Tuesday 31st August

 

31/08/04 Day 59

As my return to Britannia was a prelude to Europe, so I think was today a taste of my her next travelling style. For that reason alone it could rate as my best day, let alone the Albanian scenery, the method of transport, Tirana and the number of currencies in my money belt by the end!

The sky was just beginning to redden when the mini bus-taxi pulled up, being driven by an Albanian Muslim (complete with white flat and call but full with mainly young Albanians and one 'old' German traveller with us in the back seats. In many ways we were already in Albania, Ulcinj being 90% Albanian, 20% Serbia, and the countryside already beginning to differ from Montenegros' gorges and coast line.

The road to the border was a narrow winding affair, brushing its way gradually around small, white-labbing hillols of dark-green soft scrub and small trees and rocks. The inhabitants were small-holders; to my inexperienced eyes, substance farmers, living insmall, rural houses by the road side.

Our excitement at the border (a deserted valley of small fields and hedgerows, between large barren, scully hills and just a simple barrier with a few men in uniform - and a few not! - checking passports and boots) was built up by our German companion who informed us of his previous two attempts to get into Albania. Fourteen years ago: "5 minutes and we shoot", Ten years ago: "10 minutes and we shoot". In a way the 10€ for a visa was welcomed, as it added to the feeling that is now so hard to get in Europe: being off the backpacker trail and away from the safety net!. It served to associate Albania with Turkey (and the similarities do not stop at customs procedures). But while Turkey was a thriving tourist magnet, we were alone on all our buses, with the exception of this one German man; and he had been trying for 15 years AND spoke the language! This, I really was the stuff of backpacker stories, which I would like to think, distinguish the few from the many. So with the German jumping with glee and waving his stamped passport for all to see, and the Albanians showing, what I think was, stupefied and indignant embarrassment at what we had to pay, we entered Albania to be greeted by an identical land to that we had just left; only 20 years behind. The houses were often mud brick, their yards dirtier and facilities more basic. Within 5 minutes we had come across three children herding a couple of cows, or a sheep and a goat down the road with a stick - one man had about 20 sheep, this seemed to be a large flock. And almost all these people, as well as those pedaling along on rickety bicycle or donkey, or standing by the side of the road, received a wave from our driver as though old friends.

The sense of specialness wore off as we entered Shkodran. The noise level rose, the litter approached third world standards, and the poverty worsened. Our plan had been to catch a train, but the idea of staying on the more personal bus system had suddenly became most appealing, so we were hustled across the street and on to the backseat of another mini-bus, headed for th Tirana.Now what are the chances that we would get the safest driver in Albania?! I think it may well have been. 20% of the journey spent in the left hand lane! So by this point we were both in fine moods; way ahead of schedule on a very lazy and very cheap roller-coaster ride, surrounded by local Albanians, and trying to absorb and remember the tome of visual information absorbed every second.

The Northern half of Albania is a flatback pat flat valley situation, with the roads following the sides of an averaging 4 mile wide valley, between two subtle nudey, dark-green shrubby hills. These valleys led us down towards the capital until one side gave way to become endless flat plain disappearing in a purple haze, and smallherd in houses and their small plots of land. This turned out to be the outskirts of Tirana, and from then on the road, (I'll now already a fine example of how not to make roads), gradually deteriorated and the traffic increased until we were in a Bangkok-like traffic jam, with no order to the Bangkok lanes of traffic, weaving in and out of cars and pot holes, and large stretches of gravel and mud, while the living conditions of our surroundings went from worse to awful. We saw small apartment blocks with sewage outlets pouring from first floor pipes to the pavement below, par road-side markets of corrugated iron and dirty canvas, separated from the road by an endless line of rubbish - in some places being burnt, in others complete with rats?!

Our bus driver capped all his crazy driving this far by weaving down the muddy road-side putting - (um-landing site cam-rubbish-dump lot to pass the stationary line of vehicles.

After being chopped, helpless and self-conscious, in Tirana, we were relatively lucky to find a few English speaking persons to guide us on our way to Polloguan(?) who were meant to get us to Ohrid. The city was classic third-world: busy and crossing roads was Istanbul all over again. Despite there being (a few) things to see, I don't think we missed out at all not staying there, but we would have missed out enormously had we not gone.Plenty of walking and repeated direction-asking got as to Pollog. Quickly do find that buses really don't go to Ohrid. There were some interesting decisions to make, but the main alternative meant arriving in Macedonia at 3am so we opted for the less certain southern route: minibus to p-, taxi/bus to Sveh Naum and bus to Ohrid. (all LP certified!)

