Country # 11: Serbia?!?!?

It makes you feel so welcome when you see a sign like this!

Borders and Melissa just don’t go together!!!!  I always have such a good laugh when I cross from one country to the next because it is never without an entertaining story.  In the 56 days I’ve been on the road, I’ve crossed 10 different borders in Europe and some have been very memorable, including today’s border crossing into Serbia!

A few days ago in my blog post, I explained my master plan to get across the Serbian border from Kosovo.  Since Serbia doesn’t recognize the Kosovo border as a legal entry point into Serbia, they will not accept anyone who has a Kosovo entry stamp in their passport.  My plan was to convince Kosovo authorities to not stamp my passport and show my Spanish residence card at the Serbian border.  I had asked around for some advice and this seemed to be the best way to attempt to enter the country.  Oddly enough, when planning my route through Serbia to go to Bulgaria, even Google Maps rerouted me through Kosovo, then Macedonia.

Of course, the stubborn and determined person that I am, an attempt to get through the Serbian border was much more enticing than back tracking along my previous route through Kosovo and Macedonia.  This morning, after my visit to The International Learning Group in Pristina, I set off east to Gjilan, then to the Serbian border. I found it odd that there were no signs in Gjilan to direct me to the Serbian border, which is only about 17km away.  The locals directed me to the road to Presevo, Serbia, and it was eerily empty.  The only cars that passed me had Serbian plates.  The road was a touch climb with an 11% grade for many sections.  I couldn’t complain because it was about 6 degrees Celsius outside and the climbing kept me nice and warm. 

When I finally made it to the top and the border I was surprised at the signs I encountered.  There were two identical signs 1000m and 500m from the Serbian border that read “You Are About to Enter Serbia- Turn Around.”  I couldn’t believe it!  Never had I seen such a sight and it was the creepiest feeling I had felt my entire trip.  When I got about 200 meters from the border there were people on the side of the road just sort of starring at me as I rode past.  It looked like they had just crossed the border and were waiting to be picked up and taken into town in Kosovo, or maybe they were waiting to cross the Serbian border, I couldn’t figure it out.  The closest town on either side of the border was 15 km.

Despite what the signs said, I proceeded (do you expect any less from me?). I had my Spanish/EU ID all ready to show the border.  First came the Kosovo crossing and the two men at the booth were completely shocked when they saw me roll up.  They asked for my ID and were surprised a “Spaniard” spoke such good English.  One of the guards got out of the booth to further inspect my bike.  He started sharing his interest and stories about biking and I realized I was being interrogated, but out of his own curiosity.  He was friendly, but I was getting a bit anxious as I could see the Serbian border just ahead and wanted to get on my way.  He finally wished me luck, I gave him a little business card for The Loong Way Home and I pedaled on to the Serbian booth. 

The Serbian officer asked for ID and asked where I was from.  I told him Barcelona as I gave him my residence card.  He studied it for a long time and eventually asked me if I had another form of ID, like a passport.  I handed him my passport and he flipped through the pages.  He kindly wished me happy birthday, which made me think my plan was going to work.  I continued to sit anxiously on my bike as he called over another border patrol and together they went back and forth in a confused sort of tone trying to figure out my Spanish ID.  By now there were about 4 cars behind me and they still didn’t know what to do.  Another officer came out of the booth from across the road and wanted to be informed about the situation.  He asked me where I had been, where I was going, and what I was doing on my bike.  I explained to him where I had been, and told him I was a teacher who visited schools and I had a school waiting for me in Presovo.  Of course that wasn’t true, but I thought it would help my chances of getting across.   Actually, the Serbian officers where quite nice as soon as they heard what I was doing and they were very interested in all the details of my trip, but they weren’t letting me pass.

Soon there was a good line of traffic behind me as the 4 border patrol officers examined my ID and they asked me to pull up and wait so other cars could pass.  They went back to the booth on the other side of the road with my ID and at this time the Kosovo border police who was fascinated by my trip had come over upon the requests of the Serbs because they needed a translator.  He was definitely on my side and let me know in English while the other Serbian officers were busy examining my documents.  He told me he was going to do everything he could to help, but that in fact, he was even violating the law at the moment because he and I were officially on Serbian soil and it was illegal.  He explained to me what I already knew about not being able to enter Serbia from Kosovo, and I told him that I had known this but was determined to get across.

Just when I thought there weren’t any more Serbian officers on the premises another Serbian patrol guard appeared who looked like the main “boss” of them all.  He fit the role of any sort of Hollywood military leader: tall, intimidating, spoke harshly, no English, never cracked a smile, and did not have a tender spot on him!  He was however, accompanied by a European Union officer which was a relief for me.  I was certain the EU officer would step up and over rule any decision the Serbs made and let me cross the border.  After all, isn’t the EU suppose to promote peace and help resolve conflict?

