'If one had but a single glance to give the world, one should gaze on Istanbul' (Alphonse de Lamartine)

Taskim, Istiklal Avenue

Istanbul has proved to be utterly captivating, even when half asleep following our journey from Sofia! Around every corner seems to be a new sight or experience that provides another unforgettable moment.  Whether it be one of the hundreds of minarets that penetrate the famous skyline, the sound of an oud on the water front or the smells from the hundreds of spices that you pass in one of the bustling bazaars there was never a dull moment during our visit. The sometimes frenzied clash of east meeting west is always present as you look out across the water towards a different continent. Five times a day the minarets seem to dual with each other as the call for prayer penetrates every alley in the city and yet there are more churches than mosques across the Bosphorus Bridge in the Asian section of the city.  It is safe to say that we have loved every minute of our time in Istanbul.

Hagia Sofia

Deciding where to base ourselves in Istanbul before we arrived provided a large enough challenge due to the contrasting sections of the city but we ended up staying in Sultanahmet, the old part of the city housing the most iconic attractions in Istanbul.  This allowed us to walk to the main historic sites of the city very easily.  Our first morning was spent exploring the Hagia Sofia, a perfect illustration of the city as it was initially a Pagen site, then a prominent church during the Byzantine period and was finally transformed into a mosque by the Ottomans.  The building is extraordinarily beautiful and is a living testament to the history of Istanbul.  The size of the main area is breath taking with the building famous for its huge dome which is said to have changed the history of architecture (although it did collapse first time around).  The pigeons flying around the gallery accentuate its size perfectly.  The inside is quite dark with the black and gold interior, giant calligraphies and the mosaics of Christ and the Virgin Mary adding to the mysterious atmosphere.  We spent the afternoon wandering around

Inside Hagis Sofia

Topkapi Palace which provided our first glimpse into the extravagant lifestyle of the Ottoman Sultans.  The four huge courtyards each housed elaborate treasure, weapons and relics.  Our highlight was the collection of relics which contained Moses staff, the sword of David and a fragment of Muhammad’s tooth, as well as a lot of hairs from Muhammad’s beard.  Hannah pointed out what a strange race we are as humans… who stands looking in awe at a stick and a beard?!  An additional ticket gained us access to the Sultan’s Harem, his private quarters.  In here we saw the chambers of his concubines, favourites (chosen by the Sultan’s mother) and the black eunuchs, all of which were tiled with beautiful patterns under domed roofs.   We finally headed back to the apartment, walking up the old road that connected Constantinople and Rome with Ottoman buildings now housing tea shops and Turkish delight alongside the Roman ruins and Ottoman mosques.

Looking out across the Sea of Marmara

Exhausted from the day we spent a few hours recovering from the heat before walking to the water front.  Every few metres along the waterside were fisherman out for the evening accompanied by groups of cats.  The Bosporus Straight was very busy with huge cruise and container vessels towering over small fishing boats.  The infamous Istanbul traffic crawled past on our other side and helped add to the hectic feel.  Entrepreneurs along the water front had set up BBQ’s to sell the caught fish and one ‘stand’ we saw involved people shooting bottles and balloons with pellet rifles.  We stopped to listen to a man playing the oud whilst young men took it in turns to sing traditional melodies, adding to the cultural overload we were both experiencing.  On the way back to the apartment we encountered our first experience of the refugee crisis as a man with two children sat asking for money from passers-by with his national ID card for Syria reminding us of the difficult humanitarian situation Turkey is currently facing and how close we were to the troubled Middle East.

Dolmabahce Palace

The next day we went on a walking tour from our apartment along to the Dolmabahce Palace in Besiktas.  We visited what is regarded as the most beautiful mosque in Istanbul, the Suleiman Mosque housing the tomb of the most famous Sultan of the Ottoman Empire.  ‘Suleiman the Magnificent’ who expanded the empire towards central Europe only being halted in Vienna.  He also conquered huge swaths of the Middle East and North Africa for the Ottomans and died having ruled his empire as the longest serving Sultan.   As with all the mosques I have been in Suleiman’s mosque was very calming and peaceful, with the warm colours and curving architectural providing a very different feel to the death and crosses in Catholic churches.   We then headed off via the spice market across the Galata Bridge spanning the Golden Horn.  We chose to walk along the lower of the two decks of the bridge and stopped to eat the fresh fish caught from the lines overhanging the restaurant from the upper level.   Walking via the main street in Taskim, Istiklal Avenue, we eventually reached the Dolmabahce Palace and were blown away by the luxury: The floor was made of individual tiles each containing three types of wood that were nailed together by hand for each square; guests would walk up the ‘crystal stair case’ complete with a crystal stair rail to the meeting room which contained presents from all over the world including ivory tusks from Somalia, bear skin rugs from Russia and crystal chandeliers from London.  We were suitable impressed.

