After leaving Sarajevo, I began innocently riding South. Towards Montenegro. Towards Albania. Towards Kosovo and beyond.
After finding what seemed a pretty ideal tent spot just a few kilometres away from the Albania border, I began to chill out a bit in my tent. But then among the sparse crows cries and the otherwise silent atmosphere, I heard a soft rustling not two paces away. But for some reason the rat or whatever curious fellow causing it seemed to be taking its sweet time going away. What ensued became a veritable game of hide and seek that lasted for a good ten minutes, when at last I finally busted the suspect from the inside of my tent.
Mrs. Turtle, still playing hide and seek…
And on the following day I met the rest of the family. Two more were quietly strolling along the dirt road leading to my spot.
The morning got me to Albania and through the city of Shkoder. It is sad however to see the waste littering the road-side in poorer countries. As I came to Albania the first 30km where all about crusing among thrown plastic bottles, empty wrappers, beer cans… What could have been a pleasant ride turned out to be not so.
As I got to the city, I got engulfed into a bazar of shop keepers each asking for you to come over so you can buy their plastic baloons. I was more energized though by the sight of the mountains looming over on the horizon. And so, after a deliciously cold beer, I set off to their embrace.
I’d argue that a girl has seen worst tent spots. Indeed she has.
It is funny how some things never get old. Like eating pasta with the same old sauce with a splendid view under the cover of my tent. Or waking up on that same spot, for that matter. The second night in Albania however didn’t quite turned out as the first one.
No, despite a rather similar initial setup, it did not. I was fully devoted to my pastas when I heard someone coming along with his dog. I got out and greeted the newcomer. I then began to explain that I intended to camp and sleep there for the night. What ensued next turned into a mash-up between a comical imitation of a bear and a Slave harangue of which I didn’t understood a single word. Maybe one, but it was a Russian one. He seemed very emotionally involved in the whole thing though.
Overall what transpired from his speech was that bears were roaming around here (which I didn’t know), and that I should pitch my tent close to his house instead. Honestly, I’m hardly a beer expert when compared to some and even less so a bear one. Thus I decided on following the undoubtedly wise advice this toothless chap was energetically giving me.
The endless flow of Slave speech finally stopped when I agreed to come along. Thirty minutes later I get to his house, which was somewhere close-by, and set up my tent. As night began to fall and a colder air began to creep in (it was forecasted for 6 degrees Celsius for that night) he gave me a dubious side glance before pointedly asking how I’d keep warm under these conditions. I proudly showed him my sleeping bag. Apparently he was not impressed. Next thing I knew he went back to his house and came back with a bottle of spirits and two shots. To stay warm he said.
We gave a toast and he quickly drained his shot, bottoms up. I followed and he poured yet another full shot of spirit into my hands.
After some time (and a third shot, and a fourth which I didn’t drink) I finally got back to my tent and went to sleep, under the vigilant gaze of my guard for the night.
The next days got me through the mountains, and to some remote locations (breathtaking sceneries included).
The road led me up to the border to Kosovo from Albania. I had climbed a hard day to get there, camped close to it and figured I’d just go through. Except the guy refused to let me through because I was not a local. Despite my best efforts and smile, he didn’t care the least I had to climb up and could I please clear away so he could go finish his cigarette in peace?
I therefore went down the mountain, trying to enjoy the descent despite the bitter aftertaste such an encounter left me, so early after my morning coffee. And after a ride on the freeway and through the other border, I buried myself yet again in the mountains of Kosovo.
The country gave me some strange vibes to be honest. Some people where downright rude, some ecstatic at seeing me and really nice and helpful. But what bothered me the most was the absence of women in the villages I’d go through. I’d see men at the cafe, or maybe working or walking around. But for every woman I met I would see 15 men out there.
I haven’t been able to figure out the underlying causes of this phenomenon though because of the span of my ride through Kosovo. Indeed, only the day after I was through the border for Macedonia where I finally got to my current location: Skopje. A bed, a shower or two (or three) and a hostel where I can get some well deserved rest.
Also, for some of you who remember him, Javier, the Canadian guy with a funny French Quebecois accent with whom I cycled Southern Argentina, released his videos from our journey together on his youtube channel. Go check it out!
See you all next time!
With love,
Chloé and Mia
