Bosnia and Herzegovina

Bosnia and Herzegovina have a small corridor of land linking to the ocean, and we crossed that on our way to Sarajevo, meaning we actually returned briefly to Croatia before making our third and final crossing for the day! Some minor drama with people hitching across, and we turned inland, winding up a valley surrounded by mountains.

During a brief stop at Mostar, the Belgian hiker W gave us a quick run down about landmines in the region. Apparently they were sown along the lines and thus mark the ethnic divisions pretty accurately.

Arriving in Sarajevo we sussed out the train station, then walked into town and met our CSer O, who owns the oldest bar in Sarajevo.

O told us that during the 1300 day siege of Sarajevo (nearly a year longer than in St Petersburg during WWII), the only way into the city was through a tunnel under the airport. Alcohol was extremely hard to come by, and he opened a bar overlooking the front with a single bottle of cognac. 3 years later the war ended, 4 years after that he no longer ran the only club in Sarajevo, and 7 years after that the front his club had faced was declared 98% mine free. O bought a block of land and started building a house. Since then he has found only 3 more mines during earthworks...

(We later found that in the coastal village of Zadar, locals have been removing warning signs as they frighten away tourists.)

Three years after that we left his bar at 2am and sped up the mountain to see the incredible house he was building there. Three floors, rough hewn timber members, heat insulation, unmortared brick floor, heaps of space, outdoor eating area, and the great view the Serbs had over the city for four years as they failed to capture it.

Next morning O made us an awesome breakfast before we walked to a nearby destroyed fort surrounded by uncleared mines and inhabited by a herd of goats. O told us the standard procedure if you find an unexploded mine; hide it on the enemies' position... He also told us the Bosnian technique for surviving winter with only a single bag of coal. Three times a day, pick up the bag and carry it around the yard.

Fortified by a lunch of cevapi, we explored the old town, a mix of Ottoman and Christian styled single story shops, interspersed with (drinkable) fountains, mosques, and "Sarajevo stars" caused by exploding shrapnel.

We also visited the Latin bridge, from which Franz Ferdinand (and his wife) was shot and the first world war started nearly 100 years ago.

We returned to O's club, outside which he parks his car unlocked, and said our farewells. A short (45 minute) walk across town via a bakery to the station. In the foyer we met B and L, two sisters from England with backpacks and seeping paranoia.

An experienced traveller at their hostel told them to expect pickpockets, cutthroats, corrupt police and harassment on any international overnight service. We teamed up to occupy a 6 person couchette compartment, and spent much of the evening swapping stories and Bosnian/Turkish sweets. I leveraged my enthusiasm for trains to optimize the functionality of the folding seats, and with no additional drama we crossed the border only two hours behind schedule at 3am.

UPDATE: Photos.

Croatia, part 1.

Crossed the umpteenth border, this time into Croatia. The road wound along the side of some absurdly steep coastal mountains before plunging beneath a modern cable-stayed bridge and spitting us out in Dubrovnik.

We negotiated a cheap room for the night, then headed into the city; red tiles beneath shining blue skies.

Once an independent naval city state to rival Venice, and despite bombardment in 1991-2, Dubrovnik is exceptionally well preserved. A number of fountains spurt drinkable water, stone buildings line narrow and often steep stone car-free streets, surrounded by a complete ring of well maintained walls. We visited the history museum in the rector's palace, the ethnographic museum in an old and cavernous granery, and the maritime museum in one of the old forts. Dubrovnik continues today as an active port with associated cargo ships, though the old harbour is now mostly marina.

Not for the first (or last) time, a group of tourists approached me and started speaking in Russian. I haven't shaved in a while, but I also haven't given directions in Russian for ages. Still, the language is related to the Slavic Balkan dialects, and my vocabulary concerning travel is the least incomplete.

After bread and ice cream we visited the beach. Lots of fish, a ruined jetty, a deep sea cave, and a gorgeous girl quotient approaching unity.