Unfortunately this EU officer didn’t say much, and he failed to convince the Serbian boss that my Spanish Residence card was indeed an official form of ID.  Again the boss went back inside his booth to try to determine if the Spanish ID was valid.  I do have a valid Spanish residence card as I just renewed it before my trip, but I’m not Spanish and I didn’t have a Serbian entrance stamp in my passport, that was the problem.  As I sat anxiously the crowd of officers all started asking me questions: How many kilometers I ride?  Why I ride alone?  Where is my family? Why on bike? I really should have invited them to my next school visit, but then again, crossing the border for them, might be difficult.  They were completely enthralled by a solo female cyclist and to tell you the truth, if it were up to them, they would have let me cross the border.  They seemed to support what I was doing, in fact, one of them volunteered another to come along with me.  However, it was the main “boss” who had the final word and when he reappeared, the Kosovo officer translated for him, telling me that I had to go back to where I came from and cross the border from Macedonia to enter Serbia.  I showed him my map, the temperature on my GPS (now 5 degrees Celsius) and showed him the 15 km of land that I wanted to pass through in Serbia and tried one last time.  My translator communicated this to him, but he didn’t take pity on me. I gave him a little Loong Way Home card with all my pride, I looked at him in the eyes and told him it was a shame that his country thought that a solo female cyclist who was visiting schools and cycling around the world was a threat to his country.

I could tell that all the other officers felt bad for me, but I quickly turned my bike around after being at the border for a good half hour, trying to keep my cool in front of them as I pedaled back to Kosovo.  Of course my immediate response was rage.  I wasn’t mad that I had 50 km to cycle from where I detoured, but I was enraged by the stupidity of politics and the fact that innocent people are always affected by the decisions a of few powerful people.  In a way I felt violated! I was the victim of a foolish and bitter decision made by some politician.  I could empathize with war victims and innocent civilians during a conflict because all they wanted to do was live their normal life.  Just as all these mixed feelings about nationalists, politics, and war started racing through my mind, a car pulled up next to me.  The window rolled down and a man said something about taking me to Gjilan.  I stopped, looked at my bike and his big SUV, and didn’t hesitate to accept his offer.  You know what?….This isn’t cheating, this is revenge!  I was going to have him drop me off where I detoured to go to the Serbian border and then pedal back as far as I can to the Macedonian border before night came. 

Ironically, his license plates were from Serbia.  From what I understood, he had seen me at the border and wanted to help out. Nagip was an Albanian-Serb who hardly spoke English, but during the short car ride he was able to explain to me a bit about the region and the Serbian conflict from the war. He wouldn’t let me set out on my bike again until he had treated me to a coffee.  So we had a coffee and set off again pedaling as fast I could to make the most of my day light hours.  How ironic was it that a Serbian and an American were enjoying each other’s company while our leaders couldn’t figure out how to do the same?

Nagip, an incredibly kind Serbian, unlike his country's border patrol.

So where am I exactly?  I made it to the Kosovo-Macedonian border after my attempt to cross the Serbian border.  Yes, I did step foot in Serbia, no I didn’t get a stamp, so country number 11: Serbia, is obsolete, it will have to be Bulgaria! Am I mad that my attempt to cross the Serbian border failed?  No way! I had a really interesting experience that definitely changed my perspective on the way I view 21^st century political conflicts.  I do hope that the Serbian boss is thinking twice about his decision to not let me through, and I hope that the nice Kosovo border patrol officer who translated for me and also liked to ride his bike emails me!   

Smooth Talking Border Patrol

Country #10, it might cause me a bit of a headache if I have to go the way I came to leave!

A border crossing basically involves showing your passport, maybe getting a stamp, and proceeding into the next country.  A simple routine procedure for most people, yet I’ve had some memorable and difficult border crossings on my long way home.

First there was the Spain-France border, no big deal because they are all part of the EU and you don’t even have to stop.  However, Vicens, decided to take me on the scenic route and after a long climb, there was an even longer descent on a narrow gravel road into Ceret, France.  The road was filled with pot holes and a storm rolled in, drenching us in water for 20 kilometers.  It was neither funny nor fun in the moment, but I look back now and laugh.

Crossing into Italy was uneventful, same with Slovenia.  However, I did a 40 km detour trying to get from Slovenia to Croatia.  I tried three different border crossings and even used the toll road border booth before I found an officer that realized there was no way for a non-EU passport holder to cross the border on a bike.

