A trek round in circles on only left over bread and a weak coffee and we were at the bus station heading south, only to change our mind for reasons I cant rightly recall now *other than the promise of a monastic interlude* and head north for Vevcani...
Vevcani, a small mountain side village with traditional houses, running streams and a single restaurant declared independence during the breakup of Yugoslavia, although they never attempted succession they did have some fun and games printing their own money, passports and designing their own flag.
On meeting my first Vevcani gentleman, while I was trying to figure out which of the four different currencies in my pocket were Macedonian, he noted my Macedonian Dinars and proudly exclaimed he used Vevcani Dinars, however as everything here shuts down between 1pm and 4pm we didnt get our passports stamped or apply for Vevcani citizenship, although we did meet the rather drunk looking owner of the independent passport office (/gallery) on our way out of town...
...but by this time we had burnt much of the day exploring and it was time to get on the road north where Ben would find his calling and fall for a hairy Macedonian Orthodox Christian called Sveti Jovan Bigosti - Sweaty Jovan.
A brief interlude back to the shore of lake Ohrid to catch the bus north to Debar and we were on the road again.
The road north drove through a national park with scenery reminiscent of North Wales, the Canadian Rockies or Northern Quebec... steep wooded hillsides, ancient tectonic lakes *such as lake Ohrid*, rushing streams, waterfalls, damns and picturesque villages.
We arrived in Debar rather late and the rather unposthumous bus station made us determined to get to our intended destination to stay the night rather than move on in the morning. I think we paid our taxi driver enough to feed his family for a week but the inventive sign language and his faith in our cause had us reach the monastery only to be turned away *I think they sensed that Ben would perform unholy sacrilegious on holy ground* and we were directed to the Hotel Tutto so splendidly built into the side of a mountain overlooking a tiny hillside village that we drove past it in the darkness before we finally found ourselves in reach of a bed to spend the night.
The Hotel Tutto, an approx 15,000 sq ft hotel with only seven rooms! The bar/reception/dining room was the size of a hockey pitch and was built in pine and solid stone, the rock face bearing one wall and a mountain stream making it way through the reception, balconies completed the astonishing addition to this town which I can only compare to the original opulence yet tasteful Chateaus of Lake Louise or Quebec City.
Another night of Backgammon, another night with warm feet (real duvets, heating and new bathrooms) and another chance to do some laundry, what a novelty to wear clean underwear every day.
More instalments of 'boring bald Welsh Canadian on holiday' to come...
Monastic interlude, Baptise the sinner! Gay icons, Oh, and Ben the sex slave to Sweaty Jovan - last I saw of him he had a smile on his face
Debar, oh how we loved Debar
The psychedelic Art Hostel
Quebecois speed junkies in Skopje
Free running socialists
Pickpockets fuck off!
7 o'clock curfew
Viva Kosovo the youngest country in the world- and its very fine Chinese food
BLUE! sofa
Saturday, 23 October 2010
Viva Vevcani & the Tutto Interlude
Friday, 22 October 2010
Backgammon on Pharmaceuticals
After arriving in Ohrid's western med atmosphere there was little inspiration to explore yet we settled in for two nights, on both the first and second nights we went overboard on food and Macedonian wine and after having some difficulty sleeping the last night or so I was looking forward to a full tummy, warm feet and a restful nights sleep in our humble studio flat in the Yugoslav socialist concrete style. which brings us to the Pharmacist from Berat...
Looking for something for sleep, Nytols maybe? and a stock of Flagyl should the need arise we were greeted a big faced, smiley old man with milk bottle glasses, white coat and baseball cap - I have no idea what his name is but I think of him as my newly adopted Grandad. Flagyl no problem - so no fear of repeating the Syrian experience - yet Nytols don't seem to be held in such regard here as they do in the West and so the second best option was blister pack of lorazepam handily sold individually or in a strip of 10 - a bit like buying penny fireworks, and just a cheap. We trusted our new friend very much but not ourselves so feeling like a high school kid buying individual cigarettes from the local corner shop we were on our way with two tiny little pills which were 'guaranteed' to provide the sleep I'd requested.
