Introduction
Albania
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| The Albanians, by Vilson Kilica et al. (1980), main façade of the National History Museum in Tirana |
There are so many stories about violence, drug gangs and pickpockets in Albania that I was a bit anxious to cycle in this country. Then I laughed at it all.
I loved Albania, its friendly people and the wild nature. I know that poverty is usually criminalized and clichés of the Balkans, including Albania, are a frequent showdown of unlawful activities. But I should know by now that it is a frequent bourgeois attitude to be afraid of those less fortunate than us. Western Europe is plagued by simplistic and overgeneralizing views, and many people are afraid of those in the poorer nations of the East.
Indeed, Albania is not the wealthiest of countries in Europe. It usually ranks among the bottom ten in GDP per capita rankings (in 2023, its GDP per capita was six per cent of that of Luxembourg). While the economic reports improve year after year, there is still a high dependance in agriculture-based industries.
Even if many Albanians are poor you see so great smiles on its roads. Cyclists are greeted, drivers honk encouraging them, many try to start a conversation in Italian or English. I was pleasingly surprised by the friendliness of the people Roadside chats started spontaneously th a query and a number of times finished with an invitation to a coffee. In the cities, curiosity could be read in the eyes of passers-by when they saw my loaded bicycle. Sometimes I was assaulted by groups of children asking questions and laughing at my weird appearance.
This country is a feast for cycling. Its narrow roads are not a problem because drives are generally careful, at least more careful than in South-East France and Croatia. I enjoyed very much the amazing landscapes of mountains, forests and rivers. I would like to come back to Albania and spend more time here among its wonderful people.
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| Near the Krrabë Pass |
Day 71: Bar (Montenegro) - Shkodër (Albania)
My expectations for today are rather low. I imagined heavy traffic, narrow highways and more crazy drivers. The cyclists online stories speak about wild dogs, thieves and a barrier of mountains to arrive to the level of Lake Shkodër.
After a good breakfast I start early to avoid the heat. It is cool and sunny now, and I take the highway towards Albania. On the way out of the city, without looking for it, I finally see the Old Olive Tree. Indeed, there are many old olive trees here. They are beautiful. They are solemn. They are eloquent.
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| Olive trees plantation on the road to Albania |
This is a neighbourhood road going up and up and moving away from the sea. I pass Dobra Voda (literally, "good water") and the landscape becomes rural. Almost no traffic, only a few cars coming in the opposite direction. There are plenty of flowers. Everything is so green.
The Orthodox churches give way to mosques and open Muslim cemeteries. Later the road joins the international highway at a junction. After a brief ride I am on the border. I jump the line of cars and I offer the passport to the control officer. She tells me with a smile, "Welcome to Albania".
Different language, currency, SIM card. The latter I find in a small roadside Vodafone shop a few kilometers after the border. The language is completely different to the Slavic Croatian and Montenegrin. It is one of the oldest surviving languages in the Balkans together with Greek.
The human landscape changes a great deal here. There are plenty of people on the road walking, cycling or driving cattle. Farmers work on the fields. Some beggars (the first one, a woman in the border crossing) ask for money. The houses and buildings are more precarious. People greet me, "Përshendëtje!" (hello!) grinning. I feel good here.
After crossing the wooden bridge on the Buna river I arrive in Shkodër. On Bulevardi Skënderbeu I see the entrance to Backpackers' Hostel "Mi casa es tu casa". The young receptionist smiles with a British accent, "Your wallet is my wallet". Inside is the typical crowd of pseudo-hippy young travelers and hikers chatting, sharing experiences, cooking, playing music. Lots of bicycles here. I overhear a conversation about how safe is to cycle in Albania. They say that drivers are used to sharing the highway with many cyclists and are very careful to avoid accidents. I go out to visit the city. I walk to a suburban quarter with impoverished buildings. There is a lot of people out in the streets. Children play football and laugh.
I like this place. Shkodër looks like a Latin American city. People say hello, they smile. They are thankful when I try to say a word quickly learned in Albanian.