The Blue Mosque 

Having never been to Asia I was keen to take the boat across to the less visited area of Istanbul and try some of the food in the markets of Karikoy.  This idea was cemented by my desire to escape selfie sticks and tour groups, the bane of my life for the last few months and the scourge of Istanbul. When people now look through their holiday photos all they must be able to say is, ‘and this is my face and if you could see behind it there is the ... (insert generic tourist destination)’! Having witnessed girls in the mosques taking photos of themselves in a head scarf rather than looking at where they are, women in a variety of unflattering poses with nothing but a pavement behind them and men losing all self-respect preening themselves for yet another shit photo we had to escape.  Even more irritatingly they kept ruining our photos as every iconic landmark came complete with a moron capturing another Facebook profile picture, I hated them all. Before we set off for Asia we visited the famous Sultan Ahmed Mosque (Blue Mosque) with its beautiful stain glass windows and handmade blue tiles as well as the Basilica Cistern, made famous in the Bond film From Russia with Love.  The Blue Mosque is the most beautiful building I have seen with its cascading domes, the unique 6 minarets and the perfect symmetry of the building.  The underground Basilica Cistern was equally impressive with hundreds of 30 foot columns underground supporting the weight of the city to create a reservoir for Constantinople.   Thankfully the Asian side of the city was very relaxed and less crowded, with Moda offering nice cafes, artisan shops and beautiful views across the water.  Looking for local food we met a very enthusiastic man running a deli who gave us a variety of dips with fresh bread and Turkish coffee.  Our exploration of Turkish food finished with the Tesi Kebab for dinner.  A combination of Lamb, beef and vegetables that is put with a sauce into a clay pot and placed on a BBQ to stew.  It is then served on a flaming (literally) hot plate with the waiter knocking the top off of the pot to serve.  It was quite a spectacle and a great experience of local cuisine.

Our final day in Istanbul was spent exploring the Grand and Spice Bazaars that had been closed due to the national holiday for Eid the previous week.  The Grand Bazaar is one of the oldest and largest indoor markets in the world and has some 4000 shops spanning 61 streets.  We explored any number of carpet and traditional lights shops and despite being warned about being hassled by shop owners we found no problems and friendly banter with the stall owners rather than any forceful selling.  We bought our engagement / wedding rings in one of the many silver shops having been recommended before we left that this was the perfect stop on route to purchase our rings.   We spent a lot of time trying to take photos of the elusive waiters that hurtle around the market distributing untold quantities of tea to the staff but eventually gave up.  We headed outside for the obligatory Turkish kebab (we were not allowed to leave without one) from a local vendor.  There was a never ending selection of kebab shops but getting free tea and salad with the kebab was the sales pitch that won it for us and Ali, the owner was very amicable. He combined trying to use us as bait to lure in other tourists whilst providing us with his life story and by the end of the meal we had successfully snared 10 other tourists and a cheap lunch.  The spice bazaar was equally impressive with its colour and smells and we bought a range of spices for our travelling kitchen to add to the cabbage and sausage diet that awaited us back in Eastern Europe.

We finally left Istanbul in an almighty thunder and lightning storm.  Looking for a toilet at the bus station I noticed the symbol for a man and a women on a door.  Whilst undoing my flies however I realised too late that I had unwittingly walked into a prayer room and I was confronted by a terrified looking man praying on his knees who looked anything but peaceful at the sight of me as I hurriedly left the room.  We soon boarded our bus with no more incidents and headed into the infamous Istanbul traffic on a deserted bus heading back to Bulgaria.  

Tough travelling.... Sofia to Istanbul

Leaving Macedonia we crossed the Iron Curtain for the first time and entered Bulgaria, one of the strictest communist states during the Cold War.  The grey rain clouds blurred in with the endless fields of concrete apartment blocks on the outskirts of Sofia leaving little to the imagination about its past.  We headed up to our hostel and we were both struck by how poor the city was, with derelict building flanked by decaying houses and hostile dogs roaming the streets.  Having unpacked we walked up to the train station to book our tickets to Istanbul for the following evening.  I was particularly excited about the journey having read excellent past reviews about the overnight sleeper train.  Our suspicions were aroused when we were told we would have to swap on to a bus for the final few hours due to repairs in Turkey but we remained optimistic for the journey.

The Alexander Nevsky Cathedral

We explored Sofia the following day and were presently surprised as the cobbled streets, old tram system and iconic religious buildings gave the impression the city was still in a bygone era.  This was helped by the numerous buskers played the accordion with mournful songs and trying to map read using the street signs in the Bulgarian Cyrillic script, a mission that proved beyond us.  As we stumbled around looking for the major sites of Sofia we eventually found, more by luck than navigation the two main Orthodox churches of the city. The two churches were not just impressive for their size but both contain elaborate interiors with high domed roofs.  The history of both churches seems to fit with Bulgaria’s tough past.  Having been invaded by the Romans, Ottomans and then liberated by the Russians again in WW2 the nation lived under one of the most repressive Communist regimes in Eastern Europe.  The Alexander Nevsky Cathedral was built as a memorial to 200,000 Russian soldiers who lost their life’s fighting the Ottomans, resulting in the independence of Bulgaria.  The church can house 10,000 people and its dark green and gold interior provide an eerie atmosphere inside. The St Nedelya Church has been beautifully restored after a terrorist attack in April 1925, when a group of the Bulgarian Communist Party blew up the church's roof in a failed attempt to kill the Tsar Boris III. Both were highlights of Sofia for us and the tree lined roads and quaint tram disguised some of the clear poverty that exists within the city.

We arrived at the station early and were escorted in true tourist style by a man who upon walking with us to the platform demanded aggressively a tip worth 20% of the entire train fair.  To add to our annoyance all of our worst fears from the previous evening were confirmed in force as we trudged dejectedly along the platform towards our ‘sleeper train’.  The train resembled the depressing and dank Soviet apartment blocks with dirty green seats, graffiti across the carriage and interrogation grade lighting to ensure no sleep was possible.  Bracing ourselves for the 14 hour journey to Istanbul unfortunately it turned out to be as bad as we expected as numerous delays, a slamming sliding door and the spot lights of the carriage began to take their toll on our sanity.   Crossing the Turkish border at 3 am bleary eyed and sore from the iron clad chairs we boarded a bus along with an equally sleep deprived girl from Consett and the remaining 15 people from their carriages.  From their expressions we knew at least there had been no first class carriage we had missed out upon.  As the bus raced towards Istanbul we were able to get an hour’s sleep before arriving to an oasis of development following the previous few days travelling.  The gleaming mosques, contemporary architecture and the bright lights were a far cry from the last month travelling in Eastern Europe.  We arrived just as the sun was rising over the Bosporus Straight as Istanbul delivered a magical first view of minarets dotting the horizon and a thoroughfare of boats chugging under the suspension bridge connecting the continents of Asia and Europe.  The journey at least had been worth the lack of sleep!

