Balkans Express

It's 19:30 and I am packing up after a night and a day in Plovdiv and bidding the most relaxing hostel I've ever stayed at my farewell... at 21:30 I catch the Balkans Express from Plovdiv to Istanbul.

Lack of time means I only have time for a braindump for now, I will expand later.

Settled into the Hikers Hostel for my first dorm stay of the trip. A very relaxed and friendly crowd and a great nights sleep.
Rush for the ticket office before sat closing (not open Sunday) no internet no ticket - must buy on train to border then at border to Istanbul, should be interesting
Hikers Hostel on hill in Plovdiv old town great view and very central
Met a Kiwi in Macdonalds (I know, but after my first day of tummy trouble and not wanting to sit in a restaurant it was the only tollerable option) as we exchanged shrugs over the servers questions and how to order sweet and sour sauce
Went for few beers then headed back to hostel
Talked shit with strange American wandering Europe looking for a country that would let him stay, shared a bottle of Macedonian plonk bought in Skopje
Great nights sleep, woke up early at 8
Arranged to meet kiwi at 1 to explore
Explored the old town
Prime real estate abandoned and defaced; Ex Communist Party member's residence?
Bought some souvenirs and Xmas gifts- box fresh
Very chatty whittler obsessed with planes
Woman with portraits of happy pigs and nonchalant sheep
Roof tile artist painting on the street
Gay or European? Italian queens looking very out of place
Romany kids hassle
Dinner and discussion: socialism, Israel, house prices, kids today, photography
Bound for Istanbul...

Deserted socialist train station at 9pm sharing 2L Bulgarian beer
took the chance to get some train grafitti pics before train arrived
Train 20 mins late, made straight for sleeper car
Accosted by man in ble adidas track suit and tash asking for my ticket!
No ticket, ticket office Internet kaput!
'no problem, no problem' he said
I hand over 22 lev (11€) for ticket
10 mins later he takes me to serious looking official who ploughed through teems of papers and came up with a 180 lev fare, What!?
No real solution found, he just scratched his head and I offered him 10 lev to just let me
stay on the train, track suited tash guy thinks I made the right move and much chatter ensues, he takes the money
Much chatter and I pray for a happy conclusion, which came with both the confused conductor and mr tracky tash saying 'no problem, no problem'
Although now I'm headed forsomeplace called Demitiograd instead of Svilengrad- where's my guidebook?
Back in my sleeper I down more beer take my remaining sleeping pill, take out my beloved travel pillow and wait
5 mins later tracky tash arrives with sheets and blankets and turned up the heat to melting point
heating turned down I slept until women by another portly guard asking for ticket - no ticket! - another aside in an empty sleeper, another long episode of head scratching and anothe 30 lev changes hands to get to Svilengrad and something about 'ticket sItanbul no problem'
I turn down the heat and drift back off to sleep on my magic pillow
screeching of wheels knock on door, happy portly conductor delivers ticket to Istanbul covertly while looking around rather nervously and signing to shhhh!
Back off to sleep and knock knock knock passport control which takes all of 5 seconds
Back to sleep only to be woken up again with 'anything to declare?' so I declare I am a wooly wofta, no really I declare my two bottles if macedonian wine which sparks a bag search where the contents were ignored but the linings and padding was put to great scruitiny... Patting and poking done with I do indeed confirm the customs guards assumpion I like wine and it's back to my beer and pharaceutical induced coma.
Next call was for Turkish passport control which involved a dash out into freezing temperatures in only shirt sleeves but luckily over and done in record time, poor American girls had to line up in cold for visas, I was out like a light before passport officers boarded the train to check entry stamps and again before the train made a move... To be continued

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Making Tracks to Plovdiv

Just about to catch the night train from Plovdiv to Istanbul so only time for dumping my mental notes, will expand later...

On route to Plovdiv 
Train station concrete and art, monolithic uglyness, confusion and bad signage
Great graffiti too late
Old trains, smelly toilets 
Former communist countries offer choice -hot or cold
Plains of '' or is this Patagonia?
More monolithic cocrete remnants of communist rule, empty shunting and cargo yards, platforms at ground level, people hanging around (south America?)  on tracks, cotton trees, cedar and hardwoods, revines and brown winter plains (praries), rocky mountains
Train guards reminiscent of old soviet military standing proud
Abandoned railway buildings, no door/window frames
Heating off :) what a wish after 3 cold days
Hugging the side of deep ravine
Tradition houses and coregated iron dwellings, tennements, squalid poverty - isn't that was communism was supposed to end?
Train picks up speed
Platforms barely above track level
Old man in field sitting on a bail of hay, sythe at his side, rickety old card and ragged donkey standing motionless
Vines - some still tendered but much overgrown and looking a sorry state 
Dogs chasing the train
Market gardning and orchards
Graveyards
 freight engine named britania
Massive Cement works/quarry
Tractors that look more like tanks
Approach Plovdiv socialist housing blocks which surpass elephant in size and number, washing drying

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Let it All Hang Out in Sofia

Just about to catch the night train from Plovdiv to Istanbul so only time for dumping my rough mental notes, will expand later...

