On Albania

I spent six days in Albania. It was the least developed, least comfortable, and strangest country I visited; for all of these reasons it was also the most interesting. A few thoughts from my travels.

Tirana
The capital of Albania, a jumble of traffic-choked roads, amicable cafes, pastel-colored concrete apartments, steel & glass corporate towers, and a bewildering lack of street signs. The power went off for six to eight hours throughout the day. This included the traffic lights. The hostel I stayed at used an electric water pump. It was around 100°F most days. Still, the hostel's basement provided some refuge. The staff was disarmingly friendly and sincere. The other travelers were good-natured, always willing to share their rakia. After two days in Tirana I went along with them to a music festival in...

Durres
One of the larger coastal towns, and the site of this year's Mjaft! music festival. The decision to go to this festival was governed by the infallible logic of why not? So I went. One minor event of note was our entrance into the concert area. I was with one other American and a Macedonian. We had some bottles of wine in our backpacks. Normally, backpacks are checked for this. As we approached, the Macedonian noticed this, and quickly explained in English that we were all Americans. They let us walk right by. Go figure.

Jal Plazh
Two exhausting days later we left the music festival on a quest to reach Jal Plazh. We heard of this tiny 'student beach' from some Albanians at the festival. They described cheap camping grounds, communal dining, abundant nightlife, and unspoilt beach. We were sold. Getting there was another matter. We hailed down a passing bus to get to Vlore. There, we relaxed, went swimming at a tiny cliffside beach, ate lamb, and then hailed a furghon (minibus) to Orikum. Orikuum is not a large town. We were sitting around kind of stumped, when a private taxi with a passenger speaking American english asked us if we needed a ride. We reluctantly agreed, and despite protestations never agreed to a price. The passenger was the driver's cousin; he operates a pizza parlor near Madison, Wisconsin, but often visits family in Albania. We chatted during the hour ride to the remote beach, which was much farther than anticipated. Did you know Albania produces excellent honey, but is not allowed to export it? Finally we arrived at the nearly deserted beach, were asked to pay an exorbitant sum for the taxi, haggled down to an acceptable price, and set off. The beach wasn't the student paradise we expected, but was blissful in its own, more relaxed way. We evern managed to borrow a tent from an Albanian family and 'lodged' for free.

Our Beach

The Crew (Aleksandar, Matt, Me)

The beach from above (just before dawn)

Over the River and Through the Woods

Today, on my journey into Albania I saw...

...Two bored guards working the border crossing
...A castle on a hill
...A donkey cart piled with the jumbled heap of a broken car
...A rusted railway bridge enjungled by monkeying youths
...Ten watermelon vendors on a single stretch of highway
...An old woman setting off on a long dusty road
...Hundreds of concrete bunkers rotting in the countryside
...A blazing red Vodafone billboard
...A dry riverbed filled with refuse
...Checkpoints manned by police officers in well-starched uniforms
...A rickety one-lane bridge for two-way traffic
...Countless donkeys tethered in the fields
...A boy clutching 2 white wreaths followed by a small procession
...Towering power lines strung across the agrarian plains
...A road construction sign translated into flawless English
...A tapestry of colorfully painted apartment buildings
...A student learning to drive (Autoshkolle)
...A bright yellow hummer
...A sign proclaiming "Welcome President Bush"
...The tangled traffic of Tirana's central square

Sorry Warwick

I have a new favorite castle - the Fortress town of Kotor, Montenegro. Lying on the base of Southern Europe's largest fjord, this majestic walled town has ramparts that crisscross the mountain rising behind it. A rugged Balkan Gondor (are the words rugged and Balkan redundant?). I can see how Montenegro held out against the Ottoman Empire for so long. The battlements were built up over the course of many centuries, and their haphazard and semi-ruined state made for perfect adventuring.

After spending seven grueling days on the beaches of Croatia, I was ready for some hiking. I paid the nominal entry fee, received a map detailing the various paths (coded for danger levels: "safe", "hazardous", "highly dangerous"), and set off. I suppose I should have prepared a bit more as I ran out of water after the first 20 mintues (did Chamutal teach me nothing?). Still, I kept climbing, eventually reaching the summit of the 1500 or so steps. The mountaintop breezes were reinvigorating. The views were magnificent. I understand why man constructed the tower of Babel. Or maybe I just like scenic vistas. I somehow strayed off the "highly dangerous" path during my descent. I think I found a goat path though, based on some pebbly clues. I brushed nettles aside and steppled carefully down the crumbling stone stairways. It was fun. Just as dusk was approaching I reached the walled town and returned triumphantly to my hotel for a much needed shower.