The weird and wonderful Skopje

We left Ohrid behind and caught the bus towards one of the larger cities in Macedonia, Bitola. Macedonia continued to charm us as we travelled through barely touched valleys dotted with small homesteads and large white washed houses. We entered Bitola for the afternoon staying in the nicest hotel of our journey so far, a beautifully converted Ottoman theatre. I was even happier when we arrived as the receptionist greeted us with ‘Hello Mr Agass, as you are a genius you have our special rate for your room’. It is always nice to be acknowledged as a genius but it dawned on me that this was probably to do with my status as a frequent user on bookings.com rather than my intellectual reputation as an academic. We strolled the main streets of Bitola, discovering that the coffee culture of Eastern Europe is very much alive in Macedonia and that there was also an International Film Festival. The city itself provided no major sites to see but the following morning we visited the ancient Roman ruins just south of the city called Heraclea Lyncestis. Although only a small site that is still being excavated it offers remains of bath houses, churches and a large amphitheatre. The most impressive discovery was the incredibly preserved mosaics littered around the site that equalled anything we had seen in Italy for colour and preservation. 

From Bitola we caught our first train in Eastern Europe north towards Skopje. Unsure of what to expect we rolled up at what appeared to be an abandoned building declaring itself to be a train station. We walked through the empty building and were confronted by tracks that were overrun with weeds and rubble... we had arrived. The train itself followed the same theme and unfortunately the conductor proceeded to torment us by standing in the open door way, allowing the overpowering aroma of urine to be gently wafted up the carriage. The countryside continued in the same fashion as we stopped at small, traditional hamlets (every 10 minutes) and the train became increasingly full. With a thunder storm due the humidity in the small, overcrowded and poorly ventilated carriage began to sap our energy and when the heavens broke and huge forks of lightening lit up the sky there was palpable relief throughout the carriage. The grey skies did not help the city of Skopje to look at its best as we arrived although at this point we were just relieved to be off of the train. We checked into Hostel 42 in the centre of the city (after the customary argument with taxi drivers trying to con foreign visitors) and receive a comprehensive guide to the city from the welcoming receptionist. Unfortunately we were to receive the same information by the new starter on reception in the morning as well as the owner of the Hostel who, as a passionate football fan spent every opportunity he saw me discussing the Premiership whilst I tried to escape to explore the city.

The city of Skopje is without doubt the most bizarre city I have ever visited. We had been warned by Macedonians on route to the capital to prepare ourselves for ‘Skopje 2014’ (in reference to the year that it was meant to be completed - it still has not been finished), a titanic construction project that had transformed the centre of the city. Our journey to the hostel, only one kilometre from the centre, revealed only a similar set of Soviet style architecture as the other capitals in the Balkans we had visited. As we headed off into the night and heavy rain we turned a corner and were greeted with an assortment of neo – classical buildings, huge fountains and columns complete with lightshows and music as well as an uncountable number of statues. It was safe to say we were in shock, it was as if Disney Land and London City centre had collided head on. The project has been very decisive (not surprisingly for a fairly poor nation) but speaking to the hostel owner most tourists are very impressed and it is at least trying to help produce a Macedonian identity. The statues and columns all represent Macedonian heroes, politicians and members of the arts community and they stand upon every gleaming building, bridge and column that you can see. The fountains are captivating and despite being loud and a little gaudy look spectacular, particularly at night when the whole area is lit up highlighting the incredible development that has taken place since 2010. Despite both of us being left undecided about the final outcome we were both left gazing at the undoubted uniqueness of the city centre and feeling that if it helps to bring in tourist and investment the long term benefits to the city and country are indisputable.

Across the other side of the Vardar River (strangely left untouched amongst the glittering squares either side) is the Ottoman legacy to Skopje, the largest bazaar in the Balkans. It is an alluring collection of mosques, small shops and caravansarais (inns). As we wandered the old quarter the array of items being sold from fox pelts to old Yugoslavian military uniforms was quite staggering and we settled down to eat kebabs at the highly recommended Turist Inn. There was something very enchanting about eating local food outside of an old, wooden fronted inn whilst listening to the call for prayer from the imposing mosque as the smells of all of the chargrills drifted along the narrow streets. The old town was very atmospheric and rather than being geared to tourism it was refreshing to see that it was still at the centre of the community for a lot of locals. It all just added to the unquestionably strange yet intriguing capital of Macedonia and left us wanting to come back in 10 years to see the project completed. 