Day 72: Shkodër - Tirana
Very quietly I leave the hostel after meditating and having breakfast downstairs (yoghourt, fruits, hot tea). Off I go... in the wrong direction! When I find the right way out of the city, houses and residential buildings are gradually replaced by the countryside. A good number of agricultural fields are bright green with the recent springtime showers. When the highway is getting too trafficky, Lady G shows me the way out through quiet back roads with almost no cars and great views. One road connects with the next one up to Lehze.
I stop in a highway restaurant for a coffee break. The woman asks, "Albanese coffee?" She brings a minute cup with what until now I called Turkish coffee. I find very curious this nationalization of the same type of coffee by Albanians, Greek, Turkish, Syrians, Lebanese, Egyptians and others. Coffee beans were first domesticated in Harar region, in Ethiopia, and apparently they were first roasted and brewed in Yemeni Sufi shrines. From there, coffee expanded to the Middle East and North Africa, and later to Europe and the world. Coffee, as well as chocolate or maize, have no passport or citizenship. But humans are rather peculiar beings who feel the need of security falsely provided by national identities.
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| Agriculture fields near Lehze |
Another minor road leads me to a junction and later to near Tirana airport. Then I ride through urbanized areas and the capital suburbs. The streets are quite crowded. At this time, groups of children are leaving the school and they greet me. A teenage boy shouts: "Motherfucker!" I stop and smile at him. The whole band comes to see the foreign cyclist. "Where are you from?" (in good English). "From Argentina". The first boy shouts again, "Argentina motherfucker!" and everybody laugh. Then come the common references: "Messi", "Maradona". (It is somehow a stigma for Argentineans that the only references everybody knows about the country are multimillionaire football players.) I ask their ages, twelve to fourteen. They tell me that today is a special day because usually the have classes until 3.30 P.M. One offers a bit of burek (byrek in Albania), which I gladly accept. Closer to downtown Tirana another group, this time of young girls, stop me and ask several questions, also in English. Their mothers come to rescue them.
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| Street art on the Kadare Museum's façade |
The city center, like my home city Buenos Aires, is happily chaotic. I also think on the Moroccan cities we visited with my son Jerry last September on a bike tour. I find a room to let for a reasonable price (25 euros) but outside there are works on the streets and it is rather noisy. The landlady, Kamilla, kindly offers a room in another place, which is nice and very quiet.
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| The Pyramid of Tirana (1988), originally designed as a museum dedicated to the dictator Enver Hoxha |
Tirana is a great and noisy capital. Different styles can be seen in the buildings and monuments from the Fascist and Soviet grandiloquent periods. There are also some houses from the Ottoman period. It is a dynamic, sometimes chaotic, place. But the rhythm is tropical. Everything takes time. A coffee, half an hour. Buying fruit, forty minutes. To find a bike shop... almost an hour! There are protests against corruption in front of the City Hall at Skanderbeg Square. The atmosphere is festive and high-spirited but the dark presence of fully-armed police is impressive. I feel at home here.
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| Tirana police bracing for protests |
Day 73: In Tirana
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| Bas relief on the main façade of the Prime Minister's Office, Tirana |
Cast skies today, it is softly raining. I decide to stay one more day. I read that Tirana is one of the most humid and sunniest cities in Europe (it is just wet now).
The National Museum of History and the National Art Gallery are not opening to the public today. I visit the Bunk'Art Museum, near the Skanderbeg Square. About three quarters of a million bunkers were built in Albania during Enver Hoxha's paranoiac rule. These bunkers have become a national symbol, with tourist shops selling souvenirs in the shape of bunkers.
The Bunk'Art Museum has been built as an atomic bunker. It is dedicated to the Communist period and to the daily lives of Albanians during the regime. The bunker was meant to accommodate the minister of internal affairs during a nuclear attack, but it was never actually used. The museum has three large sections: 1912-1939 (from Independence to World War II); 1939-1944 (from the Fascist Invasion to Liberation); and 1944-1991 (about the "Sigurimi" or secret police service during Dictatorship). Some of the exhibits include Following and Surveilling, Photography Manipulations, The Surveillance of Foreigners, Internments and Banishments, The Camps with Barbed Wire, The Prisons and Labour Camps, Death Sentences and those who went missing.