A Day in Dalmatia

Hvar, Croatia
9:30 am - Leisurely wake-up at sobe (private rooms rented by empty-nest Croatian women during the tourist season)
10:00 am - Depart for town center, store bags, purchase snacks for picnic, and rent scooters.
11:00 am - Scooter on windy roads out of town, up the mountain, along the cliffside perched over the sea, past the cool ocean breezes, through the chilly tunnel, beyond small towns, cars passing by, blazing along straightaways, finally arriving halfway across the island at Jelsa.
12:30 am - Cappuccino at a local cafe. Picnic of bread, cheese, prosciutto, nutella and bananas. Lounge at shady pebble beach. Swim in the sheltered bay, practicing underwater flips. More lounging. Listen to Ipod. Shift into the sunlight.
2:30 pm - Return by scooter to Hvar town, gliding faster with growing comfort, thinking into turns, motion almost as real as a video game, Cassady, wind-watered eyes and ocean breezes, gas station refuel then return.
5:00 pm - Retrieve luggage and proceed to bus station. Endure 20 inexplicably torturous minutes waiting in jumbled crowd to board one bus (essential to catch ferry to next destination) as the driver slowly sells each ticket and the sun bears down and people are cutting in line and there is hardly enough space on the bus though finally we make it on standing in the crowded aisle.
6:00 pm - Board ferry to Split. Take seats on shady benches. Journalling, reading, music, and watching the islands pass by.
8:30 pm - Arrive Split, bargain on price for a sobe for the night, then accept and follow middle-aged woman to her apartment.
8:45 pm - Drop off bags, shower, decompress, then head out for dinner
9:15 pm - Dinner at Black Cat Bistro. Wonderful change of pace from relentlessly Italian options of pizza, pasta, seafood available elsewhere in Dalmatia - balsamic curry pork chop with grilled vegetables and delicious wine. A fortunate discovery though there is little doubt it will show up in the next edition of Lonely Planet Croatia.
11:00 pm - Wander the labyrinthine streets of Split's Old Town the former retirement palace of Roman emperor Diocletian. Pockets of bustling nightlife are connected by the impossibly narrow and quiet alleyways that pass for streets.
12:30 am - Return to sobe and retire for the evening.

"It's the flower-shaped building"

One unmistakable legacy of communism is the bizarre architecture of the innumerable public works and other buildings from the era. It's difficult to capture in words just how massive, looming, and unattractive these buildings are. Yet they're still functional and thus still standing. Below are photos taken while wandering the center of Skopje, Macedonia.


This last building is the main post office, where I incidentally had to run a quick errand. The woman running my hostel described it as a "flower" with a noticeable chuckle. After staring at it for a few minutes, I decided it might just resemble a church or flower, though one that has been sucked through the uglifying concrete vortex that is the Soviet aesthetic. That said, the woman who worked behind the counter could not have been kinder or more patient.

The Flashing Green Man

For whatever reason, I'm not particularly good at crossing streets. In New York, I'll often be the one person left on the near shore after others have artfully weaved through the traffic.

Eastern Europe is worse. The drivers are more reckless. They unfailingly speed, not that speed limits are well-marked. Many of the older cars spew forth a tractor trailer's worth of blackish smog. There are also motorcycles, mopeds, and bicycles. You can throw into this mess a fair number of trams, city buses, cable buses, coaches, the occasional donkey cart, and the indomitable old woman pushing her shopping contraption across the 5-way intersection. Sidewalks often count as additional lanes or parking spots. Traffic lights, where present, are mere suggestions of conduct. Below is the helpful signal I faced at a busy Macedonian intersection:

Apparently the bottom light bulb is 'walk' while the top light bulb is 'wait.' I suddently felt oddly nostalgic for the flashing green man.

Signs (found in Skopje)

Spot the Irony

St. Pococurantis

I have a confession to make. I'm sufferring from church fatigue. Here is my past week in Bulgaria. Sozopol - 3 churches. Nesebar - 7 churches. Varna - 2 churches. Veliko Tarnovo - 4 churches. That's just the past week. I've seen churches from the first centuries of christianity. Roman churches. Byzantine churches. Underground cave churches. Gothic churches. Neo-gotchic churches. Eastern Orthodox churches. Greek Orthodox churches. Modern churches. Ruined churches. Painted churches. Restored churches. Churches in session. Churches in atheist nations. Tours of churches. Empty churches. Churches at night. Churches in the rain. I've seen a lot of churches.

I have not, however, given up on churches. Like a bacteria adapting to the latest antibiotic, I've developed countermeasures again the pennicilin of ennui. Sometimes I'll pay excessive attention to a single detail, perhaps the facial expression on a saint or the texture of a candelabra. Other times I'll try to imagine the church as it was centuries ago, gregorian chants reverberating between the stone walls. Adventuring beyond the designated pathways can revive a church as well; a closed door is not a locked door.

Still, these strategies require effort. On certain days the call of the hammock wins out over the church bells. I readily succumb to indolence and cease the impossible struggle of soaking in every experience while traveling. For these reasons, it was all the more rewarding when I happenned upon a church that genuinely captured my interest. No special effort required. I'll allow some photos to capture the essence of its hauntingly austere interior.

If at first

I went windsurfing for my first time today (in Varna, Bulgaria). After a 20 minute lesson in semi-english, I paddled out into the water. I was determined. I knew I could do this. Windsurfing looks really easy. Then I stood up on the board. I teetered. Splash. Repeat. 8-year olds were merrily cruising past me. The next two hours were an important lesson in humility. I did, however, keep trying. On my last attempt I managed to sail out, turn, and make it back in without falling. It was quite rewarding in a "well at least I didn't make a complete fool of myself" kind of way. There was even a glimmer enough of fun in that last run to keep me open to more windsurfing in the future. Hopefully next time my whole body won't ache as it does right now.