary views. But that view should not be created by taking away the light and horizon from buildings that were already there.

A city that develops has the right to change. But change should not mean that the quality of life of one part of the city is sacrificed to increase the value of another.

This is a question of territorial justice.

And territorial justice does not mean stopping development. It means refusing to allow the benefits and costs of development to be distributed unequally.

Narta: Protecting Nature Is Not the Opposite of Investment

The debate over Narta and Zvërnec is often reduced to a simple confrontation:

Investment or nature?

But this is the wrong dilemma. The question should be: What kind of investment can coexist with the nature of this territory?

The Narta Lagoon is an ecological system with characteristics fundamentally different from those of the open bay. Its more limited water exchange and sensitivity to changes in ecological conditions make the scale and nature of interventions particularly important.

Therefore, "eco-resort" is not an answer in itself. A project does not become sustainable simply because the word "eco" appears in its name.

We need to ask: How much does it build? Where does it build? What infrastructure does it require? How much water does it consume? How much waste does it generate? What kind of lighting does it use? What impact does it have on biodiversity? And what remains after it is gone?

Protecting Narta is not necessarily about opposing investment.

In many cases, it may actually be about protecting the long-term value of investment.

Because if a tourism investment damages the landscape and ecosystem that make the place attractive in the first place, then that investment risks consuming the very reason for which it was made.

The Bay of Vlora Does Not Need Less Development. It Needs Smarter Development.

Perhaps this is the moment to change the question itself.

Not: Are we for or against investment? But: Which investments increase the value of the territory, and which merely consume it?

Not: How much can we build? But: How much can we build without reducing the quality of what already exists?

Not: Should we have towers? But: Where, how many, at what intensity, and at what territorial cost can we allow vertical development?

Not: Should we develop Narta? But: What kind of development can Narta sustain without losing what makes Narta valuable?

These are different questions. And they require a different way of thinking. Because territory is not an empty surface. It is natural capital. It is social capital. It is infrastructure. It is landscape. It is history. It is identity. It is economy.

And above all, it is a system of relationships. When we touch one part, we change the others.

In the End, the Question Is Very Simple

The Bay of Vlora needs investment. It needs tourism. It needs jobs. It needs infrastructure. It needs a modern city.

But it also needs clean seas. Biodiversity. Public space. Light. Landscape. Healthy lagoons. A city where residents do not feel like strangers in their own home.

These are not obstacles to development. They are the very conditions that make development worthwhile.

Perhaps, therefore, the most important question facing the Bay of Vlora today is not: "How much can we build?" But: "How far can we develop without losing what we have?"

Because a tower can be demolished and rebuilt. A hotel can change ownership. One project can be replaced by another. But a lost landscape cannot be restored by a new project. A damaged ecosystem cannot be restored by a slogan. And a city that loses its quality of life cannot buy it back with square metres.

Real development is not only what we manage to build. It is what we manage to preserve while building the future.

What do you think the future of the Bay of Vlora should look like?