Brutalist circus in Albania

I first encountered the Cirku in a photo on an Italian urbex website. As is common on urbex sites, it offered no details – just a caption: “Brutalist circus in Albania.” It didn’t take long, however, to discover that this concrete marvel stands in the southern Albanian town of Patos, not far from the ruins of ancient Apollonia. Since our Albanian route already passed through the area, we decided to stop.

Patos is the capital of Albania’s oil fields, perched atop the Patos-Marinëz oil field, discovered in 1928, Europe’s largest onshore oil reserve. Driving into town, we passed endless small nodding oil pumps and massive rusty storage tanks, the air thick with the pungent scent of crude oil.

Nothing in the city hinted at the colossal circus. Luckily, I had scouted the streets on Google Views, searching for its distinctive polygonal gray shape, and finally spotted it tucked away in a side street, Rruga Çamëria.

And there it was. A side street branching from the main avenue forks after a few hundred meters, one branch curving semicircularly around the massive reinforced concrete skeleton of the Cirku.

The polygonal structure features large reinforced concrete lattice windows running around its perimeter, revealing fig trees thriving inside. A circular roof opening is framed by metal beams supporting a star-shaped, accordion-folded roof. The upper street side is bordered by a low former entrance hall, while the lower, sloping street side rests on giant reinforced concrete pillars.

The Cirku was constructed in the late 1980s as a morale-boosting project by the communist regime, amidst economic collapse and social unrest. Patos’s importance as an oil town and the fact that it was the hometown of the famed Balla circus family – Arnold and Artan Balla, the Balla Brothers – played a role in its location. Yet the regime ended before completion. The Cirku never opened, and decades later, it continues to decay.

Recently, an Albanian TV channel filmed the circus and uploaded the video to YouTube. Visually stunning, it comes with Albanian narration only. Subtitles in English are in preparation and will be added soon.

Next to the circus stands another monumental rectangular building, its projecting upper level supported by concrete pillars, seemingly linked to the Cirku. A few steps up the external staircase revealed the senior citizens’ club inside. Men played chess and dominoes, greeting us warmly, though we could not enter – the club’s entrance is on the far side.

A blonde woman emerged from the ground floor, introducing herself as the director of the youth club operating there. She explained that during the socialist oil boom, this building was the city’s cultural hub: a large auditorium and cinema, library, club rooms, and workshops. Patos was an intellectual center, attracting engineers (“even Russian and Polish engineers lived here…”) and teachers, fostering a vibrant cultural life.

Then, with socialism’s decline, the town’s cultural flourishing faded. The oil industry was sold to foreigners, and most local intellectuals disappeared. Half the cultural center, including the library, was privatized; the fate of its books is unknown. The director and a few colleagues now run workshops for local children with dedication. She invited us on a tour: drawing, music, dance, and sewing rooms. “About fifty children attend here. We just performed on the main stage,” she said, showing a photo of dancers in traditional folk costume.

The main stage opens from the far side, requiring a climb of two floors. Nostalgic photo boards line the walls, documenting the oil industry and its associated cultural life. Colleagues smiled and shook our hands, genuinely happy to see visitors.

The stage itself is a once-grand cinema, with a vast performance area and layered curtains creating depth. The cinema no longer operates.

From the roof, we looked down at the Cirku and the inner courtyard, featuring a non-functioning concrete fountain and benches – the courtyard of the senior citizens’ club.

Here, the municipal photographer joined us, asking whether he could take a group photo for the city’s publication, since so few outsiders ever visit Patos out of curiosity.

Returning to the cultural center, we peeked into a classroom, where children learned Albanian folk songs from elderly oil workers. A boy recited ballad lyrics while the elders sang the trilling refrain.

The children were guided by an energetic teacher, reminiscent of a shepherd dog, a memory of our own beloved primary school teachers. She led the children in a welcome song for us, quietly proud of their performance. When I tried to photograph them, she nudged the children forward, disappearing behind them.

We thanked the teacher and director for their incredible work with the children of this forgotten oil town. It was clear how much this care means to them. If these children ever break free from this environment, it will largely be thanks to the care of these mentors.

We left feeling very happy about what we had seen. We came to witness decay – and instead, we found life.