Kosovo
Crows, bus stop assistance, future ex husband-if we could get past fact he would want to kill me.

Skopje
Mud on shoes
Border crossing toilets

Sofia
Shemales
3 nights 3 beds
Loud Germans
Mineral baths
Hanging around near centre of culture, shocking toilets (teenagers)
Taxi from Sofia
Lake and natural hot springs
No English, flipflops
Let it all hang out 
Getting home, taxi from random restaurant

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Welcome Hilary! BLUE!

The road to Pristina, Kosovo from Skopje, Macedonia didn't lend itself to the usual pursuits of shuteye or reading (me of my emancipated slave story and Mr Fidget of his conspiracy theories). It was two and a half hours of natural rumble strips, pot holes and hairpin bends, so much so I am of the opinion if they straightened the road out the trip would be half the time, if that! But it was worth the trip to view in awe the bluest sofa this side of anywhere.

After the border crossing and taking pride in our Kosovo passport stamps it was startling the obvious change in wealth and infrastructure; the dual speed signs for cars and tanks was also noteworthy. Kosovo being primarily Muslim (secular)you cant help feel this area of the former Yugoslavia was deliberately under invested and the troubles that arose when Serbia found ultra nationalism were always a ticking time bomb; what is surprising is its the Serbs that were the aggressors.

Arriving in Pristina there was the usual haggle for taxis and the usual arrival at a price 50% of the asking price. The quick taxi ride to the Velania Hotel in the pouring rain we entered the basement area of the hotel to find the reception area and I must admit, even with my varied experiences with dodgy hotels, the drab basement didn't envelop me with any feelings of comfort and the choking thick cigarette smoke from the four chain smokers in the small reception/kitchen (approx 2m x 2m) made me feel more than a little nauseous. But we were here now and this was the only show in town as far aw we were aware.

Luckily we found ourselves at the top of the house with central heating, kitchen, internet, a stunning king of the jungle fleece blanket and a BLUE! sofa... never did you see a sofa so BLUE!... It was monumental in its beautifully puffy arms and back and did I say it was BLUE!!!!!!!! (dont ask me what colour, its enough that one of the most colour blind you may ever have met though it glowed in the dark!

Some internet time (as still catching up with our blogs given the lack of Komputamebobs in Macedonia) a coffee (which turned out to be some instant powdered Turkish coffee type stuff and some dubious long life milk) and we decided it was time to head into the centre to find some food and checkout the nightlife.

Did I mention it was raining? As we muddled to find our way into the centre, up a hill, down a hill, sideways and forwards again it rained and it rained and it rained. When we finally found ourselves at our destined bar (Bar 91) and after a mix up over which beer I had actually ordered (questions Ive noted usually turn into orders - note to self to not ask questions in future) I was soon horrified to find myself in a bar with a bunch of the most vile ex-pats, dressed like chavs, smoking like cheap whores and making an almighty racket with their love of shouting (which they all thought was very funny), so we finished up our pints and did what everyone else would do after a pint, go for a Chinese. I know, I know, this is Kosovo not London but there wasn't much traditional food in the offering (I'm pretty sure Tex-Mex isn't traditional Kosovo food either) and it turned out to be some of the best Chinese food we have ever eaten. As has become customary on this trip we ordered twice as much as we could possibly eat but wished we had enough room to eat twice as much as we ordered - apart from the burger thingy and sausages in Vincani, which were vile and left me feeling nauseous much of our trip north to Debar.

Nothing much going on around town so we headed back in wind and rain to the hotel on the hill and into the arms of the BLUE sofa. A great nights sleep and we decided to say another night so we could look around town, although not in the same hotel, so we did some sleuth work and ended up in a very nice hotel in the old Turkish quarter, warm with duv-ettes, another lovely shower - but alas no BLUE sofa, there was a lovely frilly floral sofa in reception but it had nothing on the Velanis BLUE sofa, besides there is only room in this world for one such BLUE sofa.

After a day hunting around, taking pictures of anything and everything - including large billboards welcoming Hilary Clinton to town (although I'm sure the chosen picture wouldn't have ingratiated their guest - and finished the day with a Tex-Mex (yes the other famous Kosovo dish) and it was at this point I lost my tolerance for smoke filled restaurants. All I ask is for one meal without cigarette smoke, is that too much to ask?