Not wanting to take the over sized heating contraption for granted, nor expect the over-eating and lashings of red wine to provide the required amount of sleep, it was time to trust in Grandad. It so happened we replaced dessert with the little blue pills and set off back to the studio apartment to break open the Backgammon (so I can thrash Ben's ass again!).
Half an hour later, now I'm not saying Ben plays Backgammon slower than a snail with a groin strain, but I fell asleep in between each of my moves and on waking up again some unknown time in the future I found Ben fast asleep, face down on the wooden table and I had won! again! I can only deduce that I am a far superior player than Ben even after my adopted Grandad has conspired with him to loosen my iron grip on the game. Dreams of standing atop the Olympic medal podium with my lucky dice in my hand, 9 hours later I woke in pretty much the same position I recall hitting the pillow.
I can without any shadow of doubt conclude I did not take a placebo.
Coming up on gullible's travels...
Viva la Vincini
Hotel Tutto, the 15,000 sq ft hotel with only seven rooms
Monastic interlude, Baptise the sinner! Gay icons, Oh, and Ben the sex slave to Sweaty Jovan - last I saw of him he had a smile on his face
Debar, oh how we loved Debar
The psychedelic Art Hostel
Quebecois speed junkies in Skopje
Free running socialists
Pickpockets fuck off!
7 o'clock curfew
Viva Kosovo the youngest country in the world- and its very fine chinese food
BLUE! sofa
Thursday, 21 October 2010
Misty Fog - Damn You Macedonia!
Uncharacteristically up bright and early this morning to escape the gravity of Berat. Home-made breakfast with berry tea followed by espresso and we were on the bus to Elbasan with the U S of A Peace Core in Kucove.
Not a place you'd expect to meet a North American however in the space of less than 15 hrs we found ourselves chatting with two - you'd think North America was big enough to keep all us NA's contained and segregated from the rest of the world, to spare much anguish for all, but it just proves NA's borders are not water tight enough to spare all you poor bastards who must endure the NA traveller.
The first was a fellow Canadian girl from Manitoba who was dating an Albanian (she definitely wore the trousers in that relationship but he had the looks - and less facial hair - for sure) and the second was a Peace Core volunteer from Minnesota - I had my suspicions there was a Yank in my midst while eyeing the bus over my express. Refreshingly our very own volunteer turned out to be more interesting than your average American, amongst other important attributes - and I'm not saying any more on that subject as it would only give the wrong impression - only to say we found ourselves in and across Elbasan, fed, watered (both of the alcoholic kind and of the godly kind - it was like a biblical scene of rain and rivers out there! I kept a look our for Noah but he must have been frantically finishing up on his great ship) and we were on a bus to Korca in record time, allegedly closing in on the Macedonian border.
Elbasan is a museum piece of socialist industrial optimism and I would normally have liked to stick around for a while to wallow in the bygone era but we had a timetable to keep. Although now little remains of the industrial might with much of the approach into the city through acres and acres of decaying industry - I imagine the now failed social experiment of the communist Albania, its picturesque industrial landscapes, armies of workers working for the benefit of their homeland and all its peoples - and I morn the failed experiment, for it's victims and the promises of communism lost forever.
The approach through the mountains to the border crossing at Lake Ohrid brought yet more rain. The communities on the approach into the mountains seemed to worship water, sprouting from hosepipes at the side of the road, streams that gushed alongside the winding roads, roadside stores using water to cool its refreshments and create cascading waterfalls as fluid windows, provide drinking water and service the facilities at the much craved and well deserved comfort break.
At the highest reach of the mountain, in a cloud of fog and drizzle we were unceremoniously unloaded from out minibus and into a dirt and gravel layby marked only by its impressively and surprisingly bland socialist monument (for which I regret not taking the time to get a picture - although the frigid cold, rain and negotiations for the border crossing kept my attention elsewhere. I thought we did a fair job at the negotiations but on handing over the final figure I was dismayed to witness 33% of our fee taken in commission by the negotiator and us transferred into a third vehicle for the final approach and entry to Macedonia.