Past an active looking church to a restaurant for dinner. Spring rolls for entree, home made gnocchi with smoked salmon sauce for main (J had goat cheese ravioli Victoria (white sauce, truffle oil, shrimp and mushrooms)) and a chocolate soufflé for dessert came in at less than 15 euros, with an incredible sunset over the Adriatic as a bonus side dish.

Next day we climbed the walls which encircle the city for a series of incredible panoramic views, then had lunch at a street cafeteria in the old town; I had fish, J had mussels.

Back to the bus station, chatted with some girls from Germany and a guy from Belgium. We were off, winding on rollercoaster roads towards Bosnia and Herzegovina.

UPDATE: Photos.

Montenegro, or Crna Gora to the initiated.

Just as Albania is known as Shqiperi to Albanians, Montenegro is actually called Crna Gora, which means the same thing.

We crossed into Montenegro at about 11pm. Soon after crossing the border the bus pulled over for a third 45 minute break, thus ensuring we were 2 hours late to meet our CSer in Podgorica, as well as adequate business for the driver's cousins' pizzerias. On the upside, it was dark enough to get a great look at Jupiter and the pliades.

At about 2am we rolled into Podgorica, met our CSer A and his lovely wife, and promptly passed out. Next morning we got up, said goodbye, and wandered around the city. It has a nice river between parks and is spanned by the sort of bridge used for QC by the designers of Solidworks.

I traumatized yet another waitress by asking for a hot chocolate without milk, and got a glass of hot chocolate syrup - perfect!!

Back at the bus station we got a bus to Kotor with 5 minutes to spare, and enjoyed a spectacular ride through the mountains down to the sea through the southern-most fjord in the Northern Hemisphere. Kotor is built at the head of the fjord between bare rock walls scaled by quasi ruined fortifications reaching to the skies.

At the Kotor bus station I availed myself of the facilities. Like most such places in South Eastern Europe it was a pay-by-use affair. Unlike parallel examples in Turkey or Greece, which are in general spotless, the money paid here appeared to go toward neither maintenance nor cleaning. It's not every day one gets to sit in a stall with the object of one's high fiber diet smeared on every wall, so I appreciated the (hopefully) unique character of the place.

That aside, Kotor was well worth a walk around on the walls and poking around the marina and old town. Soon enough we had to take a bus onwards to Herceg Novi, a town in a similar style whose name means, literally, New Castle. =P

The road wound around the shore of a series of bays dotted with wooded and churched islands, yachts, and filled with shiny blue Mediterranean water.

At Herceg Novi we found a cheap place to stay (with bonus two year old), then headed for the beach. A rather large town of some tens of thousands, a corniche was formed of the former railway corridor. Most of the shore was concrete platforms rather than stone beaches in the communist fashion.

We found a place bathed in afternoon light, and jumped in. The water was nowhere near as clear as the Greek Islands, and somewhat shallower. A few dives cleared up some worrying sinuses, and then we had to climb back onto the platform with a minimum of cuts and scrapes.

We dined at a local place and had the usual healthfood option of fried meat and potatoes. We walked back via Internet and a good view over the old and new cities.

Next morning we woke early, headed to the bus station and got a ticket to Dubrovnik in Croatia. The bus was filled with Russians, and I had a ham sandwich for breakfast.

UPDATE: Photos.

Kosovo, Europe's youngest country

Cruising past a set of enormous and empty factories marked yet another relatively uneventful border crossing, this time into Kosovo. Kosovo is Europe's youngest country; internationally recognized in 2008.

Exceptionally regular readers will recall that I was, in fact, in Belgrade for most of Tuesday January 7th 2008, which is, coincidentally, Serbian Orthodox Christmas. On that day I noticed a lot of graffiti which said variations of 'Kosovo is Serbian forever'. I also ate lunch at a McDonalds restaurant in the center of town.

Kosovo is a region which is seen by Serbs as the cradle of Serbian culture, and is the site of monasteries, monuments, and graves. About a hundred years ago, Albanian migration rendered Serbs a minority in the region. During wars in the 1990s (featured in the movie "Behind Enemy Lines") Serbia attacked Albanians in the region (and vice versa), until Clinton authorized a NATO strike on Belgrade, forestalling an attempted genocide.