Back at the hotel while us old men settle down to read our books in our fancy hotel room with central heating and duv-ettes I wondered if this is what Bert and Ernie would look like on holiday. Would they

Long > short, next morning after neither of us got a decent nights sleep - Mr Fidget obviously wasn't drunk enough and I have no idea what my problem was, so I just lay there listening to and watching Mr Fidgets little feet flapping away in his sleep, with such gusto he looked like 'The Man from Atlantis' on a mission - the morning greeted us with loud rain, which turned out to be loud rain plus SNOW! Lots of Snow, flakes as big as plumbs! Damn was it cold and miserable... lets get the hell out of Kosovo before the Serbs cut off the power again!

Three hours later we arrived in Skopje, had another over indulgent lunch at the local shopping mall, Ben picked up another book of conspiracy theories (this time its nothing to do with Christ's foreskin, just something about politics and prophesies that means we are all doomed, you know the kind of thing (I'm still reading my emancipated slave story which has taken a turn with the good massa gone bad :-o ...and then we were on the bus to Sofia...

Approx 5 hrs later, with yet more stamps in our passports and we are in Sofia (Ive used Sofia and Sofija interchangeably in this blog as everywhere I look its spelled differently)... a ripoff taxi (although the loss was only about 3 euros again) and we were at the Hostel Mostel, but the old location, which wouldn't have been too much of a problem except I was now tiered and grumpy and it was raining like a bitch.

Luckily Ben's iphone did its magic and we found ourselves in the funkiest and possibly the most lively hostel I have ever stayed. Our room was in an apartment one block from the main building (which was a 19th century coach inn) in a dramatic 50s apartment with wooden parque flooring, marble and wood paneling, nice!

Dinner in a Bulgarian restaurant (me still tiered and grumpy), Bulgarian's answer to a Mariachi band (me still tiered and grumpy) and we struggled home again in the bitter cold to discover our sheets and woolen blankets were far to scratchy for sensitive skinned men like us... oh how we bitched like teenage girls in the morning. And then we discovered it was snowing, GREAT!!!

Breakfast over and done with and its time for the repatriation of Mr Fidget to the land of eternal duv-ettes, soft sheets, real tea, English television and sofas that don't glow in the dark.

The rest of the day I was in a bit of a funk, still tiered, the shock of being alone and bloody cold, so cold my legs are burning! So I waited around for my new room, blogged a bit, listened to an Irish farmer discuss cow breeds with a fellow farmer (and I thought IT speak was dry) and I hit the sack after a beer and spag-boll.

Tomorrow its explore Sofia and decide on my next move...

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Curfew for Mr Fidget

After a slightly surreal evening in the company of the Quebecois speed junkie we set out to peruse the city of Skopje. Free running socialists, Romanian pickpockets, 7 o'clock curfew and a very wobbly Mr Francis (AKA Mr Fidget, Mr De Diddle Di De or Mr Fidle-Di-De).

[Please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors, I am on a tight timeslot at the hostel, am typing at record speed and the spell checker doesnt work on Firefox]

Walking into central Skopje you notice immediately the concrete bruralism and socialist architecture of the former socialist yugoslavia. Long wide promonades, repeated architecual patterns and a river walk that maybe once rivaled paris.

There was much building work going on, one large project was the Mother Theresa building (the lady herself having been born in Skopje), only the width of your average office block but dominated by Roman columns as wide as a family car and 10 stories tall around its circumference.

We took some time to seek out the Turkish area, view an underground orthodox church where the Macedonian nationalist hero is interned and spend some time with teenage free runners who threw tricks while we attempted to get some crazy shots of their near death experiences... finishing up with a group portrait of them by their rather amateaurish graffiti.

After a refreshment break and a bottle of wine we remembered the 7 o'clock cerfew on alcohol sales and made a dash for the local supermarket making our over indulgent wine purchases with one minute to spare (although we had to persuade the checkout girl of this and she didnt look too happy). To celebrate our purchases we headed to a bar where I had a cola and Mr Francis had a couple of JD's - the walk to the bar wasnt without its challenges, firstly it was getting more than a little colder in the evenings and we met our first rabble of Romanian pick pockets... after ordering Mr Francis to put his hands in his pockets, battening down the hatches to protect our money it was time to confront these mucky little tikes with everything from a casual and polite 'No' to a firm 'No!', onto a 'Go Away!' and a hundered yards, being swarmed like bees, tugged and jossled and finally finding a tiny little hand pulling on 2000 Dinars I was gripping between my fingers I decided every other method open to me had failed so the only remaining option was a 'FU*K OFF!' and a controlled but firm kick to the shins of the oldest member of the gang as my last and final warning. Luckily this was enough to convince them I wasnt the average balding grey haired traveller and they left rather sharpish. A quick inspection of our pockets at the bar confirmed we had come out unscathed.