The international mystery of wearing grape smugglers

Macedonia immediately felt like a world away from Albania. From the moment we crossed the border there was a different atmosphere and appearance to the country. Where Albania is a chaotic mix of almost feudal traditions and cultures coupled with a modern ‘coffee culture’ that would put Paris to shame, Macedonia immediately felt far more settled and relaxed than its neighbour. Gone were the piles of rubbish along the side of the road, the half completed building projects and unkempt gardens. In their place were manicured lawns, red tiled houses and a distinct lack of farmyard animals making the roads seem less like Mario kart and more like a 21st century highway. This may be to do with Macedonia’s less turbulent history that saw it become the only former Yugoslavia nation to peacefully leave the former federation after its collapse in 1991. This is not to say that it has been an easy transition. Economic turmoil in the 90’s was created when shady take overs of previously state owned infrastructure created a number of oligarchs. There has also been immense political pressure from its neighbours (Greece, Bulgaria and Albania) over the very creation of a Macedonian identity and the sovereign future of Macedonia is not immediately clear whilst they are continually blocked from joining the EU and NATO. Our first stop in Macedonia would be the town of Ohrid, its leading tourist destination.

The town combines a beautiful old settlement with a not overbearing modern twist of restaurants and bars that look out across the expansive waters of Lake Ohrid.  Reaching depths of 300 meters and estimated to be 300 million years old the lake is one of the oldest and deepest in Europe and crosses into Albania at its furthest point.  This also means that the entire Macedonian navy (comprising of one small vessel) is based on the lake and gave me a lot of amusement as it passed the town on its patrol around the lake!  We spent our time in Ohrid swimming in the lake and visiting the famous churches, castle walls and ruins that overlook the town.  The iconic sight of the church of Sveti Jovan is set among trees on a cliff edge overlooking the azure waters of the lake below.  It makes for a Kodak moment from both above and below as you can also swim around the base of the cliff and gaze up at the remarkable setting.  Traveling further up the hill away from the church led us to Car Samoil’s Castle.  Although not much in terms of the ruins the views over the town and lake from the restored ramparts were well worth the walk.

The only drawback with Ohrid came on the small pebble beaches that surround the lake.  For me there are three cardinal sins when sitting on a beach and unfortunately all three were in abundance along the shore:

1.          Dire music blaring out disturbing an otherwise idyllic setting
2.     A beach that resembles a Weatherspoon’s ashtray
3.     Men parading around in tiny speedos

We were initially forced to move from the first beach we laid our towels on when a man started singing classic Macedonian ballads (judging by the reaction of the locals signing blissfully along), accompanied by a keyboard backing track that is normally only found at the most classy of establishments worldwide.  Sin number two was then made clear as we fled the scene shaking the cigarette ends from our towels, thankfully rounding the nearest corner of the bay before the next song had broken out. Unfortunately one man took beach depravity to a whole new level as we settled down below the shadow of the church, away from the dulcet tones of the Macedonian Tom Jones.  He lay in front of us on the lake edge, reclined with one knee cocked up in the air, legs stretched out before him wearing the smallest and tightest speedos imaginable. It was as if he had woken up with the expressed intention of offending everybody along the beach.  To put into perspective how bad his appearance was he was rejected from a loud game of cards his friends were involved in that even a Brian May look alike in pink speedos and a gentleman that proceeded to make animal like nasal snorts every 30 seconds were welcomed into with open arms.  This however sent the banana hammock wearing cockwomble back into my vision and he proceeded to settle back down two foot away from my face. Having spoken to friends of both sexes about the merits of wearing grape smugglers I am left in no doubt that both sexes are equally insulted by them and yet so many men persist in marching about in them like Napoleon Bonaparte on beaches the world over.  The mystery of mans need to wear speedos is a  complex topic and not one I am able to solve on a blog.

Traversing Albania in a 'furgon'

Having travelled the length of Albania to see Butrint we decided to make the most of the Indian summer southern Europe is experiencing when we discovered a tranquil beach with crystal clear waters gazing over towards Corfu.  The sunset was incredible every night and sent the sky scarlet as we watched the hydrofoil speed rapidly across the bay towards the Greek Islands.  After two days relaxing we set off for Macedonia, bracing ourselves for another experience on the Albanian furgons (any battered van available to transport people) across the country.  Arriving 2 hours early for the furgon (timetables are not widely used in Albania yet) we sat in the park, watching the old men set the world to rights and sell sunflower seeds to passers-by.  When the furgon to Elbasan appeared we were not disappointed with its quality as a truly decrepit vehicle groaned towards the stop.  As a man dressed as Captain Birdseye loaded our bags into the ‘boot’ we sat down on our chairs that were nailed to the floor and set off.  As we trundled out of Saranda two middle aged women proceeded to communicate via a combination of shouting and volatile gesticulations from across the one foot gap in the seats whilst a 300 year old man sat getting ever more nervous with an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth that he sucked on wistfully.  Occasionally the driver would join in the shouting match but he was more preoccupied with smoking (I am sure to further increase the old man’s pain as he would glance in the mirror at him and laugh as he lit up whilst stopping him from doing the same) and making sure that at police checks we all had a ticket distributed for tax reasons to avoid a fine.  As we put on our headphones to drown the women out (2 hours into the journey and still shouting) the countryside changed from the dry, baron lands of the south into green, rolling hills rich with agriculture in the north of the country.  Alongside the road however was just piles of rubbish as it is Albanian culture to throw rubbish anywhere but a bin. We were however kept engaged by the country as the extraordinarily clear waters of the Shkumbin River ambled past supported by the beautiful countryside as the road twisted up the valley towards Elbasan. 