The degree of sensitivity derived from recent history in present-day Albanian society is significant. It can be measured by the fact that the so-called Sigurimi Files are still closed to public scrutiny.
When I get out of (actually up) the museum, an anachronistic metaphor is offered by the riot police forces in full gear in front of yet another protest against political corruption. I walk up to the Archaeological Museum. The collection is interesting but is deceptively small.
I have a great kebab plus Albanian (as it is announced) coffee at Skanderbeg Square with Kamilla and her daughter. During the Communist period her family was not very affected. But her husband's family lost houses and other properties that were never returned. I asked her if anyone she knows about was ever imprisoned or harassed. "Only spies and the people against Albania were imprisoned. ... In any case that's something of the past and people should turn the page now. ... We have a brilliant future right there, especially when we join the European Union". Perhaps not everybody in Albania shares her position.
Then I go to Rruga Kemal Stafa to visit the bike shops. Like in Istanbul, bike shops concentrate here on this street to sell bicycles and spare parts. One can see hundreds of bikes on sell on the sidewalks. I ask for someone who speaks English and they send me to Niko's shop. He is busy repairing a bike in his workshop. He complains that everybody wants their bike for today. Most people in Albania ride bicycles as a means of transportation because cars are expensive and public transport are scarce and not trusted (though I have seen very fine Chinese buses in the city).
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| Rruga Kemal Stafa |
I ask Niko what is the best way to reach Lake Ohrid and North Macedonia. "Very easy. Just drive to Elbasan, then up to Ohrid. There you can choose to go north to North Macedonia or south to Greece". I tell him that I am not driving a car but cycling. "You are crazy guys. Bikes are to go to work. Just take a bus or ask a driver!" Some friends or colleagues come in and Niko tells them about my plans. Everybody laughs and joins in the conversation. I go out to have an early dinner.
Day 74: Tirana - Elbasan
Today I will ride up the mountains southeast of Tirana to Krrabë Pass on the old highway to Elbasan. Lady G is planning a climb of about 1000 meters and then going down to the Shkumbin valley. It will serve as a warmup for the climb to North Macedonia.
Getting out of Tirana is Lady G's flawless job this morning. I find the way through sleeping streets first in the city and then through wealthy suburbs. Construction here is at its height, with many compounds being built for the prosperous families in the city. Glossy golf courses, private clubs and five-stars hotels are the complements to the luxury villas and townhouses.
New buildings are also being prepared for the private schools: Tirana International School, World Academy of Tirana, New York Schools, Ecole Française de Tirana, Deutsch-Albanische Schule (except for the later school, the names are not posted in the Albanian language). Here, as it happens in Latin America, private education became a profitable side business to real estate. It also appeals to the upper- and middle-classes with the idea that, to be successful, children must be proficient in English or other major European languages.
Construction goes at a faster pace than the map updating for the GPS devices. All of a sudden, I am on a dirt road beside a large construction site. It is quite muddy because of the recent rainstorms, and it is difficult to advance. I push the bike. I get lost. I find the way but I see myself going up a busy motorway! I go back to a roundabout and after some enquiries I finally find the start of Elbasan's old road.
I am now climbing on a nice highway surrounded by peaceful forests, with some roadside weekend houses and restaurants, all of them closed at this early hour. A massive sculpture in typical Communist art fashion appears to the right of the highway. It represents a monumental right hand gripping a gun (it should have been more appropriate for the artist to depict the model's left hand). The road sometimes goes through bridges under the motorway. The passageway walls are decorated with graceful graffiti and colourful paintings, most of them with feminine figures.
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| Post World War II anti-fascist monument |
This place is really nice, green and with lots of flowers. But Lady G now insists on a detour. I take a road going down to the valley. A few hundreds meters later I am thinking that I am not on the right way and maybe I would need to climb all this distance back to the main road. I stop a driver, who tells me that if I continue downwards I will have to go through the motorway tunnel to Elbasan. I return up to the old road.
