During his tour of the Mediterranean, Paul Theroux wrote "The difference between a tourist and a traveller is a tourist knows where he's going". Since my last entry I've gained a new understanding and respect for his words. Lately it seems like I've been on a bit of a run, not because I've been in a hurry, but because I simply haven't known my next destination, and have jumped at basically the first opportunities I have come across. To describe all of the random events that have transpired would require a novella, so no matter what this entry will not do the last two weeks justice. But enough of that, here's where I've been.
After spending five days in the snow of Zabljak in Montenegro I took the bus back to the capital Podgorica, with the only requirement for my next destination being either south, east, or southeast, so when I arrived in Podgorica I weighed my options. I could take the sleeper train to Nish in Serbia, though sleeping on a train with your luggage unattended is never an attractive option, take the bus to Kosovo and spend the night in it's capital, Prishtina, or an option I had not previously considered, Albania. The Albanian border was just 30 km away, so without thinking (thinking only bogs down travel) I agreed on a price with a cab and took it to the border. And it's a good thing too, for that very night a bomb went off in Prishtina, targeting the UN and foreigners. Although no one was hurt, it would have been a rude awakening, and it made any regrets about heading to Albania disappear. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Taking the cab along the banks of Skadar Lake I felt both happy and adventurous at deciding so impulsively to take this route, something I would have never considered back home. I arrived at the border and had no problem getting through. The only problem was that on the other side was nothing but mountains littered with trash, and I began wondering whether I was supposed to walk to Tirana in the pouring rain.
After about an hour of attempted hitchhiking I was able to negotiate a cab ride to Shkodar, a dirty, potholed (typical) Albanian city. On the way I noticed Albania's most famous, and most prominent feature; its bunkers. After breaking ties with Stalin, Albania's former communist dictator, Enver Hoxha, became paranoid that his country would suffer a similar fate to that of Czechoslovakia, Soviet invasion. And so he constructed his bunkers, all 50,000 of them. These bunkers, strategically placed along the whole of Albania's countryside, are now just concrete pills that disturb the Albanian landscape, almost like pimples upon fair skin, and now serve no purpose but as a nuisance to Albanian farmers.
Upon entering Shkodar it's easy to truly realize the difference a border can make. Whereas the Montenegrin roads were new and maintained, Shkodar's were dominated by potholes, some as deep as one meter, and some as wide as five. Monuments to past Albanian heroes had been stripped of metal and tiles, as had the sidewalks and even some manhole covers. They were just gone, and as far as I or any of the locals knew, stolen. This didn't surprise me, as Albania has had that kind of reputation, and deservedly. In the past, and still somewhat true today, if your car was stolen in Europe you knew it was heading to Albania. After about an hour walking around Shkodar and exploring it's central mosque (and getting absolutely drenched) I found another ride to Tirana. For the budget conscious traveller Albania is paradise. For the 30 km taxi ride in Montenegro the fare was 20 euros, but the journey from the border to Tirana, roughly 200 km, cost me just 6 euros.
Tirana is the shining example of how polarized Albania really is. Beautiful tiled sidewalks and paved streets suddenly give way to giant holes and mounds of mud, and beautiful modern buildings glitter in the Albanian sun while both man and dog rummage through the collection of dumpsters out front. It wasn't until I was enjoying a beer atop a revolving sky bar, overlooking the blinking lights of Tirana (daily power outages are not uncommon), I realized how polarized the city, and the country, really was, so the next day I headed out in search of a minibus to Pogradeci, near the border with Macedonia. Pogradeci was an absolute slum in every sense of the word, and immediately upon exiting the minibus I was grabbed my countless other drivers, all wanting my money for a ride to wherever they were heading next. Wrestling myself away from their grips, I went in search of a bank to exchange the large amount of Albanian lek I still had. I hadn't counted on a city like this. Finally after much searching I found a bank, but when I tried to exchange the lek for euros, she shook her head and pointed down the street, signalling what I thought to be an exchange office down the way. When I rounded the corner it wasn't an exchange office that was waiting for me, but a mob of Albanians, each with a wad of cash in one hand and a pocket calculator in the other. These were the city's money changers. Walking up to one, sensing a bit of fun ahead, I checked his rates, and the next guy's, and the next, and found that they all offered better rates than the banks in Tirana. In fact, they offered the official rate, only taking the cents left over from each transaction as commission. So finally picking one I typed in the amount of lek I had into his calculator, and he calculated the amount of euros, which came out to 55 euros and forty cents. Easier than any bank I had ever visited, I collected the 55 euros and went looking for a taxi to the border.
Immediately after crossing the border into Macedonia, south of Lake Ohrid, is the Sveti Naum Monastery. This ancient monastery stands on the banks of the beautifully serene Lake Ohrid, with a backdrop of snow capped, full-busomed mountains, and a flock of peacocks guarding it's gates. I cant describe the feeling one has when sitting in this ancient courtyard on a warm day being surrounded by peacocks, but it gave me an idea of what Heaven might be like. After spending a quiet hour of reflection inside the monastery's walls, I found a taxi to take me to Ohrid town. I had arrived in Macedonia.
The Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia is a territory in a constant state of vertigo. Before Macedonia's absorption into Yugoslavia following WWII, Serbia, Bulgaria, Albania, and Greece all claimed that they had the sole rights to Macedonia, all while the poor Macedonians were shouting meekly for their own independence. But after WWII, in which Macedonia had been allied with Serbia, Macedonia accepted absorption in Yugoslavia, and nowadays you won't find a Macedonian who doesn't have a soft spot for Tito. Once Macedonia gained it's independence, it was forced to change it's name to the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia due to complaints by the Greeks, who claim that Macedonia is a Greek name and a Greek territory. Even now, with more and more nations accepting The Republic of Macedonia (instead of the FYROM), the Greeks are still outraged, and still openly conspire with Bulgaria to divvy up the country between them. To think, a highly nationalistic country in competition and political disagreement with it's neighbors, who would have thought in the Balkans?
Ohrid, while a lovely town filled with, yet again, some of the most beautiful ancient monasteries in Europe, was plagued by bad weather, so after a few days I headed off to the capital, Skopje. Skopje clearly displays its communist past through it's architecture, but I wouldn't call it ugly, just different. And like other cities in the area, it's soul is not amongst the concrete blocks but within the old stone Turkish quarter. This quarter was very similar to the one in Sarajevo, except it hasn't seen nearly as much maintenance (because there was no war here?). And it's market, w
hile seemingly Albanian, was incredibly charming. An assortment of many different colored tarps hung over the stands, making it impossible for me to stand up straight. And the alleys of the market were no more than three or four feet wide, giving it a crowded, chaotic feel. And the variety. I walked by boxes of fruit, crates of chickens, cell phones, wallets, huge baskets of nuts and spices, designer imitation jeans, plungers, shovels, umbrellas, racks of dried meat, used t-shirts, and even cages of puppies and birds. While I enjoyed the unpredictability of the market in Skopje, my instinct told me to keep moving. And so I have. To Thessaloniki.
I would think I was in Miami if it weren't for the signs in Greek, or the abundance of ruins that today's modern city has built around. Thessaloniki, also known as Salonika, is one of the most historically ethnic cities not just in the Balkans but in Europe. Housing Turks, Greeks, Serbs, Jews, Bulgars, and Albanians it had a mixture of languages, cuisines, and religions, leaving a lasting and attractive imprint on the city even today, whether it be for the eyes or the stomach. And after quickly sprinting through Skopje I am more than content to enjoy the warm, cloudless days here in Salonika until I can plot my next move through Greece.
After spending five days in the snow of Zabljak in Montenegro I took the bus back to the capital Podgorica, with the only requirement for my next destination being either south, east, or southeast, so when I arrived in Podgorica I weighed my options. I could take the sleeper train to Nish in Serbia, though sleeping on a train with your luggage unattended is never an attractive option, take the bus to Kosovo and spend the night in it's capital, Prishtina, or an option I had not previously considered, Albania. The Albanian border was just 30 km away, so without thinking (thinking only bogs down travel) I agreed on a price with a cab and took it to the border. And it's a good thing too, for that very night a bomb went off in Prishtina, targeting the UN and foreigners. Although no one was hurt, it would have been a rude awakening, and it made any regrets about heading to Albania disappear. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Taking the cab along the banks of Skadar Lake I felt both happy and adventurous at deciding so impulsively to take this route, something I would have never considered back home. I arrived at the border and had no problem getting through. The only problem was that on the other side was nothing but mountains littered with trash, and I began wondering whether I was supposed to walk to Tirana in the pouring rain.
After about an hour of attempted hitchhiking I was able to negotiate a cab ride to Shkodar, a dirty, potholed (typical) Albanian city. On the way I noticed Albania's most famous, and most prominent feature; its bunkers. After breaking ties with Stalin, Albania's former communist dictator, Enver Hoxha, became paranoid that his country would suffer a similar fate to that of Czechoslovakia, Soviet invasion. And so he constructed his bunkers, all 50,000 of them. These bunkers, strategically placed along the whole of Albania's countryside, are now just concrete pills that disturb the Albanian landscape, almost like pimples upon fair skin, and now serve no purpose but as a nuisance to Albanian farmers.
Upon entering Shkodar it's easy to truly realize the difference a border can make. Whereas the Montenegrin roads were new and maintained, Shkodar's were dominated by potholes, some as deep as one meter, and some as wide as five. Monuments to past Albanian heroes had been stripped of metal and tiles, as had the sidewalks and even some manhole covers. They were just gone, and as far as I or any of the locals knew, stolen. This didn't surprise me, as Albania has had that kind of reputation, and deservedly. In the past, and still somewhat true today, if your car was stolen in Europe you knew it was heading to Albania. After about an hour walking around Shkodar and exploring it's central mosque (and getting absolutely drenched) I found another ride to Tirana. For the budget conscious traveller Albania is paradise. For the 30 km taxi ride in Montenegro the fare was 20 euros, but the journey from the border to Tirana, roughly 200 km, cost me just 6 euros.