Approaching Elbasan was how I had always imagined Eastern Europe from reading far too many Cold War fiction (and non-fiction) books than is necessary.  The  valley was now engulfed by a huge industrial complex that dominated the entrance into the city with looming brick chimneys intermittently breaking up the giant warehouses and railway tracks.  The now abandoned factory was named the ‘Steel of the Party’ and was unsurprisingly built with Chinese assistance in the 1970s with the twined effect of economic stimulation and environmental obliteration. Due to the dumping of the heavy waste into the river the land down the valley is contaminated up to 50 cm deep from the factory and now all of the agricultural produce is equally contaminated.  Even now despite protests, the various companies operating in the valley apparently only use the air filters in the mornings  (Elbasan, the polluted city).   Now abandoned, the monstrous scale of the factory provided an eerie feel to the city as the setting of the sun also put pay to our plans of making Macedonia in one day. We booked into a hotel that equally looked like part of the communist style surroundings; not in so much for its aesthetic appearance but in the sheer scale of the property that appeared to have only one other guest.   The town itself could not have been in more stark contrast to its outskirts however with more apparent wealth on the main boulevard than we had seen in the rest of Albania combined.  As we went searching for dinner though it became apparent that Albanians (later verified by a local) do not eat; they drink espresso laced with sugar and make the Italians look like amateur smokers.  As we struggled to find a restaurant it was hard not to be impressed by the transformation the city has undergone with regeneration projects of the apartment blocks, football stadium (now the national stadium) and castle giving the city a far more western European feel than we had previously experienced in the country.

The following day we boarded another furgon to take us (as it later transpired out of the way for all the other passengers) to the border.  A young local lad, Clyde, explained about the national park we passed through and life in Albania, as well as explaining that the numerous hung teddy bears we passed on the unfinished houses were to scare off evil ghosts.   Having filled up our water bottles at one of the many road side mountain springs we were unceremoniously dumped at the border and headed on foot across no-man’s land towards Macedonia, refusing the (as usual) aggressive taxi drivers trying to screw every passer-by out of money.  We were greeted by an official who initially mistook us for Russian due to the whole page Russian VISA in our passports. He passionately pumped his chest and shouted ‘PUTIN’ at us and was visibly disappointed to discover we were in fact British.  At he other side of the checkpoint we were able to negotiate with a man posing as a taxi to take us to the nearest town and we were taken at break neck speed down the road towards Struga on the edge of Lake Ohrid.  From here we were able to eventually complete our journey in a collectivo (shared taxi), arriving in the beautiful lakeside town of Ohrid in time for a swim in the clear lake waters.

Some Myths and Shites in Albania

One of the most striking things for me about visiting Albania has been the sheer volume of building projects throughout the country.  Nothing has amused me more since we entered the country than driving past crudely spray painted signs stating proudly ‘Shitet’ (For sale) and its plural we were told being, ‘Shite’ accompanied strangely by hung teddy bears from points on the unfinished buildings.  In a country that could be considered as isolated as North Korea until 20 years ago, the progress towards a more developed state is remarkable but the country is captivating more for the often eccentric sights, sounds and smells than the change towards a democratic nation.  At no other point when visiting parts of Europe have I passed through towns and encountered a women walking 10 turkeys on leads down the centre of the high street; horse and carts parked alongside new Audis; and women offering to weigh you on a dilapidated set of bathroom scales from the 1940s whilst you stroll along the promenade for the evening parade on the waterfront. Many areas of the country are still clearly not influenced by the influx of western goods and Albania still remains one of only 3 European nations with no McDonald’s!  As we headed south from Berat these contrasts and eccentricities continued apace. We passed, for me, the most picturesque area of Albania as we followed a path of swollen rivers along the bottom of wide valleys flanked by dramatic mountains that would not have been out of place in the Lord of the Rings.  The mountain towns themselves highlighted the confused nature of Albanian planning perfectly with an assortment of half-finished concrete structures dotted along tracks and helpfully stating the obvious to all who passed through- they were Shite.  As the bus wound along the impossible winding road we negotiated cows, goats, donkeys and some authentic Albanian driving at break neck speeds and we emerged alongside the Adriatic coast.  We continued to head south towards the Greek border in search of a ruined city that claimed Greek, Roman, Byzantium, Ottoman and Venetian ruins all under one roof called Butrint. 

Saranda (our base to explore Burint from) is advertised as the jewel of the Albanian coast, a small town set around a horse shoe bay looking out towards the promised land of Corfu.  We arrived and fell into the age old trap when we stepped off of the bus.  We were immediately accosted by an impossibly dishevelled looking man showing off his poor swollen ankles and begging us to take a room in his hotel.  There is only one reason that hotel owners meet you off of the boat/bus/train… it is because their hotels resemble a poor Eastern European detention centre from Stalinist Russia (but without the basic amenities provided) that everyone else passes on their way into town hoping it won’t be where they have to sleep for the night. By the time common sense had prevailed and I was beginning to communicate my worst fears to Hannah we had already walked 10 minutes up a hill under the intense midday sun following a man looking (and sounding at this stage) that he might not be alive by the time we reached the detention centre.  As we rounded the final corner my worst fears were realised but our worry as to what a rejection would do to the owner drove us to hand over the 20 Euros and set up camp in our cell for the night. Saranda is not quite up to the shiny standards of western European seaside towns but complete with its classic ’shitet’ Albanian town planning and shimmering blue waters it was possible to see definite potential growth in the area.  A mix of Poles and Ukrainian’s seemed to overrun the local inhabitants in the town and we stayed out as long as we could before returning to our cell for an uncomfortable night’s sleep.