Coming into Bosnia was my first border crossing into a Non-EU country so I was caught a bit off guard.  I forgot that you have to be stamped out of the country you came from and stamped into the country of arrival.  I saw two different lines at the border, one behind the other, and I thought I would wait in the first line since it was shorter.  I must have been short on oxygen in my brain after all the riding because once I got stamped at the first booth, I simply detoured around the second booth.  My rationale for this was that there was no need to wait in the second line since I’d already been stamped.  Well, the Bosnian border police started yelling at me from inside the booth as they saw me pedal off and I shouted back, “I already went to the first booth for my stamp”.  Well, that didn’t cut it because they didn’t stop yelling at me, and it finally dawned on me,….I need a stamp for Bosnia too!  So I went back and got stamped and that was that. 

Now, every time there is a border crossing, I get a bit anxious and wonder what is in store for me at the crossing.  Today I left Macedonia (although I’ll be back) to go on a little detour up north to Pristine, Kosovo.  Entering Kosovo isn’t a problem, but if you try to enter Serbia from Kosovo, they won’t let you because Serbia doesn’t recognize Kosovo as an independent country. They think you’ve entered Serbia illegally and make you turn around and go back to Macedonia or another border country to enter Serbia.  I thought something was different when I  was using Google Maps to try to get from Kosovo to Bulgaria and they always had me back track through Macedonia.  Serbia doesn’t want to see a Kosovo stamp in your passport and the only loophole I’ve been told is to show them a EU residence card, especially one from Spain.  Spain doesn’t recognize Kosovo either  as an independent nation either because if they did, they would also have to also support the Basque country and Catalunya’s request to be an independent nation.  Politics,....I won’t go there, but they make traveling so much more adventurous!

I am stubborn and determined to find a way to enter Serbia from Kosovo in a few days.  In the kilometers leading up to the Macedonian-Kosovo border, I prepared my little speech for the border officers to request no stamping my passport.

As I handed my passport to Kosovo officials, I started to get a bit nervous.  As the officer saw the words, “United States of America” on the cover, a huge smile came on his face and a tone that expressed a sense of relief.  He said,  “Oh, you are an American!”  It was as if he was so glad to see me I could have asked him for anything, including a back massage. Now that the ice had been broken, I suddenly forgot the short formal speech I had prepared and I thad no problem explaining to him my plan for entering Serbia.  He briefly talked with his colleague and the two of them agreed that without a stamp it would be easier to get into Serbia.  I couldn’t believe how easily my plan had worked.  I was in Kosovo, country number 10, but didn’t have a stamp to prove it! I rolled into Kosovo with a huge boost of confidence, proud that my scheme for entering Serbia was running according to plan! 

On Thursday afternoon I head into Serbia, my plan is to first show them my residency card and speak Spanish, and if they ask for a passport, I will pull it out.  I don’t have a Serbian entrance stamp, but nor do I have a Kosovo stamp.  You might think I’m crazy, but I’m ready to take a chance on the Serbian border.  I will have to pedal an extra 50 kilometers if my plan fails, but I’m confident that I will get in. 

I truly believe that people treat you differently on a bike, especially if you are a solo female traveler.  In fact, I am certain there are countries in central Asia and The Middle East that would allow an American female cyclist cross the border without all the Visa requirements,……do I dare try?      

A Failed Attempt to Camp in the Wild

I'm sure one day it was a nice, beautiful country hotel

Okay, I have to admit that I’ve only ever free camped once! I know, ridiculous, because so many tour cyclists do it, yet, for some reason, I still haven’t.  The only time I camped in the wild was in Corsica, when I desperately tried to find a hotel or camping in a small town, but since it was off-season, I had no luck.  There was one hotel open but they wanted 60 euro, so camping in the wild was my only option.  I don’t even know if you can call it wild camping because I ended up behind a closed hotel, maybe 10m off the beaten track.  I couldn’t sleep well that night with all the noises I heard, I spooked myself out and thought everyone was out to get me.  In the morning I woke to rain, and I figured it was my punishment for camping in the wild!  I don’t know why, exactly, but I feel guilty not paying for a campsite.

There is something that entices me about a hot shower at the end of the day and cleaning up properly, whether it be at a camping or a hostel.  I like feeling clean and refreshed after riding my bike for 6 hours.  I have plenty of baby wipes, and I’m not bad at sponges bathes, but I have to admit, camping in the wild is a bit out of my comfort zone.  Not to mention I could probably spook myself out easily with all the noises at night and not sleeping much thinking someone will find me. If I were with someone else, I don’t think I’d think twice about camping in the wild, but alone, I tend to be more cautious.