The night closing in we headed back to the hostel expecting to find and not being disapointed on encountering the Quebecois on Speed. Out came the wine purchases and after a very gallant attempt by Mr Francis to drink every last drop I escorted him to the room and into exhile; to protect his pride and of those around him :) The fan heater didnt escape unscathed though since an unsuccessfull attempt to hang it on a hat stand (why?) saw it crashing to the ground and Kaput! After convincing the newly exhiled Mr Fancis to undertake a less social and physical activity he proceeded to read his book of conspiracy theories... it was at this time and with heightened awareness I decided if they named a mister man after Mr Francis it would be Mr Fidget.

Now, Mr Fidget is a very busy man, he is never still, he is always busying himself with one thing or another. He likes nothing better than twitching or skipping, bolting down stairs, tripping up stairs, leaving a room to re-enter the room just moment later, playing with his ipod (as he is a very modern and contemporary mister man), updating his Facebook profile, breathing in rythums and singing little ditties in De-Diddle-Di-De's. On such an occasion that Mr Fidget decides by whim he will do most of the above all together.

On the occasion of his imposed exhile in his Art Hostel bedroom he did read, de-diddle-di-de and wiggle his feet all at once - in his silk sleeping bag liner he did remind me of a bookish, alcoholic, mermaid who had been given some jolly good news.

Needless to say the next morning things didn't jump start as quickly as they could have and Mr Fidget although holding it together remarkably, he did look as if his jolly good news had turned into bad overnight.

Bag packing over and done with, as on the road the bag must be packed and unpacked daily, and after a quick hike to the bus station we are on our way to Kosovo, the youngest country in the world!

Still to come on the adventures of Mr Fidget...
BLUE! sofa
Very fine Chinese food
91 Bar expat chavs
Hotel Balani
Sofia Bound
Hostel Mostel - lets compare cows!

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Sweaty Jovan

Saturday morning we weren't up so bright and early due to the Macedonian wine, central heating and the rather volumpuous and floral duvets at our disposal - real duv-ettes! On top of that the power shower meant another long delay as we each did our best to drain the copious mountain streams and wash away as many sins as possible before we shake the arm (or rather the forearm) of Sweaty Jovan

We finally set off for the Sveti Jovan Bigorski monestary (Saint John the Baptist or Sweaty Jovan to you and me) where we had unsuccessfully sought accommodation the night before - and which was fabled to contain the forearm of him truly - in heindsight it's probably a good thing as as waking up to something reminicent of The Munsters 'Thing' or of something you may inadvertently finding yourself purchasing in a Soho adult shop, wouldn't have matched the gradness of the Hotel Tutto.

[Please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors, I am on a tight timeslot at the hostel, am typing at record speed and the spell checker doesnt work on Firefox]

The monastic interlude included the Baptism of the sinner Williams! (just to be able to say I did it) an array of gayly coloured icons (with dubious poses), Oh and Ben offered into sex slavery to Sweaty Jovan - and I'd like to say that the last I saw of him he had a smile on his face and a new more wholesome life purpose, but they wouldnt take him, even with the offer of a Kinder chocolate bar and half a bottle of Whiskey thrown in for free; you'd think these hairy monks got such great offers every day! Let's face it, these orthodox monks all need a bloody haircut and their troubled faces haven't seen the sharpness of a razor blade in many a year (I doubt even a Remmington beard trimmer is beknowenced to them) and the slave child Ben comes with chocolate, booze and his own beard trimmer and they scoff - righeous pricks! (or is that cock or nob' Ben?)

With no sign of the promised forearm of Sweaty Jovan we headed back into Debar with the intention of crossing back into Albania and making our way northwards to Kosovo - however a much needed Nescafe interlude, a review of the travel requirements and wanting to see some of Skopje on our way through had us heading northwards again through the beautiful national park. The transfer made all the easier with the help of a seven year old boy (who had the maturity of a seventeen year old) who on us asking for directions, without hesitation walked from the bakers where he was helping his mother, and walked us 5 minutes down the road to the now familiar and rather depressing bus terminal.

Debar was not high on our agenda, in fact it was merely a hub through which to pass but we left after only a few hours thinking and feeling there was more to Debar than met the eye and although not aestheticly pleasing it may have warranted further investigation, oh how we loved Debar but time was pressing so we were Skopje bound after a berry tea (weird but strangely refreshing) and a couple of mexican doughnuts.

Arriving in Skopje several hours later, and again paying too much for the taxi (although too much in these parts is a matter of paying 3 euros too, so not really bank breaking mistakes) we arrived at the psychedelic Art Hostel, 70s lamps, open stairs, old leather sofas, a bed in the living room and our host the Quebecois speed junkie - I should note she wasnt 'on' speed but if you were to immagine a Quebecous on speed she would be the image that formed in your brain.

More to come...
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

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Viva Vevcani & the Tutto Interlude

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

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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

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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.

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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'.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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