About four weeks after my visit to Belgrade, Kosovo seceded from Serbia, and the McDonalds was torched by an angry crowd.

Today, the political situation has stabilized to the point that travelers might only encounter entrance stamp shenanigans with certain border crossings.

Against this backdrop we drove on a reasonably smooth road to the capital, Prishtina. Upon arrival, bus schedules out forced us to choose; half an hour or 24 hours in the city?

We set off up Bill Clinton boulevard towards the city center. About half way there we saw his statue as well as a three story high picture of him. We walked up the rather nice center plaza and found a guesthouse in which to stay. That evening we availed ourselves of superior purchasing power through fine dining, and J continued his sojourn through the world of Balkans beer.

Next morning we ventured to the Route 66 Diner opposite the UNMIK headquarters in the New Born part of town. I ate a half-pound 'fatburger' in another (unsuccessful) attempt to stop getting skinnier as we watched an endless procession of UN 4WDs cruising past.

We spent the rest of the day wandering through various neighborhoods. Highlights include the university campus with an architecturally interesting library and a barbwired shell of a church, and a series of nice mosques and monuments in the northern end of town, between which hung photos of the more than 3000 people still missing since the war in 1999.

On our way out of town we saw a big concrete church adorned with banners of Agnes Bojaxhiu, also known as Mother Theresa. She was a Christian Albanian born in what is now Macedonia, but that didn't stop the international airport in (mostly Muslim) Tirana being named after her!

We made it to the bus station with minutes to spare, availed ourselves of a strong contender for 'world's worst bathroom', and took our seats.

We managed to find the bus equivalent of an 'exit row' with stupendous amounts of legroom. This extra space allowed room for swarms of mosquitos to descend in perfect formation through the stagnant, stifling atmosphere, while our remaining senses were assaulted by a loop tape of terrible, terrible local music videos.

As the bus ground up a picturesque mountain range towards the Montenegrin border, we were rewarded with a spectacular sunset. An interesting day.

UDPATE: Photos.

Macedonia and the end of my 24th birthday

We crossed the border into Macedonia with the four backpackers, who quickly flagged down a passing car and hitched a ride to Ohrid. We turned left off the main road at the first opportunity and descended back towards the lake. We walked past a church, a barn, a combine harvester (!), and down a road to St Naum's monastery, built at the site of the afore-mentioned springs that bubble up in the region, forming a short but rapidly flowing river that feeds the lake. We met a few travelers on the shore; 2 girls from East Germany, an artist from Kosovo, and a couple from Poland with whom we exchanged our Albanian money, chatted, skimmed rocks (record: 17), and watched the sun set over the lake. J bought me a burger for a birthday dinner and we ate in the company of two girls from Vienna. Though one was a med student, both were chain smokers!

We took the last bus to Ohrid, and considered spending the night at that lakeside town. At the bus station, however, we made a 10 minute connection to an express to Skopje, and with minimal drama found ourselves in the large, well organized concrete bus/train terminal of the Macedonian capital a quarter of an hour before midnight.

We walked across town and, guided by the world's worst map, found the 'Hostel Hostel', in which we availed ourself of free tea, checked email, and I spent a while parrying birthday wishes on Facebook.

Next morning we tip toed from the dorm, showered, ate some pie for breakfast, then wandered into the city. In the main square is an enormous poster of Alexander the Great, and we crossed the stone bridge towards a series of enormous building sites. In the adjacent old town we saw some beautiful mosques, the kale fortress, and the old market, complete with drinking water fountains, baths, a caravanserai, a locked section for valuables called the bezestan, and many other wonders.

We found an eatery under a tree and feasted on the traditional dish of tavche gravche, which consists of beans cooked with spices in a terra-cotta pot, all wrapped in a great name.

Sated but not yet supinated we returned to the bus station, spent our last denars, and spent most of the next leg to Prishtina (Europe's youngest capital city) chatting with L, a veteran couch surfer from San Francisco, and the only other person we've met who has taken a similarly minimalist approach to packing.