Last night, I has the opportunity to free camp, but I miserably failed!  I knew I was going to be in an area with limited accommodations.  I had 205 km to ride in two days, no big deal for me, basically, it meant two days of a 100 km.  The complication was the fact that I was riding through a Mavrovo National Park in Macedonia and for 40km there weren’t very many services, and the last town before entering the park was 70km into my day, too little to do in one day, making too many km for the following.  I started the day, knowing that I would have a difficult time finding a proper place to spend the night,  but I proceeded with the route as a stubborn person would do, determined I would find something.  In the back of my mind, however, I was preparing myself for camping in the wild.  In fact at my lunch stop, 70 km into my day, I went to the grocery store and picked up some food for the evening just in case.  I also asked a few people in this local village if there were proper campsites or hotels and they recommended a beautiful hotel, called Hotel Tutto, 20 km up the road. 

By their description, Hotel Tutto sounded like a luxurious resort, and I knew it was going to be out of my price range.  However, for the next 20 km, I toyed with the idea of “treating myself” to the expensive hotel, after all, tomorrow was my birthday and I needed to celebrate in style in Macedonia.  While pedaling, I was also looking for campsites, trying to see if there were any good places off the road and well hidden.  However, the road followed a river and there wasn’t much of a bank to use for camping.  I was hopeful however, that in the same town of Hotel Tutto, there would be a cheaper alternative, and that kept me motivated while pedaling.  Soon, I saw the sign for Hotel Tutto and I was excited, knowing that I was close.  I had a pretty long day, the day before, coming into Macedonia, and I was ready to call it a day.  However, at the same time, I also had to go pee, which became a challenge, because there were hardly any hidden spots for me.  My focus all of a sudden shifted from finding the hotel to going to the bathroom and that is where I went wrong.  I found a place to go to the bathroom, but I was so fixated on that, I missed the sign advertising the turn-off for the hotel.  Of course I didn’t realize that at the time and kept pedaling excited to be within a few km of my destination.  A few km turned into 5, then 10, and no Hotel Tutto, and suddenly I realized I had passed it, but didn’t want to turn back. 

Ideas for passing the night started rushing through my head and as it was getting dark, I realized, that this really was going to be my night to camp in the wild.  However, just then, I saw what I thought was a bar, and a few men sitting outside.  I asked them if they knew of a hotel close by.  Basically the extent of my ability to communicate is saying a word in English that I think is universal and raising my voice a bit, to make it a question.  If I get desperate, I can draw pictures or make hand gestures, but in this case, the word hotel, in a high pitched voice worked.  They were my saviors, and told me there was one up the road, only about 3 km ahead.  I was saved!!!! How could I be so lucky???  I started to pedal faster, fixated on my bike computer so that I didn’t miss the hotel this time. 

A little over 3 km, some sort of national park monument and a decrepit hotel appeared, that unfortunately looked closed.  There was an old man out on the balcony and he saw me roll up.  I asked him if he had rooms and all he replied was “No water, no electricity.”  So I started pantomiming a tent, trying to ask him if I could just pitch my tent behind the run down building.  This is probably where I went wrong, because I should have just pedaled on and found a place to pitch it, but I thought I would be “safer” by his old hotel.  At this point he came downstairs and we tried so desperately to understand each other.  He told me there was another hotel at a turn-off 8 km up the road, uphill, and I told him I couldn’t pedal any farther and explained I had already rode 105 km.  He kept saying “no tent” even when I showed him mine, he just kept saying no!

This is when the story gets good.  He brought me in the hotel, which of course didn’t have water or electricity, but really didn’t have much of anything.  It had probably been closed for about 20 years and was completely run down inside.  Not to mention it was damp, cold, and dark!  He showed me what I thought was his room and the two individual beds. He had some food scattered on the table, his clothes piled up over a chair, and a ton of blankets on top of the two beds.  He had everything he needed to get by here in this tiny room and by his gestures; he wanted me to sleep in that room with him!  I trusted him and thought he was harmless, but there was no way on earth I was going to share that hotel room with him!   The challenge became trying to make him understand I wanted my own space to sleep, a floor, another room, anywhere, as long as I had a bit of privacy.  I showed him the conference room we’d passed on the stairs and made a tent gesture with my hands and asked if I could set myself up in there.  He was so concerned I’d be cold and he brought me back to his room again.

You always look for a safe place to park your bike, here you have it!

