To this day, Albania is still covered with remnants of communism: every square kilometer in the country holds an average of twenty-four bunkers. That’s 700,000 bunkers in total.

Following World War II, communist ruler Enver Hoxha began to act hostile towards Albania’s immediate neighbors. Largely by his own doing, Hoxha became paranoid of retaliation. In 1973, he instituted a stout wave of repression against his own people, limiting private property, cutting off Albania from foreign influence, and bolstering the construction of bunkers, a process that would continue until 1987.

According to Dokmo, Albanians are often distrustful, an attribute that can make both climbing and carrying out business dealings rather difficult with them. Given the country’s past, this disposition is not without substance. The intimacy of sharing an extended coffee break turned out to be pivotal in developing the right connections. “Everything in Albania is done by connection; you need to know someone.”

With enough Albanian language ability in his repertoire to get cozy with the locals, and new found confidence in his business acumen, Dokmo began to build relationships with that group of Albanian climbers, including the leader of the pack — a chain-smoking, second-hand gear toting man who spoke very little English, and endearingly referred to Dokmo as Mallok Amerikan, a derogatory term that describes his affinity for the mountains.

Simultaneously, Dokmo sought strategic business relationships in hopes of funding his idea. He discovered that one of his advisors happened to be an angel investor who was “looking for impact beyond the financial bottom line.”

It was roughly one year after his arrival, several months after his intended length of stay, that Dokmo realized his idea might have contextual substance. And it was then that he decided to take on a seemingly impossible task: to open the first rock climbing gym in Albania.

While Dokmo continued his development job, he also began working on his business plan at night. He says, “The odds were stacked against me in almost every way.”

Five years ago, one could have counted nearly every rock-climbing-Albanian on two hands.

Unlike the United States, where modern rock climbing has a rich twentieth century history, with major movements in Yosemite National Park, recreational climbing has held very little place in Albanian history. Establishing a business and selling indoor climbing in Albania was like throwing a dart with your eyes closed and without a target.

Furthermore, “foreign investment in Albania was at an all-time low due to poorly enforced regulations. McDonalds had even attempted to enter the country but pulled out when they ran into bad business dealings.”

To compound the the issues, when Dokmo attempted to analyze market potential for his idea, locals informed him that public records were terribly unreliable because they were often altered by the government. There came a time when Dokmo could either let go of his idea and surrender to the odds, or, propelled by passion and fervent belief, dive in head first.

He quit his day job.

Tirana, Albania. Photo from http://bit.ly/1JfyZOs

“I recruited a friend from Colorado to join me, and set out to hire an Albanian colleague. I enthusiastically sent out emails, talked with everyone I knew and everyone they knew. I was hoping the 26% unemployment rate in Albania would drive lots of applicants to our venture.”

In the end, only one Albanian applied for the role. He spoke six languages, had a law degree, had experience at a graphic design firm, and was an active guide for a local Albanian hiking group. They hired him immediately.

The city of Tirana is a “labyrinth of alleys and narrow streets, with lots of empty buildings. Some were crumbling in decay, others were half constructed.” Dokmo’s initial idea was to target college students. He found a space close to the local university and signed a lease. Six months later, Rock Tirana was built and open for business.