Thankgoodness we decided on a taxi to get us to the bus stop, as the travel agency people with all their Italian English and Albanian Albanian didn't have a clue where we were or the map! Our bus driver seemed to be waiting for us, actually getting into the taxi for the last sometimes to first bus (another Mercedes quite comfortable not as full, and car usual backseat position).

Then commenced the journey through the better half of Albania, and some of the greatest scenery I've seen: racing up against African plains, New Zealand Fjords, and Austrian mountains.

The road climbed up the hills that edged the Tiranian plain, before settling on a ridge line that cut deep into seemingly endless hill country and, at times, was literally just as wide as the road. Along this tight rope we sped, as a huge, deserted expanse of dark-green and brown unfolded below us, gangers of hills spreading out, each with its own fingers, reminding me of the Arabian desert from 30,000 feet, only coloured in with crayons, heavily and messy; browns and greens.

Occasionally a flat valley emerged from the hills, the largest of which held a large sprawling city, with an almost equally big industrial thing filling the rest of the space. This city, once we had swung uncomfortably back and (with in the zig-zag descent to it, turned out to be much more manageable than Tirana, with relatively tidy streets and acceptable markets.

The next change in the scenery was the first glimpse of lake Ohrid, glistening milky blue in the afternoon sun. We followed the Albanian side around to Polgoradec, admiring the odd once or two something flamingos orrestaurant terraces, constructed in the water.

Help in Polgoradec came in the form of an (apparently) git Italian speaking hotel worker, who spoke of tours and buses and places beginning with D that we hadn't heard of. The one of the highlight of the day was the taxi drivers translation magic words "'vous-parlez francais?". Oh, so Heather understood as much of the neighbours as me, but it was still me who (FINALLY) got to say "Oui, un peu" in reply, rather than standing by like a deformed mongoose, while someone else comes across as more intelligent and amiable!

So, to cut a long story short, the mystery D place turned out to be the border. So, as I had conjectured earlier that day, "we founded ourselves deposited in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but our bags and our feet. Yet again, though, our luck held strong, for not only did we get to walk through a border crossing (La!), but we were able to stroll casually, (and take pictures) through the no-man's-land of Europe's most recently aggressive nations! On top of that, after just 20 minutes walking towards Sveh Naum where, we hoped, yet another bus could be found, a car drove passed, voluntarily stopped and picked as up (I-fes or Heather) and whisked us off to Ohrid; and our fears that it was a taxi, although turning out to be true, did not mean we had to pay - bargain and a fitting end to a hard days travelling.

The friendly man in Ohrids' tourist service office sorted out a room with a kitchen for us (a kitchen all to ourselves!!) for only £6 (expensive for Ohrid, but fine by us) and we spent the evening shopping - upmarket super market and fantastic, split-walling, fresh market - and cooking (broccoli (real!) in mushroom sauce with onion pepper mashed potato). The shopping came to only 60 pence a meal, judging the expense of a kitchen, and Heather's food was at least edible!

It is now midnight. I have been up for nearly 19 hours, have travelled though 3 countriesusing 3 different languages in 7 separate stages, and now I am quite ready to go to bed.