Photos by October... I promise!

UPDATE: Photos.

Albania and the best birthday ever!!

After a reasonably ruthless 10 days in Greece, J and I were ready to kick back and relax a bit.

Fortunately our insane schedule prevented such slacking off, and before long we were waiting at the Greece side of the border while Albanians, evidently much keener than us to return home after shopping trips, continually cut the line. We walked 200m of no man's land, crossed the Albanian border without incident, and were immediately accosted by half a dozen minivan (fulgon) drivers, who had about 10 teeth between them. Thus we made it to Gjirokaster, a UNESCO listed town in the south of Albania, of which we saw very little.

Soon we found a connecting fulgon to Berat and left in a cloud of dust, garbage, and quivering steel reinforcing. Thus it was that we got our first view of Albania through a moving window. We had been warned to avoid the fulgons in favour of buses, as the vans are operated by Albania's allegedly-organized criminal networks...

While the drivers evidently knew each bump of the road personally, we were surprised to see carwashes (lavazho) every 10 meters or so along the road. Additional mirth was derived from the Albanian word for "for sale" (shitet) which appeared frequently on road side cars, trucks, buildings, and so on.

About half way the fulgon ground to a stop for a break. On the side of the road metal pipes emerged from the rock face, gushing with water that everyone enthusiastically gulped. Spring or cistern? I have no idea.

Soon we continued on. I should add that there was no real concept of 'sides of the road', particularly exciting while passing trucks and buses on winding mountain roads.

But we were too busy looking out. People rode cows and donkeys along the road which, to be fair, was partially rebuilt, and partially non-existent. Donkey drawn carts also shared the road, laden with hay, vegetables, strings of onions sold on the roadside, and family members. Fields were harvested with scythes and dotted with haystacks.

About halfway to Berat the haystacks were replaced with antiquated oil wells, and the air with something to which, I imagine, the fish in the Gulf of Mexico have become accustomed.

Also dotting the country side are hundreds of thousands of randomly placed mushroom-like prefabricated concrete gun emplacements. Their construction consumed the national budget during the communist years.

Perhaps the strangest thing I saw was the proliferation of scare crows, one of which was hung from the roof of a petrol station!

After only a few instances of our fare being 'bought' by another fulgon going in the relevant direction, we arrived in another UNESCO listed town called Berat. Preserved for its unique blend of Albanian, Ottoman and Greek architecture, it had many, many windows. The Muslim quarter was decorated with a selection of mosques, all connected by narrow cobbled streets and a few bridges crossing the river to the Christian quarter.

J and I bumped into a couple of Czech backpackers who recommended us a very nice guest house. J negotiated the deal in broken Italian, then we set off for a walk through the town. Gradually my usual travel feelings of paranoia seeped away. I am by no means rich, but it's surprising how little is needed to remind me just how wealthy I am. Even if, hypothetically, I was totally broke, my health and education are still priceless (though non-tradeable) commodities in some even European countries.

We found a net cafe which had wireless eeePCs for 5c/hour. I left J after finishing my Internet and went for a walk up the hill, discovering the third quarter; a well preserved medieval town within the hill-top fortress. At the citadel I had a great view of the town and spent about 30 minutes clambering over the ruined battlements in the dark. Fortunately there were not too many hidden precipitous drops!

Back at the town I chatted with the Czech couple over Albanian wine and olives, wrote my journal to the strains of the first organ symphony of Vierne, and went to sleep. But not before the clock struck midnight and I turned 24.

While lacking much of the transition and indulgent adventuring of my 22nd year, 23 was highly successful in its own way, marking the commencement of grad school in a new country and the writing of a new chapter in my life. Regular readers may agree that 23 was not entirely devoid of adventure either!