Again, I should have hopped back on my bike, but I was that incredibly tired, not even I could pedal another 7 km down the road.  Not to mention, it had become dark outside.  The old man and I communicated with hands and simple words, and I finally got him to understand that “you” meant that room is for you, and “me”, pointing to a room next door for me.  He thought I was crazy for wanting to sleep in a different room and was really worried I would be too cold, especially since I still had on my tank top and bike shorts from riding.  Finally I showed him my sleeping bag and gave him a thumbs up and that basically worked.

Looking on the bright side of things, with no electricity, no water, no nothing, I’d be in bed extremely early, which I so desperately needed in order to catch up on rest.  My cold sponge bath was divine, I put on some warm clothes and went to get the food I had bought for dinner.  I tried to offer some to the old man, who was now changed into his pajamas, but he passed.  However, he insisted that I eat in his room, and offered me some of his food.  He had milk and cheese, open and out, little peppers all over the counter, some tomatoes, a real eclectic mix of food items to eat, which I also passed on. While I sat there and ate my picnic dinner, he lit up a cigarette, which made me relieved I didn’t have to share his room.  We tried to have a bit of conversation and I named the countries and cities I had been to recently and asked his where he was from and that was about the extent of our chatting! 

It’s now 8pm, and I am back in my room.  Don’t worry, my door is locked.  I’ve got the biggest smile on my face thinking,….if you could just see me now here in this decrepit hotel room! Tomorrow morning when I wake up, I’ll be 34 and I can guarantee you I will never forget the start to my 34^th birthday!!  Tomorrow night I’ll be sleeping at the house of my host from my next school visit, and worse off, I won’t be!  Curious enough, today, I trying to make a goal or two for myself as I turn a year older and I was thinking that I really need to make sure I’m in bed at a decent hour with all my cycling.  It looks like I’m off to a good start! 

My hotel room

I hesitate to post pictures of this hotel because I am embarrassed and worried that you might be worried for me.  But again, everything is relative in this world and if you have an optimistic outlook, then it’s all manageable. I so wish I had a picture of the old man in his blue synthetic pijamas, but poor guy was still sleeping when I left this morning!  Not to worry,  I’ve learned my lesson yet again: If you are going to wild camp, don’t politely ask if you can stick your tent on someone’s property!

Albania: Roadside Entertainment

Out herding the sheep and cows!

After my last few days in Albania, I've voted it the most amusing country on my trip so far because of their endless roadside entertainment!  Immediately after crossing the border from Montenegro, the Albanian hospitality was noticeable.  Not only do you have to look straight ahead to keep your eye on the road, but you also don't want to miss out on everything that is going on around you either.

First of all, everyone greeted me practicing the 4 basic words and phrases in English they know:  Hello! Where you from? What's your name? Good-bye!  They shouted this from a far or rolled down their window beside me.  Little kids even stood by the side of the road so that I could give them a high five.

Then there was the honking.  One little honk wasn't enough to let me know they were approaching, as is customary in Croatia and Montenegro, the Albanians honked continuously, as if their hand got stuck to the horn.  As they passed they would wave frantically in the rearview mirror.  I took this as a very ecstatic welcome!

One of numerous car washes in Albania

The highway signs make for a good laugh.  Bosnia was the country of "Vulkanizers" with signs for them every hundred meters, Albania was the land of "Lavazh”.  You can eat lunch, have a coffee and get your car washed.  Some car washes specialized in large vehicles, others in tapestries, and well, on a bike, you betcha I took advantage this country's roadside specialty and cleaned my bike up after trying out the rural roads.  I can't imagine there is a shortage of water in this country with all the car washes and when they aren't washing cars, unfortunately they leave the hoses on to water the roads and gravel.  Other signs that made me laugh were the "For Sale" sign, funny translation for this word!

No, the dumpster isn't for sale, it was the house behind it.

Sharing the road for real!

Albania seems to have a more developed roads system than Bosnia, yet, I found myself sharing the road here with a lot more than just cars!  They have recently started building a highway system, which uses similar signage to the toll roads in other countries.  I thought I wanted to avoid these roads until I experienced the rural roads first hand.  The toll roads warn you that you may find pedestrians, cyclists, and horse drawn carriages, yet they fail to warn you that they might also have herds of sheep, people out walking their cows, and stray donkeys and chickens.  These roads get good use! 

Entering my last Albanian town before crossing the border to Macedonia at Lake Ohrid, I even came across a funeral procession.  I had a hard time finding a place to eat in town as a result because everyone was at the funeral.  I was a little envious, no one honked at the group in the procession, cars just waited patiently for them.

No one got in the way of the funeral procession!