A big reason for the jaunt through Albania had been to reach Butrint. We escaped the detention centre early in the morning to move to a new shiny apartment. Having survived the night we sat down to what was actually a very well intentioned family breakfast time accompanied by the owner making chitchat whilst brandishing a giant knife as we enjoyed their home made fig jam and grapes from the garden. We caught the local bus to Butrint, some 30 minutes south.  The archaeological area was well worth the distance travelled and the setting of the ruined town surrounded by turquoise water from the sea and inlets on either side made for an astonishing backdrop to the remains of the city.  Along with a lot of towns we have visited in the region the unusual logic for founding the city amused us.  Butrint was built here on the basis of a bizarre myth which came as no great surprise to us, in this case the struggle ashore by a wounded, sacrificial ox that subsequently died on the land and hence was viewed as a good omen for a city.  In reality the strategic position of the peninsula on the Adriatic may have been a more logical basis for the establishment of a settlement but it somehow does not quite hold the same mystic. The ruins themselves were an excellent microcosm of Mediterranean History that we enjoyed exploring before returning to Saranda to make the most of the sun.

A chain smoking Knight in his Mercedes

The journey down through Albania highlights the apparent transition that the country seems to find itself in following its venture into capitalism.  Never part of Yugoslavia, despite the overtures made by Tito, Albania led a quite unique quest for survival through the cold war era, initially becoming allied with Stalinist Russia before Khrushchev starting making increasing demands for more military presence in the nation.  During the 1960s Albania became aligned with Maoist China and experienced a cultural revolution, a ban on all religion and an increasingly aggressive secret police who conducted executions and torture on any ‘opponents’ of Enver Hoxha’s dictatorship.  Following Mao’s death in 1976 Albania become isolated, crippling the economy and eventually leading to an overthrow of the regime in 1992.  Nowhere is this recent transition more apparent than in Tirana as the mix of architecture, standard of living and even the wide range of cars showcase the changing times.  The National History Museum in the centre of the city details this journey by telling the story of Albania’s quest for independence from the Illyrian tribes through to present day Albania and is well worth visiting to get a grasp on the turbulent history of the country.

We were fortunate that our hostel owner in Skhoder, Mikel, was en-route to Tirana and kindly offered us a lift to the capital.  He was very informative about the current situation in Albania, telling us about the current government’s efforts to reclaim past tax and utility bill debts owed by almost the whole population, but in one lump sum, leaving small businesses and already poor people in dire circumstances.  He took us for a traditional Albanian breakfast; fried cheese, rice, yoghurt, qofta and a meat soup, before kindly dropping us at our hotel.  The capital itself made us feel like we were back at home in Mexico City; mental driving capped with the incessant sound of honking horns.  An incredible number of these vehicles are the old Mercedes that still rampage across the country following the explosion of smuggling rackets that sprung up after the collapse of communism.  With a nice central area (hosting an International Peace Conference whilst we were there) it made for an interesting stop to get more of a feel for the country.

The neighbourhood within the fortress

From Tirana we headed further south to the UNESCO world heritage site of Berat. The bus ride proved a similar experience to our previous Albanian bus journey with a range of pungent smells, ageing seats and a rattling and ineffectual fan accompanying us for the four hour journey.  One man, sporting a haircut that would have fitted straight into Spandau Ballet continually wafted a huge bouquet of herbs under his nose in a valiant effort to overcome the stench and heat but even he was eventually overcome and fell into a deep coma. We drove past vast agricultural areas (and to my delight water melon fields!) fighting the nausea with increasing desperation but thankfully arriving in Berat with no lasting damage.  Set alongside the winding Osumi River and under the watchful gaze of Mt Tomorri (2415m) Berat is known as ‘the town of a thousand windows’ as white Ottoman houses run up the hill to an old Fortress which contains a small neighbourhood of traditional houses and narrow streets.  Unfortunately for us our luck with the weather finally broke and an almighty thunderstorm broke over our heads!  We sought refuge in a small café overrun with a Hungarian tour group and a strained looking waitress.  After an hour we decided to brave the walk down the steep road back to town, largely due to being told in no uncertain terms that we would not be able to eat lunch by a now dishevelled looking waitress.  The storm had created a river down the road which we were rescued from by a local Albanian man very proud of his old Mercedes that he smugly grunted would survive the storm as we passed an abandoned Renault.  A flash flood had struck the town centre and we watched one women wade knee deep across the torrent running down the high street, grateful for our chain smoking saviour and his magnificent Mercedes.

... and at lunch!!!

The view at breakfast

The unavoidable backpacker competition

Leaving Shkoder we decided to move away from hostels for a few nights and stay in a few hotels on our route down through Tirana and on to Berat. The logic behind staying in hostels stems from the desire to meet other 'like-minded people' when travelling - it is not for their hygiene or the joy of sharing a toilet with ten other people, half of whom do not know how to clean themselves, let alone stop a bathroom from falling into such disrepair it resembles a festival toilet. However, fundamentally I am not the most tolerant person and am quite happy in my own company a lot of the time (and Hannahs) and so I do not find the need to spend my evenings listening to crusty hippies gain credence by competing to have the dirtiest dreadlocks, playing the guitar or having a contest to discover who had found the most life changing moments on their journey.

This was brought home to me in force as I had to endure listening to who I am sure was a perfectly nice young women from New Zealand. She began by trying to teach us about our own continent that she had travelled (for 3 weeks) and how Albania was her favourite country she had ever visited. It is worth pointing out that another boast ALL travellers (myself included) gain credit with other ‘like-minded people’ they encounter is by naming the most obscure country they have visited and declaring that is was their favourite due to the lack of other tourists who had yet to spoil it. Don’t get me wrong, Albania is a beautiful country from the small amount of time I have spent here but as I was driving past crumbling houses, wagons pumping out all manner of world ending chemicals and soviet era tower blocks rising above piles of disregarded rubbish I couldn't help thinking that Italy, Norway or even Scotland might have a few complaints about this bold claim. As my clear irritation at being stuck 2 foot away from this women grew increasingly apparent and Hannah held my hand to stop me throwing her off of the bus I decided that is was best to leave the hostel scene for a few days and promptly booked into an inexpensive hotel as we prepared to head south to Albania’s capital, Tirana. 