I'm not sure I can try Brian's near perfect and beautifully scripted account of the day's events, but I shall expand on a few points. As we were waiting for our bus, number 1, the only other person up could only speak Montenegrin and German. So, by my calculation, at the end of the day's events we had encountered no less than 7 languages and spoke 4 of them, expat staff too. We were slightly uncomfortable when we got on bus 1 as we feared nobody was going to understand us, but when I heard a "Where are you from?" (German accent). The aforementioned German did in fact save our bacon as it was he who handled between English and Serbian to find out how long the bus to Tirana would take and how much it would cost. His stories were also very interesting and he praised us on managing to find that bus which was the only one going to Albania and such we had only found by asking around (in Serbian). His presence was greatly missed on bus #2 as we sat in sterile entirety aware of the fact that for 4 hours nobody (not even the bus driver) would be able to help us if things went pear-shaped. Shkoder was the most terrifyingly desperate place I think I've ever seen. Tiny wrinkled old women carrying filled sacks the size of them on their backs. Groups of beggars peering back and forth in pain. No organisation whatsoever - the buses just learned to leave when they were full (and therefore that several arguments entailed over who deserved the seat more, presumably). The wear, dirt and general backwardness of the place, as Brian said, was unbelievableAs we rollercoasted along, Heady mobiles went off in the bus and we heard familiar Western tunes on the radio - the cars were a lot nicer than they should have been and signs for Pepsi and Vodafone were sprinkled in the old cafes and on billboards - incongruous that a place without a waste disposal system, any sanitation or roads which were 'Rushed' could be interested in such 'luxuries!' Is this the west's fault for trying to make money wherever or do the Albanians believe they are like every other country in Europe? It was amazing that one of our own countries could somehow get so left behind. When in Croatia bring your yacht, when in Albania bring your 4-wheel drive! The journey to Tirana was the stuff of off-the-road adventure trekking. I was about to say 'I hope we're not going to be on this backroads all the way' when I realised that we were actually on Albania's main thoroughfare! A country where farmers lead their sheep down the M1! The road did eventually improve but only for a short section. People seemed to be dotted along the road and had to flag down our bus, which was in fact full. The pain on their faces when they realised they'd have to wait for the next was justified when I realised there was almost definitely no timetables and that they have missed the only bus for the day. When people got off the bus, further arguments ensued as money (the deal is you pay when you leave). The bus driver, whose seatbelt was done up behind hisback, on seeing a police patrol, whipped it in front of him and then back again when we were passed the police. When we hit the outskirts of Tirana we kept hoping that "surely this can't be it." But it was and upon being thrown out of the bus we were stared at as if we were aliens landed from another planet - and we might as well have been. When getting cash out of the machine, the message on the screen cheerfully read "throw your receipt in a bin - let's keep our city clean." There is a long way to go before Tirana will be considered 'clean'! The centre was marginally better and there was a surprising amount of posh clothes shops (I began to wonder whether any of the highly fashionable young guys trolling the streets of Tirana had ever been to the rest of their country). The bus #3, journey to Pogradec also goes down on Rio (not sights list of the 3 months - I think I must have fallen asleep at the beginning because I can't remember climbing the mountain. When I opened my eyes all I could see all around me were greyish-green mountains and valleys extending as another with the mist hazing the clarity of those at the horizon. Donkeys strolled along the mountain-top roadside, within inches of the edge. The Albanian idea of roadside service station consisted of a few packets of crisps, biscuits and fruit laid out on a table, a few pipes filling at water on the road and crew being kept cool in a bucket of water (A key surprised) didn'tcontract food poisoning again. Today as I ate unwashed fruit, a gone-off pastry, drank very little water and the mere stepping foot into Albania would have created enough dirt to be infectious. Anyway 'coming down' in Lake Ohrid was spectacular - the most undisturbed natural beauty we've seen. The whole day we'd seen fantastic variety of sights and it was only when we began our trek at the border that we remembered our camera - somehow the whole day had been so frenetic and jaw-dropping that we had neglected to collect photographic evidence (not helped by being behind glass all day I suppose). Anyway I would have liked pictures to point and show people how crazy life is in Albania but at least I'll always remember the excitement.

My first hitch-hiking episode happened before I had a chance to run away really and I got quite excited - - until I saw the taxi radio and thought, damn, I can't even get hitch-hiking right. Typical of me. It was a terrifying journey trying to work whether he was a taxi driver on holiday with his girlfriend, a working taxi driver or not one at all. It was rather amusing when he opened the boot and pulled out a big flashing sign in Ohrid. The look on our face must have been amusing! So, already we realised the Macedonians were going to be friendly. So in the end, possibly the best and most amusing hitch-hiking experience.

The guy in the tourist agency asked us where we had come from and when we replied 'Albania' hiseyebrows rose and he asked, not "what do you think of Albania?" but "how is Albania?" as if nobody outside of the country knows exactly what on 'earth' is happening to the place.' They knew it's bad but not the extent and they're quietly relieved they are this side of the border.

My closing note for the day is that I must learn to cook vegetables for longer.