After an uneventful border crossing and finding ourselves at lower elevations the sun came out, the clouds all but disappeared and we were driving the shores of Lake Ohrid... a sobering event for me, given its unwelcome civility and neatly planned pedestrian streets, cafes and manicured foliage - If I had wanted comforts and conformity I would have stayed in London! I was quickly rewarded though and my misgivings corrected when our first stop for an espresso (I'm slowly turning into a coffee junkie with Mr Francis around), with the 50 something owner's perfectly polyester jogging suit in splendid sky blue, Adidas shoes, a large bald head and big goofy yet friendly grin...
A quick strut around Ohrid and after several refusals we finally caved in to Saint Naum, who is shockingly one year my juniour but looked ten years my senior - Saintly status wasnt helping him in the looks department (yea I know, I'm a shallow girly bitch, get over it!), but getting back to my deeper humanity he was another one of those do anything individuals you meet on your travels who set us up in our very own socialist party issued studio apartment complete with a two ringed stove, satellite TV and a fan heater the size of a argur (sp?) - heating!!!! Setting me up for my first nigh with warm feet since leaving London :)
High with the thought of warm feet and clean underwear we were only to be dissapointed just minutes after settling in when we discovered the border guards had confiscated our moonshine! DAMN YOU MACEDONIA!
In need of some higher power to restore my faith in mankind tomorrow is church day. If I'm feeling generous, tomorrow I will tell you a little about my new best friend, with the milk bottom glasses, from Barat - who hasnt yet had a mention yet, but whom will forever be in my memories.
Yet to come...
Backgammon on pharmaceuticals
Viva la Vincini
Hotel Tutto, the 15,000 sq ft hotel with only seven rooms
Monastic interlude, Baptise the sinner! Gay icons, Oh, and Ben the sex slave to Sweaty Jovan - last I saw of him he had a smile on his face
Debar, oh how we loved Debar
The psychedelic Art Hostel
Quebecois speed junkies in Skopje
Free running socialists
Pickpockets fuck off!
7 o'clock curfew
Viva Kosovo the youngest country in the world- and its very fine chinese food
Night night kiddie winkies.
Wednesday, 20 October 2010
Hotel California, Berat
After a good nights sleep, surviving Ben's smelly feet (which is probably the most hazardous event of all my travels to date - bar the Israeli gun in my face in Nablus) and a hearty breakfast of cheese, grape jam and savoury doughnuts 'a la casa Tomor' we set out on a trudge up the many cobbled and winding alleyways of Berat, not unlike the winding paths and steps my Gran would lead us up and down in the Welsh valleys when I was a boy. If we had only glanced at a map for an instant we would have known none of these winding alleyways we were exploring would end up at the castle but it did make for excellent exercise for the buttocks.
Barat is a little gem tucked neatly into a deep valley. Its traditional houses climbing the steep hillsides on either side of the river and its newer suburbs drifting up and down the valley with its stark socialist architecture, squares and promenades. Crowning the town is an Ottoman castle which still hosts a thriving neighbourhood within its fortified walls.
The mountain top presented stunning views of the valley beneth us, byzantine churches, socialist monuments, a sheep on a leash on its daily stroll and a very pretty cow enjoying the lush grass of the Kasbah.
Rain threatened so it was time to head back down the mountain and head to our next town. However, if you want to leave Barat you do so in the morning, which was one minor detail we had omitted to investigate beforehand so after bidding a confused Tomor goodbye (and watching him ride around town on his bicycle looking for his next guests) grabbing a bite to eat and scratching our heads at the bus stop, we found ourselves on our way back to the distillery which is 'la casa Tomor'.