I think the Albanians enjoyed having me.  As I left the country at the border control, and cycled to Macedonia, they wished me farewell, by name saying, "Good-bye Melissa!"  I don't know if it was just that they don't see too many tour cyclists or that they just love to greet everyone as they go by, but Albania sure kept me entertained as I was cycling through.  Not to mention, every time I stopped to take a picture all the locals wanted to get in as well! 

There is a lot going on by the side of the road in Albania, which makes tour cycling enjoyable!

Just Another 100 KM

A day on your bike can be so amusing! Sometimes it feels like a lifetime has passed and in reality it has only been 100km.  I’m not even talking about the fact that your legs start feeling tired, I’m referring to all the different little experiences that take place on the road in the course of the day while you pedal.

This morning I woke up to peace and quiet, in Albania’s 4^th largest city, Shkroder.  It had stormed all through the night, but there was no sound of dripping rain drops outside when I woke, just roosters crowing.  After updating my website, posting some pictures, and catching up on email, I was off on my bike at 10 am headed down to Tirana, Albania’s capital.  Google maps said it was 95 km to the QSI International school and I could see the road was pretty flat, so I thought I had plenty of time with a later morning departure. 

Within 2 minutes of pedaling and trying to leave the city, I saw two tour cyclists ahead of me.  I pedaled up beside them to introduce myself and both parties were shocked  by the encounter in this “off-the-beaten-track town we had to pull over to do a full interrogation.  Matt and Kate, Aussies, had been doing a loop of Europe for the last 3.5 months.  They gave me some travel tips for Albania and Istanbul, and I shared some suggestions about Montenegro, Spain, and France.  In all we only chatted for maybe 10 minutes, but it felt like we were old friends, who were having a coffee and catching up after not seeing each other for a long time!  It is so fun to meet other tour cyclists on the road, there’s this automatic understanding of one another and you just know exactly what kind of information to share. Plus you’re bound for a good laugh! It’s been unusual for me to encounter so many cyclists recently.  They are the second couple in two days that I have seen, both in or on the border of Albania, not necessarily the most cycled country in Europe by any means!

I started pedaling “for real” at 10:30, confident I still had plenty of time for my route and so I was convinced I could try the alternate parallel road to the main highway that looked pretty decent.  I found it easily and the road surface was decent, so I continued on my way to Tirana.

 

Ever since I crossed the border into Albania, I’ve had nothing but friendly encounters with people on the road.  Cars honk at me continually, but it is definitely a friendly honk as they also wave frantically and smile.  Motos and cyclists also wave and kids on the street reach out to give me a high five.  It is an incredibly warm and welcoming country.  I was easily entertained on this small road, observing all the different types of transportation on the road from motorcycles with front and back carriers, bicycles piled high with goods to deliver, and horse drawn carriages. The roads are heavily used by all different types of “vehicles.”  I stopped at a small intersection, to take a picture of an old man on a quad pulling up to a gas station, and also a horse drawn carriage.  I saw three men playing cards outside a little shop and they insist I take a picture with them.  It was there on that street corner that I followed the sign for Tirana, and didn’t think twice, trusting the road sign.  Five kilometers down the road, a man on a motorcycle came up next to me and started speaking Italian.  We chat for a bit, thankfully my “Italian” is still pretty fresh in my mind, and he tries to tell me something about the road.  I thought I made out the fact that this isn’t the main road and so I told him that I purposely wanted the “piccola strada”.  Who would have thought I’d use my limited Italian vocabulary in Albania?!?!

Another five kilometers down the road, I realize that the man on the moto was trying to tell me the road surface was horrible, because what was before just a few potholes here in there, turned into to be a road covered in potholes. In fact, I don’t think you could actually call the surface a road!  I was bumping along so much I couldn’t even hear myself think clearly!  I finally stopped to look at my map, only to find out that at the junction where I had been a happy tourist taking photos, I had indeed made a wrong turn following the Tirana sign.  I remember thinking at the junction that I should look at my map back, but I said to myself, “Melissa, trust the road signs, you don’t have to look at the map every 2 km!”  Well, I really should have consulted the map because I had chosen a tiny little road that ran parallel to the alternate route I wanted, and parallel to the main route.  The good news was that it eventually made its way back to the main road, the bad news, I couldn’t tell how far it went on until the junction because towns weren’t labeled on the actual road, nor distances on the map! 

The road in this photo was still "good", I didn't take a picture of all the potholes unfortunately!