Tirana is the shining example of how polarized Albania really is. Beautiful tiled sidewalks and paved streets suddenly give way to giant holes and mounds of mud, and beautiful modern buildings glitter in the Albanian sun while both man and dog rummage through the collection of dumpsters out front. It wasn't until I was enjoying a beer atop a revolving sky bar, overlooking the blinking lights of Tirana (daily power outages are not uncommon), I realized how polarized the city, and the country, really was, so the next day I headed out in search of a minibus to Pogradeci, near the border with Macedonia. Pogradeci was an absolute slum in every sense of the word, and immediately upon exiting the minibus I was grabbed my countless other drivers, all wanting my money for a ride to wherever they were heading next. Wrestling myself away from their grips, I went in search of a bank to exchange the large amount of Albanian lek I still had. I hadn't counted on a city like this. Finally after much searching I found a bank, but when I tried to exchange the lek for euros, she shook her head and pointed down the street, signalling what I thought to be an exchange office down the way. When I rounded the corner it wasn't an exchange office that was waiting for me, but a mob of Albanians, each with a wad of cash in one hand and a pocket calculator in the other. These were the city's money changers. Walking up to one, sensing a bit of fun ahead, I checked his rates, and the next guy's, and the next, and found that they all offered better rates than the banks in Tirana. In fact, they offered the official rate, only taking the cents left over from each transaction as commission. So finally picking one I typed in the amount of lek I had into his calculator, and he calculated the amount of euros, which came out to 55 euros and forty cents. Easier than any bank I had ever visited, I collected the 55 euros and went looking for a taxi to the border.
Immediately after crossing the border into Macedonia, south of Lake Ohrid, is the Sveti Naum Monastery. This ancient monastery stands on the banks of the beautifully serene Lake Ohrid, with a backdrop of snow capped, full-busomed mountains, and a flock of peacocks guarding it's gates. I cant describe the feeling one has when sitting in this ancient courtyard on a warm day being surrounded by peacocks, but it gave me an idea of what Heaven might be like. After spending a quiet hour of reflection inside the monastery's walls, I found a taxi to take me to Ohrid town. I had arrived in Macedonia.
The Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia is a territory in a constant state of vertigo. Before Macedonia's absorption into Yugoslavia following WWII, Serbia, Bulgaria, Albania, and Greece all claimed that they had the sole rights to Macedonia, all while the poor Macedonians were shouting meekly for their own independence. But after WWII, in which Macedonia had been allied with Serbia, Macedonia accepted absorption in Yugoslavia, and nowadays you won't find a Macedonian who doesn't have a soft spot for Tito. Once Macedonia gained it's independence, it was forced to change it's name to the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia due to complaints by the Greeks, who claim that Macedonia is a Greek name and a Greek territory. Even now, with more and more nations accepting The Republic of Macedonia (instead of the FYROM), the Greeks are still outraged, and still openly conspire with Bulgaria to divvy up the country between them. To think, a highly nationalistic country in competition and political disagreement with it's neighbors, who would have thought in the Balkans?
Ohrid, while a lovely town filled with, yet again, some of the most beautiful ancient monasteries in Europe, was plagued by bad weather, so after a few days I headed off to the capital, Skopje. Skopje clearly displays its communist past through it's architecture, but I wouldn't call it ugly, just different. And like other cities in the area, it's soul is not amongst the concrete blocks but within the old stone Turkish quarter. This quarter was very similar to the one in Sarajevo, except it hasn't seen nearly as much maintenance (because there was no war here?). And it's market, w
hile seemingly Albanian, was incredibly charming. An assortment of many different colored tarps hung over the stands, making it impossible for me to stand up straight. And the alleys of the market were no more than three or four feet wide, giving it a crowded, chaotic feel. And the variety. I walked by boxes of fruit, crates of chickens, cell phones, wallets, huge baskets of nuts and spices, designer imitation jeans, plungers, shovels, umbrellas, racks of dried meat, used t-shirts, and even cages of puppies and birds. While I enjoyed the unpredictability of the market in Skopje, my instinct told me to keep moving. And so I have. To Thessaloniki.I would think I was in Miami if it weren't for the signs in Greek, or the abundance of ruins that today's modern city has built around. Thessaloniki, also known as Salonika, is one of the most historically ethnic cities not just in the Balkans but in Europe. Housing Turks, Greeks, Serbs, Jews, Bulgars, and Albanians it had a mixture of languages, cuisines, and religions, leaving a lasting and attractive imprint on the city even today, whether it be for the eyes or the stomach. And after quickly sprinting through Skopje I am more than content to enjoy the warm, cloudless days here in Salonika until I can plot my next move through Greece.
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