Being blissfully unaware of the bus timetables did ensure we got to see some real life here, including kids playing football (or Soccer as every Englishman knows its really called) and aged women nimble as mountain goats in high heels making their way up the cobbled steps to their houses in the sky. It's on this walk one such aged old lady clad all in black (and funky runners) take great amusement at watching Ben take one of his many slips and trips... and it was with great pride that a local lad of about 7 or 8 practiced on us his only phrase in English, 'Fuck You!' - I was giggling too much to return the favour.
On our arrival back at the house, still protected by the all knowning all seeing Smurf, we were greeted with a plate of rich sticky grapes from the vine, laced with honey and moonshine; 'you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave'.
Ne Komputamibob!
Been a while I know. I'm still alive and well but now in Macedonia. Long story short Internet cafes are few and far between since leaving Albania (go figure), you'd think it would be the other way around!
Chapters to catch up on are:
Hotel California (Berat)
Smelly feet
Milk bottle glasses
Moonshine
Peace Core
Rain, Rain and more Rain
Horid Orid and backgammon on pharmaceuticals
Viva la Vincini
Hotel Tutto, the 15,000 sq ft hotel with only seven rooms
Monastic interlude, Baptise the sinner! Gay icons, Oh, and Ben the sex slave to Sweaty Jovan - last I saw of him he had a smile on his face
Debar, oh how we loved Debar
The psychedelic Art Hostel
Quebecois speed junkies in Skopje
Free running socialists
Pickpockets fuck off!
7 o'clock curfew
Sorry to keep you waiting but there is only one computer in Skopje and there is a line up of horsey women playing cards with the pungent (and rather sickening) smell of rancid olives which is clouding my brain somewhat, so its back on the Macky D wine (Macedonian) a good nights sleep and onto Pristina bright and early.
Monday, 18 October 2010
Moonshine Tomar de Berat, al Albania
After misreading my flight details and finding the Istanbul tramway down for maintenance the journey to Istanbul airport was a little more stressful than I had planned but the journey was uneventful after some initial adjustments and I arrived in good time to catch the plane journey from hell.
Queuing isn't a strong point in these parts and the process of security checks and boarding the plane would have tested the most patient - business men and old ladies alike aggressively pushing the queue and with bags and umbrellas taking out the odd eye as they made their way up the isle of the plane. The actual flight was quite subdued but immediately on landing and as the plane was still taxiing off the runway half the passengers proceeded to jump out of their seats, open lockers, drop bags on peoples heads, argue and push their way to the front of the plane... only to be first on the bus to the terminal and get into the terminal last - genius! This didn't stop them pushing their way through the immigration line and then impatiently climbing onto the moving carousel to look through the luggage hatch one after the other - there was a common attribute I notice and it wasn't that they were all skinny.
As luck would have it, mine was the first bag out and I was the first through customs and onto Albanian soil proper, finding my airport pickup waiting for me; with a genuine friendly face which has defined my impression of Albanian's... The airport pickup was just as well as it meant I could avoid the mob of taxi drivers touting for business which hits you like the Moroccan sun immediately as you exit customs.
After meeting up with Ben at the hotel - it was very weird meeting up with a work colleague in Eastern Europe, especially as I am usually travelling alone given most of my friends and acquaintances aren't up for roughing it in dictatorships and ex-dictatorship states - and finding the owners had given us our own rooms at no extra charge - nice hotel too! - a walk around downtown Tirana to see the pyramid mausoleum for the late Stalinist dictator (only 25 years old and looking the worse for wear, daubed with graffiti, windows broken, tiles falling off) and checking out the local hot spots. After walking around in circles on a fruitless hunt real Albanian food (we we rent about to make our first meal in Albania pizza, burgers or pasta!) we headed back to the hotel for a feast of home cooked food and more Albanian wine than was sensible.
A few games of backgammon, more wine, a massive plate of olives and peppers, a liberal helping of duty free whiskey (and a Kinder country bar, weird with whiskey but still yumm!) and bed was the only remaining option. This morning, all good intentions to get up at 9am were lost to a hangover, with love from Albania.