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| Old Road to Elbasan |
An aged woman wearing a traditional head scarf is shepherding goats. Her big smile shines on the morning light. The highway goes up to the Krrabë Pass on a deserted landscape of mountains and loquacious trees telling me about the old glories and afflictions of the Albanian people. The ascent is rather steep. The views are stunning. I sometimes feel I am the only human here, surrounded by all types of mountain beings. I listen to the inner voices between the trees. The dead people are ringing. My father, cautiously warns of the possible dangers on the road. My sparkling mum and my younger sister Valeria, they are thrilled with my adventure. They try to tell me something. I smile to them.
The cycling champion Bilal Agalliu smiles back from a roadside memorial. This Albanian champion came first eleven times in the Cycling Tour of Albania between 1954 and 1965.
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| Memorial near the Krrabë Pass |
I arrive at a deserted restaurant on the Krrabë Pass. A woman is cleaning the floor. She offers a coffee. She doesn't speak English and my Albanian is limited to a couple of words. She speaks Italian though and we can thus communicate a little. She says that today is a good day to visit here because on the weekends it is too crowded (I guess she refers to the restaurant). Many aged people in Albania speak Italian fairly well. There is a rich history of relations between the two countries, and thousands of Albanians live or have family living in Italy. Young Albanians prefer to learn English as a foreign language.
After the break I start the way down to Elbasan. It is a long zigging and zagging descent with magnificent views of the valley. I see a lonely hiker walking alongside the road. He says hello and we chat for a while. He is from near Denver, Colorado (USA), and today he is planning to wild camp in the mountains over Elbasan. He warns about the wild dogs of Albania and Macedonia. It is not the first time I hear about them but until now I din't have any major canine encounters. I ask him what is his strategy in case of attacks by aggressive dogs. "I speak to them. I tell them that I enjoy their company and then ask them to let me alone". He says he has never been aggressed after his dog conversations. I resume my descent to Elbasan.
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| Elbasan from Krrabë Pass |
After asking about room prices in a couple of places I decide to stay at Elbasan Backpackers Hostel. When I find it, I ring the front door bell and a young volunteer receptionist opens the door and welcomes me in good English. "Where are you from?" When I tell him I am from Argentina he exclaims, "Ché boludo, ¡y qué hacés hablando en inglés!". There are two Argentineans, two Brazilians and a Mexican-American in the hostel. Later arrive people from Taiwan, Germany and France. The hostel is located in the city suburbs. It is a nice small construction with a shared room in the center of a beautiful garden and an orchard, with hens and goats rambling freely. The staying here is surprisingly inexpensive (eight euros), including a good breakfast prepared by Fatima, the host. I have a great time speaking with the other guests.
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| Playing music with Nathan Phillips (left) and friends at Backpackers Hostel, Elbasan |
Day 75: In Elbasan
It rained during the night and will most likely rain the rest of the day.
Elbasan is a medium-size city. Its name comes from Ottoman Turkish and means "flat fortress". Later in the Communist period, it has been a center of industrial development owing to the Chinese-built metallurgical complex.
There are some Orthodox and Catholic churches and many mosques. I visit Elbasan Castle entering through its southern gate. The King Mosque is one of the oldest in Albania. It was built in the fifteenth century and it is an example of the classical Ottoman architecture.
The Ethnographic Museum is closed today. I speak to three men sipping from their coffee at the park in front of the museum. One of them has been a teacher and has a good level of English. The other two speak Italian. They are swinging their misbaha or subha (beads) on a skillful way. I show them my own misbaha but they don't look especially interested. I have seen misbahas in Greece (komboli) and Turkey (tasbih), and now in Albania, where it is called tespih. As in the Catholic tradition of the rosary, the misbaha is traditionally used to count prayers. But now many people use them just to calm nerves, to relieve stress, to pass the time or even to beat a smoking habit.