A trip into the unknown of Albania

The dam forming lake Koman

Having read about one of the world’s great boat trips in a number of travel guides and online articles one of the main draws to Albania for us was the Koman ferry trip (Guardian article).   The ferry connects the towns of Koman and Fieze as an alternate route to traversing the perilous gravel road (track) around the edge of the lake.  The lake itself was only created in 1978 when a dam (constructed by the Chinese when relations between the two nations were strong under communist dictator Enver Hoxha) subsequently created a lake between the mountains.  

Our day began very early as our hostel, The Green Garden Hostel had organised the local workers bus to collect us at 6 am for the 2 hour journey (5 Euros) from Shkodra to Koman.  We were woken up by the call for prayer from the minarets and as we passed through the town we were surprised that there was so much activity so early, with cafes full of men lining the streets and farmers selling their fruit produced in the surrounding rural area.  Shkodra is not just a mix of east meeting west but also a clear divide between communism and capitalism with Soviet style concrete apartment blocks and small shops sandwiching a growing rise of private investment in the form of casinos, luxury hotels and boutique shops.  As we slowly made our way out of town collecting workers on route we began to head up into the mountains, thankfully slowly as the track began to rise away from the lake down an unprotected drop to the waters below.  Along with an array of farm animals the road was littered with graves marking those who had not driven with such care.  A variety of hard looking mountain folk got on, each bringing with them another intoxicating aroma of shit of sweat that helped to clear the senses following our early start. 

We arrived at the  ‘dock’ through a 500m tunnel along the side of another dam onto a small area filled with a handful of cars and vans parked haphazardly with their drivers chain smoking strong Russian cigarettes and drinking the local coffee (or tar depending on your view point) in  a small wooden café.     As the ferry departed between the rising mountains and pine forests we settled down for a journey (a return trip for our accommodation in Shkoder) gratefully receiving strong Turkish coffee to help wake up.  Although I would argue with the name of a ‘ferry’ given to our vessel the incredibly hard jagged mountains towered over the narrow lake and the uninhabited valleys made it feel like we were stepping back into Albania's rich history.    Despite spending 6 hours in total on the ferry (with our return leg) we were offered a beer and it was very relaxing on the boat as the mesmerising scenery floated past.  Although the ferry ride felt like an 'off the beaten path' adventure we did meet two retired women on holiday with an Albanian tour guide (a passionate football fan who had been to St James Park to watch England v Albania) who was able to explain about the history of the area. He also interpreted one old locals enthusiastic pointing to where he had grown up and how the valley below used to plunge another 90 metres before the dam was built and the lake removed all trace of the homesteads below.  It is hard to imagine that such a beautiful journey in western Europe would not have been over run with tourists and as such it made the voyage seem all the more captivating.

Enjoying the journey with a cold beer!

You can't polish a turd but you can roll it in glitter

In reference to my last post when I likened Budva to a Montenegrin version of Rio - I may have over stepped the mark with my initial judgement.... think a teenage Benidorm. The town may have a striking back drop and the beautiful blue water around it but on closer inspection it turned out to be a work in progress. We walked along the water front taking in the array of wildlife on the beach basking on top of each other on cracked sun beds under an assortment of umbrellas advertising cheap spirits and larger. Particular highlights on the promenade were the 10 metre tall replica of the Eiffel Tower complete with a rusting façade and Dino World, advertised all around the region on giant bill boards but in reality some plastic dinosaurs in a wire mesh enclosure in a tumble down park. In its defence the old walled town was charming - although having visited Dubrovnik and Kotor the wow factor had worn off somewhat. Here we visited our first Orthodox church which had very bright frescos showing the acts of Jesus after his resurrection (including what looked like his apparent moon walking’s – one of my favourites).

Further down the coast however Sveti Stefan (5 km away around the bay and connected by frequent buses heading to Bar) is one of the iconic images of the coast and acts as a beautiful backdrop to spend the day on the pebbled beach.The swimming area protected from water traffic around the island is immense and we were able to enjoy the warm waters and see fish some 20 metres below us making the clear waters of the Caribbean look cloudy. Although the Island used to be a fortified village against the Turks it is now an all-inclusive resort for the mega rich, but the peasants are still allowed to enjoy the small beach in the inlet. 

From Budva we made our way down the coast speeding up our progress as a few bad days weather were forecast. The further south we have travelled in the Balkans the more apparent the influence of Turkish culture has become on the region. Minarets are visible out of every town we passed and as the mountainous coast became flatter plains we crossed into Albania.