After breakfast we caught a cab which we thought was to Berat (for 7 Euros) but which ended up at the bus station where we watched the world go by and let the reality of our hangovers sink in and waited to depart for Berat (Ben had a turn of the shakes and I felt more than a little ick)... a 2 hours bus journey (for about 2 Euros each) stopping and starting, hotter than a camels snatch in a heat wave and feeling a little more than queasy and we arrived in Berat, a UNESCO World Heritage Site - with its old houses, mosques and churches built on top of each other with half tubular ceramic roof tiles (not unlike Mexican or Spanish roof tiles) and scaling the valley walls in a moody mountain setting - the real Albania.
A very friendly older local, Tomar, approached us straight off the bus and offered us a room in his house with a home cooked breakfast, how could we refuse? ...and are we glad we didn't as we found ourselves in one of the very same old buildings right in the thick of the old district - to further delight we found grape vines growing over the inner yard from which Tomar turns the juice into wine and the skins into Raki, a local moonshine... Tomar even gave us a tour of his fermenting and distilling equipment and we ended up tasting and buying a bottle of the good stuff to ease our hang-overs; Ben's face lit up like a kid at Christmas - Ben, being able to consume inhuman amounts of alcohol and safely operate dangerous machinery at the same time (he must be a communist!) - and the very welcome hair of the dog cemented our approval of our new accommodation.
I should note here the various stuffed toys we saw hanging on the outside of homes from Tirana to Berat, some funny, some weird, some new and others looking a bit worse for wear. A little while after settling into our accommodation I noticed a smurf above the door to our room - Tomar doesn't speak English but he does speak Italian which is thankfully similar enough to Spanish to render my singular and most basic of foreign languages skill very useful - the conversation still isn't without its challenges but it did enable us to figure out the purpose of these little, or in some cases large, oddities - it turns out these are considered to bring good fortune as would a horse shoe in England; who knew a stuffed smurf or a bugs bunny could solve all my problems? I'm considering buying one and securing it to the back of my backpack, I'm sure it will meet the approval of the locals. The smurf you see above protected us from the darkness during our stay with Tomar the local moonshine cook.
After settling in we took a casual walk around the centre of town, past the old houses climbing the valley walls on one side and the socialist architecture on the other, mobs of birds making a racket in the trees, men playing domino's in the local coffee shops, kids football training on the town's central football pitch (the first we've seen without chickens and cows outnumbering the players) and after more difficulty finding a place to eat (no food and only water, beer, coffee and strangely herbal tea only on the cafe menus) we finally found a place to eat and play a few rounds of backgammon - my tried and tested method to finding local and edible food is to find the most basic cafe with fluorescent lighting and this time was just as fruitful, with a local meat dish we've forgotten the name of and we aren't even sure what meat it was, but it was top nosh for 3 Euros each.
Hangover creeping back so its time to sign-off now and hit the moonshine again, purely medicinal of course.
Saturday, 16 October 2010
Balkans! ...no really!
It's with a greater awareness that comes with old age I knew how the week leading up to my trip would eventually pan out...
No fewer than five house guests, a maddening amount of work admin and late nights has meant I've arrived at my destination feeling a little deflated in the energy reserves. Something was watching over me this morning though, I awoke naturally and checked the clock at 6:30am, half an hour later than planned, to find whatever I was attempting to do with the alarmclock before I fell asleep it wasn't setting the alarm!
Long story short, I made it with uncharacteristically low stress and got an hours kip on the plane. Plane was a bit worrying, given the amount of duct tape holding overhead baggage and TVs in place, but it flew ok and I arrived in a now familiar Istanbul.
In the wonderfully basic Hotel Sipahi now considering a duty free bottle of whiskey but knowing food should really be my first thought. The Turks know how to make food look appetising and the walk from the hotel down to the blue mosque has plenty of food and local talent to feast the eyes.
So it's a short post tonight so I can eat, cruise, drink and get a good nights sleep before moving on... 3 weeks, 4 countries and hopefully lots of photo opportunities and stories to tell... Tomorrow Albania, then Macedonia and Bulgaria as I make my way back to Istanbul again before flying home on 6th November...
Stay tuned!