Next morning we woke to a complimentary breakfast from our wonderful host (details on request) and wandered to the bus station to find a lift to Elbasan. We worked out that the 9:30 bus had been delayed until 11 due to low patronage. Fortunately we ate a rapid breakfast, as the bus left at 10:45. After a slow, hot, dusty and extremely authentic journey we arrived in Elbasan and found a connecting fulgon to Pogradec. We fare-swapped at a roadside spring, then climbed a crazy road over a pass to see Ohrid lake below us. Not only is it at 750m above sea level, it is fed by spring waters that flow under a mountain from an adjacent lake in Macedonia. The surface was smooth, shiny, and blended with the horizon in a very Baikal way. We walked along the shore from Pogradec towards the Macedonian border about 5kms away. We were picked up by a couple of unlicensed French-Albanians in Pogradec on holidays who drove us a bit closer and, after dropping us off, backed into a signpost!

At the border we met four Aussie/Kiwi backpackers on their way from everywhere to everywhere. Before long we had left Albania behind. Although I was not entirely immune to its many charms, crossing that border was one of the best birthday presents I have ever received!

UPDATE: Photos.

Greece!

The ferry ploughed the Aegean towards Greece. Soon we were standing in a new country. J and I walked north from the town past a series of ruined windmills to a rock beach. J went for a swim with some local teenagers, I snoozed! A bus back into town and we met some fellow travelers for dinner. T and A were interns in Turkey from Germany and Serbia respectively. Soon, it was time to board the ferry. We met two more travelers trying to hitchhike back to Poland without money! J and I slept on the roof for a better view of stars and freezing wind.

Next morning we docked in the charmless Athenian outpost of Piraeus. We made our way into the city and rushed up the Acropolis before the hordes consolidated. Later that day we could barely see the mountain at all for the surfactant tourist coating! We also saw the new Parthenon museum, had a nice lunch, and disturbed a phalanx of waiters by charging and using my phone for Internet in the cafeteria.

That evening we saw students occupying a university building in the city, and the parliament guards doing funny stuff. We took a sleepy tram to the water front and met E, our CSer. After dropping our stuff we made up for not eating much since Chios by eating 3 amazing souvlakis each, followed by a walk along the beach in the sunset.

Next day we woke early and took public transport for about 5 hours to get to Delphi. Highlights of the trip included a 10 minute run to catch a bus! The trip out also showed us many new wind generators installed all over Greece. From modern Delphi, we had an incredible view over a valley of olive trees to the water, many miles away. The Delphi museum is filled with treasures from the site, mainly gifts from kings as distant as Pergamum seeking priority in receiving an oracle. The site is large and full of rocks. Occupying a shelf half way up the mountain, the main sanctuary is thought to be built at the intersection of two fault lines, which in ancient times permitted the evolution of a unique spring where chemical reactions liberated ethylene. The priestesses became intoxicated and mumbled; a nearby priest wrote some fairly non-committal prediction. Springs still exist in the region, but drinking from them produced no unusual effects.

Waiting for the bus we met three interesting people. A Greek man and his Mexican pen-friend/Spanish interlocutor/wife, and her friend. J had a good chat in Spanish!

Back in Athens we ate Kalamaki for dinner, packed, and prepared to leave.

Next day we were aiming for the Kifisou bus station, but got lost. In the process we found a Russian supermarket and bought some biscuits for breakfast. I chatted to the girl working there in my basic Russian, but evidently said the right thing because we were gifted with two ice creams!

Dodging aggro beggars at the bus station we headed for the Isthmus, and were rewarded with a view of the Corinth Canal cutting the land in half.

We visited Ancient Corinth, which was pretty cool, and saw the pottery in their museum, which was extraordinary. We took a bus to Nafplio and spent the night watching castles, street performers, distant lightning, and yachts.

Next day was a long haul to Pyrgos on the opposite side of the Peloponnese. We met our CSer G, walked around the town, then got our Greek on by spending the entire evening in a coffee shop by the square talking with people. G told us crazy CSing stories about sleeping overnight in a room full of magic mushrooms under lights, and fare evasion by speaking in imaginary languages. He also told us about an expected hitchhiker from England who was spending a month in Greece, but already took 2 weeks to get from Thessaloniki to Athens! Apparently he came back to his Athens CSer, took off only one shoe then passed out for 18 hours from sheer exhaustion. He woke at 8pm the next day and said "I'd better go while it is still morning." =P

Next day we took the train to Olympia, a large and well preserved site. The museum in particular had some extraordinary remnants. J and I raced twice the length of the stadium, then indulged in some wrestling to even the score. There were nearly as many tourists as at the acropolis of Athens! In the evening we took a bus, ferry, and hitchhike to Sami, on the island of Kefalonia.