To stay positive, I thought I was pretty lucky to have no traffic and it looked like I had escaped a major storm off in the distance.  Although there were no cars, this was a popular route for the local farmers, sheep and cow herders, kids, and motorcyclists. They all welcomed me as I road by with a smile on their face I’m sure they were thinking what on earth was I doing on this road!!!  At this point I was still pretty happy-go-lucky convincing myself this little detour was the perfect opportunity to see true rural Albania.  However, I was starting to wonder about the condition of the road and the state of my bike.  If I pedaled faster than 8 kilometers an hour, I vibrated so much from all the potholes I couldn’t keep balanced.  I unclipped just in case I did fall.  Just then, it started to rain, or should I say pour, and all the potholes filled up with so much water I couldn’t tell, which were shallow holes, and which were deep.  The road became one big mud puddle and all this came splashing up on me and my bike.  Getting wet was the least of my worries, as I was too busy trying to avoid all the potholes.

At this moment, a question came to mind from a student at my last school visit, “Ms. Melissa, how do you stay motivated when you encounter a challenge on your trip?”  Great questions, I had thought, I really didn’t know how to answer because the biggest challenge I had up until then was pedaling up a big hill that lasted longer than expected. I had told them that I always tried to keep things in perspective, knowing that I could be a lot worse off and to remember that no situation is forever, it is just one day in an entire year experience.  So what did I do? In that very moment when I was completely soaked and vibrating like crazy on my bike, I had to remind myself, that things could be worse.  I talked it through out loud,….. It could be 10 degrees colder like it was in Bosnia, I could get really unlucky and do damage to my bike, this road could go on and on without any possibility of meeting up with the main road, and I could be climbing up a huge hill with all these potholes in the rain.  All those other options were way worse than what I was encountering at the moment. 

My own strategy worked because all of a sudden, the rain felt refreshing and it was actually cleaning me and washing my bike, the pot holes became an obstacle course, and all of a sudden a boy walking towards me assured me that the road ended in about 5 kilometers. I believed him because he could see I was desperate to get off the road and he pointed to his bright fluorescent vest implying he worked on repairing the roads (poor guy, he’s got his work cut out for him for life).   

Sure enough the road met the main highway, and without thinking twice, it was the only way for me to go.  I was now 2,5 hours into my route and had only gone 30 km and I hadn’t climbed more than 30 meters in elevation.  I was pressed for time to arrive in Tirana and before dark!  Despite the looks of this massive road on the map, the main “toll road” in Albania, isn’t actually a real toll road because you don’t have to pay.  There is a caution sign as you enter stating that you may find people walking, cycling, or traveling by carriage and the shoulder of the road is as wide as another lane, which made me feel safer, although the fact that there were a handful of graves alongside the road was a bit disheartening.

I made 60 km my goal for stopping for lunch, but I soon realized, my pickings were slim for a market or restaurant, since there were no real towns on this highway, only roadside bars and restaurant, typical truck stops, basically.  I chose what I thought looked like a decent restaurant with a few locals sitting outside with giant plates of pasta, I ordered a huge salad because I’d been craving veggies for awhile. I have I really ‘bureked” myself out in the last 3 countries! I did have a beautiful and delicious salad, but I knew I got ripped off because it was twice as expensive as my seafood dinner the previous night and the waiter charged me in euros, or at least wanted me to pay in euros.   I couldn’t be bothered with trying to bargain, I didn’t have the energy, nor the vocabulary!  I set back out on the road, optimistic I would make my destination by dark.  The road was flat even though I had a slight head wind but there weren’t any complications navigating the road. If all went well, I could pedal the 45 km left in about 2 hours, arriving well before dark. The weather had improved dramatically, and it was now sunny and hot!  For the first time since northern Croatia, I had to use my sunscreen, what a delightful treat!

Previously in the day, it had caught my eye that there were “Lavazh” signs everywhere on the side of the road.  Albanian is a totally different language than any Slovak-based language, in fact, they say it is similar to Basque in that it really has no relation or roots to any other language in the world!  But to me, lavazh sound like wash, and with all car garages and power hoses, it seemed that Albania is the country of car washes, like Bosnia had been with the “vulcanizers”.  As I got within close proximity to the city, I decided to it would be smart to stop at a car wash and see if they would wash off my bike.  I was a bit embarrassed to roll up to a school visit with a bike that look like it had been bathed in mud!

 

With a million car washes to choose from, I happened to pull up to Demir, who gladly washed my bike and spoke perfect English.  He had lived in London for 6 years and was excited to practice his English with me, although just yesterday two German cyclists had stopped to also wash their bikes!  I was excited to get my bike completely washed, including panniers and all.  In fact I even ran the power hose over my legs and shoes to clean up a bit as well!  He wouldn’t let me leave without giving me a nice cold ice tea and his phone number, go figure!  He wanted to invite me to watch the Albania vs. Switzerland soccer match the following day. Seriously there must be over 100 car washes on your way into Tirana and I happened to stop at the one who spoke English, washed my bike for free, and gave me a drink, what a treat!

