"The border was dangerous," Ismailaj ratata said, recalling how she helped international journalists document the escape of more than 400,000 refugees through her hometown of Kukës, Albania, at the height of the Kosovo war between March and June 1999. "It was mined and bombed. Kukës was the first safe place you could stop."

Despite having a population of just 16,000, the tiny city, which is 20km from the border, welcomed a staggering number of refugees into homes and makeshift camps. Kukës made headlines worldwide, and in 2000 it became the first city to be nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. The fame was short-lived. Already dealing with myriad crises after the fall of Albanian communism in 1992, once the Kosovo war ended and the refugees returned home, Kukës experienced an exodus of its own, as 53% of residents left Albania's poorest city in search of economic opportunities abroad.

Now, as visitor numbers to Albania increase, locals like Ismailaj are hoping that tourism can offer an incentive for the next generation to stay. With Kukës' brand-new international airport, mountainous hiking trails, communist relics and a heroic tale to tell, residents are turning to their unique history of conflict, resilience and generosity to lure travellers to one of the lesser-known corners of one of Europe's least-visited nations.

He's lost a wife because of flipping burgers but gained another one because of it. His own three children – Adam now taking the reins of the diner – were born into the smell of onion burgers and have diner blood running through their veins. And it's all thanks to the Oklahoma fried onion burger, which rose from the scarcity of the Great Depression, thus earning the quaint nickname of the "Depression Burger".

During America's Great Depression in the 1930s, hamburger meat was expensive. In the small community of El Reno, a dreamer named Ross Davis and his father opened the Hamburger Inn, scoring a prime location along the brand-new famed Route 66 highway right as the economy shattered.

"Well, obviously with the announcement, it wasn't like, 'Oh my God, it's a black referee'. It was more like, 'Oh, it's a black referee'," the former England striker, 60, recalled.

"I always found that when I played with him [as the referee] there was no real interaction.

"With some of the other referees, you could speak to them, have a little banter. And I think that the pressure he probably would have been under - to not have that kind of interaction with the other black players - must have been really intense, simply because of what people might say."

Rennie took charge of his final game in the Premier League on the last day of the 2007-08 season.

At 6ft 2in and a practitioner of kick-boxing and aikido, Rennie was an imposing figure who players soon learned would be more than comfortable standing his ground during an exchange.