Your'e only as good as your last hair cut

The view from the fortress

The Bay of Kotor is a highlights reel of both the Adriatic coast & the Fjords of Norway that have been assembled in to one section of Montenegrin coast.  The deep blue waters are surrounded by mountains on all sides that crash steeply down to the water’s edge.  Sitting nearly 300 metres over the walled city sits an old fortress, connected to the walls of the Stari Most (old town) by some 1350 steps and perfectly blended into the grey rocks of Mt Lovcen.  Although much smaller and less travelled than Dubrovnik the old town is impeccably preserved (although the cruise ships dwarf it during the day).  Despite the very steep climb to the fortress there are men selling beer on route to keep you going and the views down the length of the bay through the arrow slots of the fortress are simply breath taking. Having arrived at the bus station we were greeted by a 300 year old women with a beaming smile and no English who led us to her home just outside of the old town through a mixture of smiling broadly and gesticulating wildly with both hands.  Her son made us homemade fruit juice and whilst talking to him it still became apparent that the civil war still has ramifications across Montenegrin society today.  Despite being born and raised in Dubrovnik his family are Serbs and had to swap houses with a Croat family in Kotor to escape the genocide in 1994.  The majority of Montenegrins are also Serbs and the two countries were united, however in 2006 Montenegro voted for independence form the unequal alliance with Serbia and now most of the population regard themselves foremost as Montenegrin, not as Serbs.  Although he speaks the same language and has lived in Kotor for 21 years he is not allowed to work as an ‘immigrant’ in Montenegro. His mother still receives abuse from other local families looking for tourists arriving at the bus station and the family are regarded as social lepers by others in their neighbourhood.

We went straight down to the waterfront the following morning and as we lounged on the pebble beach in awe of our surroundings I went to experience a Montenegrin haircut, an ordeal for me even in my own language and one any other tourist in Kotor should be warned of.  I was greeted by a women who would not have looked out of place in an East German shotput team from the 1980’s who upon my arrival glared and simply shouted ‘How?’.  After a pause to collect my emotions having been confronted by this brute of a women and ascertained what she wanted me to tell her ‘how’ I wanted my hair cut (although I feel it was not much of a choice in hindsight) I nervously sat down in the chair whilst she went to the toilet.  Unfortunately the salon was quite small and after 10 minutes of my eyes stinging from the combined effect of the foul stench of her lunch radiating from the toilet some 3 foot away from me and the electric razor that she had tried to embed in my skull I left with a fringe that was at least 1 inch shorter on the left side of my forehead, much to the amusement of Hannah.

Perast waterfront

Our final day around the bay was spent visiting the picture perfect town of Perast, a simple 20 minute ride on the local bus around the edge of the bay.  The small town, with its white brick houses and waterfront bars is situated along a single road alongside the bay.  A few hundred metres off shore are the tiny islands of St George and Our lady of the rock (man made in the 15^th Century) with a beautiful church on each.  At the top of the town (closed to all traffic apart from locals) is a shaded area to swim in the clear waters under the overhanging pine trees gazing jealously at the incredible yachts.  A perfect way to recover from the ordeal of my Montenegrin haircut.

Mostar to Kotor

Mostar proved to be worth the visit, not just for the history.  The mix of East v West is really different and the the Bosnian Coffee and Turkish meats alongside western culture makes the city a really interesting place to visit.  The relics of the Ottoman and Austrian empires are very apparent and the setting along the river, coffee shops and old town are well worth a visit for the day in itself.  

For part of my trip I wanted to watch as many different 'sports' around the world as I can and Mostar seemed like a perfect opportunity to start this with the famous bridge divers/jumpers. In the summer the local men walk over the bridge collecting money and when they have raised enough jump from the 21 metre high bridge into the river. Last year divers from several countries took part in the 448th annual competition plunging some 24 meters from the bridge,  The diving contest has resumed since the bridge was rebuilt 11 years ago.

Due to the high temperatures we decided to race on towards the Adriatic coast in Montenegro and left at 6 am on the 10 hour bus.  It turns out that cows in the Balkans are in proportion to the size of the people and about the only obstacles on the roads on the 3 hour long route between Mostar and Trebinje near the Montenegrin border.  The journey took us up into the mountains and through rural Bosnia, far removed from the tourists of Mostar.  Official figures suggest there is around 50% unemployment in Bosnia (although according to locals many people are employed ‘off the books’) and this was more apparent as the destruction of the civil war had not been removed.  The countryside was littered with new graveyards and the towns all possessed bullet holed/ruined houses and businesses, although everywhere had an incredible number of betting shops combined with sports bars that seems to be a big part of the culture.  The scenery was stunning with open valley plains joining the high peaked mountains covered in forest.  It was hard to believe the snow and avalanche warnings along the road side when the temperature was well above 35 degrees though! Dropping down into Trebinje offered phenomenal views of the town had the traditional red tiled roofs of the region with a picture perfect river carving through the town which lies only 28km from Dubrovnik.

The journey towards the Montenegrin border should have been completed in a super car on a top gear challenge rather than an old bus but we were relieved the driver was not Mexican or Italian as the road rose up over 1000 metres from the valley floor snaking upwards.   It was still unnerving driving alongside a drop straight down to the river at the valley basin as we crossed through what surely must be one of the world’s most beautiful border crossing check points looking straight back down the valley into Bosnia.  The strange number of small duty free shops in no-man’s land between the two checkpoints then led us into Montenegro.

As we rolled through the mountains of Montenegro growing slightly weary after 8 hours on the bus (although well prepared after 2 years busing around Mexico)  but still absorbed by the scenery and dramatic mountain range, the Dinaric Alps.  As we grew desperate for the sight of the sea the mountains suddenly plunged over a thousand metres and the road ran along the edge of the steep mountainside to reveal Budva.  We half expected to see a Christ the Redeemer statue over looking the town.  The beaches ran around the bay with a small island off shore and a forest covered mountain providing a stunning backdrop to the town.  From here we travelled 40 minutes north, through the mountain tunnel and out into the Bay of Kotor, headed by the town of Kotor, a walled city (similar to Split and Dubrovnik) to relax for the next few days.