Now if I would have done my research I would have realized that Tirana is a city of about a million people plus the surrounding area.  With the lack of road infrastructure, riding in to the center was pretty much like suicide!  I don’t know how I managed, but I had studied the google maps itinerary in such depth that I had a picture in my mind and I was able to navigate the city without taking one wrong turn, nor getting hit!  I was extremely impressed with myself and was about to take out my phone one last time to check when I saw the teachers waving at me from the school in the distance.  I had made it, clean, refreshed, detour and all, and in one piece to QSI Tirana, and there was still plenty of light! 

It was only 100 km, or a 105 km today, but sometimes it feels like weeks have passed all in the course of 6 hours pedaling on the road!

Upcoming Events for the Teacher on 2 Wheels

Not even the rainy weather can stop The Teacher on 2 Wheels from her school visits this week!  If all goes as planned, here are my upcoming school visits.  

Knightsbridge Schools International in Montenegro

www.ksi-montenegro.com/

October 8th

QSI of Tirana, Albania

www.qsi.org/schoolpages/alb/welcome/

October 11th

QSI of Skopje, Macedonia

skopje.qsischool.org/

TBD

American School of Kosovo

www.askosova.org/

October 16th

Bosnia: A Whole Lot of This and That

Mountains

Up and down, up and down…..I don’t think I had one bit of flat terrain during the 700 kilometers I rode in Bosnia.  There are no major peaks but there is plenty of rolling hills, covered in deciduous trees (which were at their prime for colors).  It’s not wonder National Geographic voted Bosnia the best mountain biking destination in the world.  Interesting enough, I didn’t see one other sporty cyclist during my entire week of cycling except for two guys doing downhill.

Rivers

I originally set off on a small detour after crossing the border to follow the river Una, which I had been told rivaled the Soca in Slovenia for beauty.  I was blown away by this river’s transparent water, but, really, it is just one of Bosnia’s many rivers.  Most of their roads are built alongside a river in order to traverse the flattest part of the country, which makes for beautiful scenery while riding.  As a result of all the rivers, there is also a huge rafting and kayaking tourism industry, although it was a little too chilly to try it out myself.

Vulkanizers

Yes that is right, “vulkanizers”.  So if you were thinking of moving over here and opening up a Volcanizer business you better think twice, although there could be a nitch for combining volcanizers and bike tires! Volcanizers in Bosnia are like banks in Spain, and 7 Eleven’s in New York City, they are on every street corner. 

Pekaras

A.K.A bakeries!  Pekara’s are even more common than volcanizers in Bosnia with a variety of sweet and savory delights, from pizza, corn bread, pretzels, jelly and chocolate filled donuts, croissants, filled croissants, burek, and more!  (most of which I tried!)  Best of all, the prices max out at 1 euro, in fact most goodies are between 0,50 and 0,75 cents, making them an affordable snack for cyclists!

Burek

Spinach-filled, meat-filled, cheese-filled, potato-filled, apple-filled….there are so many varieties of burek that you can never get tired of this delicious Bosnian pastry! Of course they say that meat is “official burek”, but you definitely can’t leave Bosnia without trying Burek! 

Graveyards

At first I thought I was seeing houses lining the hills riding down into Sarejevo. But when I looked more closely at hte sea of whiteness, I realized they were cemeteries with graves closely placed together.  There are cemeteries tucked into every nook and cranny in Sarajevo.  In fact, even the Olympic Stadium is now surrounded by graves.  A hundred thousand people were killed in Bosnia & Herzegovina during the war and it comes as no surprise when you see the graveyards, separated, of course, by religion, with the majority of the markers recording deaths between 1992 and 1995.

 Minarets

Mosques are everywhere! They can be easily spotted by the minarets that tower in the distant countryside and towns.  I must say the call to prayer can be rather soothing while pedaling and it keeps me on track with my daily schedule.  I didn’t actually see that many fully veiled women, but there plenty of head scarves.  I wish the Muslim religion would prohibited smoking, then all the cafes, restaurants, and bars wouldn’t wreak like smoke!

 

 War Scars

Almost 20 years have passed since the Yugoslavia war, but there are still frequent reminders that you are in a country where people and places were scared for life.  Besides the graves and cemeteries that I mentioned earlier, there are plenty of buildings that haven’t been rebuilt, and facades covered with bullet holes.  Not to mention the incredible effort made to rebuild some historical sights such as the Mostar bridge and old town Sarajevo.  You begin to ask the people about the war and you hear some pretty devastating stories.