Waiting for the good weather. I have a great conversation with Nathan Phillips, a Mexican-American seasoned traveler who has hiked over 42,000 kilometers in more than 102 countries and visited more than 4,000 towns around the world. Nathan walks during hours and hours, usually off the beaten roads. He carries few things, including a small guitar. He is a songwriter in English and Spanish. he sings ballads, corridos and rancheras skillfully accompanying with the guitar. He comes from a family of missionaries in Latin America and he defines himself as non-believer.
Nathan is a modest person of unassuming appearance. He never boasts about his extraordinary travel experience. He is a good listener and the conversation with him is very pleasant. His blog The 200,000 Kilometer Hike, includes unique texts and photos about his visits in North and Sub-Saharan Africa, the Caucasus, Europe, Asia, the Americas and the Caribbean.
With a sense of urgency similar to that of Claude Lévi-Strauss in Brazil's Matto Grosso, Nathan feels the need to record his perceptions of a period in which
"the global camaraderie might be short lived. ... This website is to share some of the memories of this beautiful era. When one could pull out a guitar in a public place in a town he'd never been to before, and connect with local folks through music. One could just walk from town to town across an entire country, undisturbed. Explore civilizations along ancient riverways. Hear people's stories and learn how they are adapting to these changing times" (from Nathan Phillip's website).
Day 76: Elbasan - Lin
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| Roadside hay stacks near Ohrid |
This is perhaps the most feared day in my journey. I have been reading cyclists' accounts and studying the map of the road up to Lake Ohrid, which is shared by Albania and North Macedonia. The SH3 national highway climbs 1200 meters during 66 kilometers, with the hardest ascent on the last ten kilometers before the arrival at the lake. I didn't sleep well yesterday night, and my bad dreams were not totally unrelated to today's challenge.
I started from the hostel after a good breakfast prepared by Fatima. The highway runs along River Shkumbin, with an abandoned railroad on the left. It is windy but the weather is fine. Sometimes the traffic becomes heavy, but truck and car drivers are as usual quite respectful.
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| The Shkumbin river |
I am now on the track of the ancient Via Egnatia, which I will follow many times in Albania, North Macedonia, Greece and Turkey up to Istanbul. This major Roman road was built in the second century B.C. by orders of Gnaeus Egnatius, proconsul of Macedonia, and it linked colonies from the Adriatic Sea to the Bosphorus. Among the well-known travelers who used the Via Egnatia were the generals Julius Caesar and Pompey, Mark Antony and Octavian, the Apostle Paul and the emperor Trajan. During the Byzantine period, almost all overland trade with western Europe traveled along the Via Egnatia. The Crusader armies and later the Ottoman forces followed the same ancient road in opposite directions.
After twenty-five kilometers, in Librazhd, the landscape becomes more interesting. Always following the Shkumbin river, the highway gets into remarkably beautiful wild forests and fields. But the fun starts right after Prrenjas. After some improvised carwash stations, the road starts climbing through what looks from far as an impossible barrier up to the heights of Lake Ohrid. Switchback after switchback the route goes up 980 meters in 10 kilometers of a steep rise. There are some sections of ten or more per cent gradient. I recall Bulfin's sober narrative of his cycling tour of Ireland in the early twentieth century: "It would be easier and safer work, of course, if your bicycle had a pair of wings, and if you had fourteen or fifteen lives; but even with an ordinary wheel and one life it is grand" (William Bulfin, Rambles in Eirinn, 1907, p. 34).
The traffic now is medium to heavy, with a good number of trucks going up at slow speed. But I feel safe because the road is wide, with a generous shoulder, and most drivers respect the distances and advance slowly when they overtake me.
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| Lake Ohrid from Qafë Thanë |
I finally reach the highest point in Qafë Thanë. I am happy because I didn't need to push the bike up to here. Shortly after, there is the junction with the highway going north to Struga in North Macedonia, and straight to Lin still in Albania. I stop at the beautiful Hotel Camping Lin and pitch the tent behind the hotel, with an awe-inspiring view of the lake. Before sunset, I celebrate with a gorgeous dinner in the restaurant terrace. Although it is not the same species, the flavour of grilled trout makes me think about the many good moments with my father and family camping and fishing in the lakes of Patagonia.
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| Lin lakeside village |