Kefalonia has had a number of large earthquakes in the last century, leveling nearly everything. Geographically, however, it is green and mountainous, ringed in crystal clear beaches, riddled with caves and mystery. That evening we walked to Antisamos beach, and swum in the evening light. I had brought goggles, and could see the bottom to a depth of 20m or so. Looking at it past my feet induced mild vertigo. Soon we were surrounded by fish of all different kinds. That evening we chilled by the docks and sipped our drinks.

Next day J headed for the beach, and I took a cab across the island to the low-lying Paliki peninsula. On the way I was rewarded with dozens of incredible views, including a mirror smooth Lefkadi gulf and lots of folded limestone. At Atheras Beach I went for a swim, enjoying a sandy beach. On the eastern side of the bay a spring coated the warm sea water in a layer of cold about 10cm thick, with an amazing filigree mixing zone in the sun. I walked up to Atheras, a strong candidate for the true location of the Homeric Ithaca, and met a girl in a shop who seemed to have walked straight from the pages of Captain Corelli's Mandolin, which is set on the island. All too soon it was time to bid Pelagia farewell and return to Sami. A walk along the beach was punctuated by the first storm of the season, and followed by a trip to the Melissani Cave, a flooded sinkhole cave with crystal clear brackish water flowing under the island. With rain falling through the roof hole it was pretty amazing. On the way back I met some Australians on a cruising regatta in ~50' yachts around the Adriatic sea. I turned a shade of green! That evening we compared notes, ate, drank, and prepared to leave.

Next day we took a ferry to Patras, about which it can be said that it has an amazing bridge. Otherwise, we found it cramped, busy, noisy and smelly. After a 2 hour wait, a bus left for Ioannina. The bus wound between ever-present wind turbines and mountains, while the radio proceeded to Rickroll us. We met our CSer Y (organized by J), walked through the Turkish fortress and around the lake before retiring for a pasta dinner (thus breaking the run of souvlaki) and watched a few episodes of 'Shameless', a rather questionable though hilarious TV show. Y had a frighteningly large computer monitor/TV, which was a stunning contrast to my broken iPhone screen on which I have been depending! J commented that only four days before we'd been at the beach in Nafplio!

Next day J and I left early to catch the bus to Kalambaka, chatting to two French backpackers we found on the way. At the town we were immediately confronted by enormous spires of rock that make the Meteora region famous. Between them we got a terrific echo effect, and watched a few brave slack-liners tackle the voids. J and I set off and in 4 hours managed to walk to all six publicly accessible monasteries, though we entered only St Barbara's. While small, it is an architectural gem, with many handmade fittings, access by rope basket, terrific iconography, and terrifyingly awesome views. J thought it would be a terrific place to survive a zombie apocalypse.

Back in Ioannina, Y took us up the mountain for a view of the lake, island, and sunset. We ate traditional food and drank traditional spirits as the sun set, and later heard some traditional (and rather strange) music.

Next morning we woke early then took off with Y towards the mountains; a series of stone-built villages strung out along the edge of an enormous canyon with the dawn breaking over the top. At the bottom, turquoise water spanned by ancient arched bridges. At the top, tiny houses and churches, interspersed with places selling coffee. Each house had a wooden door within a slate roofed gate, colourful windows, and a vegetable garden. Later we visited a monastery perching on the edge of a gorge about 1km wide and deep. Much deeper and narrower than the grand canyon, with echoes to match and impossible trees beginning to turn orange with autumn.

All too soon it was time to return, collect our bags, and buy a bus ticket to the Greek-Albanian border. As the bus wound through the mountains I demolished an enormous slice of chicken pie and prepared to leave Greece behind, for who knows how long?

UPDATE! Photos.