balkans

Saranda and -why not? – Greece for a day

Posted on January 1, 2015 by toothontheloose

The slog from Berat to Saranda, a coastal city which is part of the Albanian Riviera, was hot and sticky. (Again, transportation details in a later post). I checked into my hotel along the water with the plan of doing next to nothing for the next few days. It was beach time. Saranda is developing at a lightning-fast rate. In one guidebook, I saw the buildings on the surrounding hillside described as “skeletal,” and I understood why once I got there: the new hotels and apartments are going up so fast that at any given time, half of them are unfinished, giving the appearance of a bony framework of steel and concrete.

Saranda, part of the Albanian Riviera

After exploring the boardwalk on my first afternoon there (and running into the two German backpackers that I had met on the furgon ride there), I decided to take a day trip on day 2. The beaches of Ksamil are supposed to be lovely, so I caught a van ride there. Located just down the hill from the main road, the rocky beaches were full of sunbathers, who tried to avoid the crashing waves of the Ionian Sea. From my towel, I tried to flag down a vendor, a old woman who was selling bread twists. As I couldn’t understand everything that she was trying to tell me, the couple next to me thankfully stepped in to translate. For the next two hours or so, they would graciously share their food with me. I would get a tap on the shoulder, and the girl would surprise me with something like a stick of roasted corn. (Roasted corn is EVERYWHERE here). They introduced themselves as Arian and Kaltrina, and they were here from Kosovo on vacation. As a thank-you, I offered to buy them a drink at the nearby cafe. Sipping our cocktails as the wind started to whip through the curtains of the bar, they convinced me that I would have to make a stop in Kosovo.

Wind over the Ionian Sea

Arian and Kaltrina

I caught a local minivan back to Saranda and marveled at the breathtaking views over the hills as the sun started to set. When I returned to my hotel, the electricity was still off (it had shut down earlier in the day) but fortunately came back on before dark.

It should be mentioned at this point that my hotel stood directly next to the ferry port. I determined that if I really wanted to, I could spit from the breakfast room of the hotel and hit the port authority (although I would never do this 😉 ). All over Saranda were signs from tourist agencies and ferry companies advertising ferry trips to the Greek island of Corfu. Hmmm. I have never been to Greece and wasn’t necessarily planning on going there on this trip… but it would be so easy to get there. And I could go for just a day. I felt as if all signs were pointing to a journey to Greece.

And so, early the next morning, I stamped out of Albania and was on a fast ferry bound for Corfu Town. I sat next to a very sweet 11-year-old Albanian girl who wanted to practice her English. We traded sticks of chewing gum and simple stories, and the ride went quickly.

The Saranda port

En route to Corfu

Once in Corfu, the drastic difference in tourism from Saranda was immediately apparent. Signs and menus were in several different languages, travelers visited from all over the world, and prices were back to Eurozone standards. After a brief respite from the heat with a cold juice in a fan-cooled cafe, I wandered through the old town, visiting Orthodox cathedrals and photographing the winding streets. I also stopped for lunch at a local taverna, where the owner recommended their pastisada (meat cooked in a cinnamon-tomato sauce), which fell apart in my mouth. Drool.

Seeing as how I had decided only the previous day to visit Corfu, I was somewhat ill-prepared without a real map or Greek language guide. I had set my sights on visiting the Temple of Artemis, because 1) my guide book described it as “serenely impressive,” and 2) I am kind of a mythology nerd. You know how most kids might stay up late watching TV or playing video games? I was the kid sitting up in bed poring feverishly over my copy of D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths. (Great book. Still have it on my bookshelf). I did not know exactly how to get there and missed the bus heading in that general direction, so I did what I always seem to do, which is get myself involved in a haphazard wild goose chase, this time walking in the scorching Greek midday sun. I stopped every so often to ask for directions, although half of the people I asked seemed not to have heard of it. I was on a peninsula on an island; I could only get so lost, right?

In good spirits (aka before the wild goose chase)

An hour and a half later, I was no closer to finding the temple. I had left the touristic center, and with it, much of English-speaking population of the area. I knew I couldn’t be that far, but with my nonexistent Greek speaking skills, I couldn’t get much directional help. A brief ray of hope appeared when I reached Mon Repos Estate and saw an arrowed sign to the Temple of Artemis… but this arrow pointed vaguely in a direction that could have indicated about three different streets. I started along one, but it seemed far too residential; turning back, I headed along a more prominent road. I trudged along, frustrated and cranky. I would ask for help, but in this heat, no one even seemed to be outside. In the distance, I saw a man about my age jogging with headphones toward me on the road. Yay! I excitedly tried to flag him down… only to have him run right past me. “Sir!!! Excuse me!! SIR!!!” I desperately shouted over his music. Without stopping, the man removed his earbuds and, out of breath and jogging backwards, yelled to me, “It come every twenty minutes!” and then turned back to continue his workout. Huh? I looked to my side, where I happened to be standing near a signpost that marked a bus stop. Well thanks. Thanks for nothing.

After eating a consolatory yogurt at a nearby convenience store (I am the personification of the word “hangry” when I get low blood sugar), I finally found someone who could point me in the right direction. Back on the road, one last local woman showed me the way. “It is out of the way and very difficult to find,” she said. “But I don’t know, maybe it is not so much to see.” Continuing far down the road (the original residential one that I had turned back on!), I gleefully approached this sign:

Yay! I made it!

and then walked forward to this site:

ARE YOU KIDDING ME???

I hate to sound like a philistine, and I know that I am very fortunate to have had the opportunity to see the magnificent ruins in places like Rome, but this was NOT worth a three-hour march through 90+ degree weather. Thoroughly annoyed with myself for my atrocious lack of planning, I stormed back to the waterfront and did the best things I could to improve my mood: wade up to my knees in the clear blue water, then sit down with a Greek frappè. Ahhh… icy cold caffeinated deliciousness. And everything was better.

View during my frappè-happy coma

I didn’t have much time left, so I caught a bus (ha! The bus! That would have been useful three hours ago!) back to the center. After grabbing a kumquat ice cream, I hurried back to the port.

Both tourists and locals use the ferries.

On the ride back to Saranda, I sat on the lower indoor deck looking out the window. On the horizon, I saw a flash near the water that didn’t seem quite normal. I squinted; there it was again! I let out a gasp of recognition, and my feet were carrying me to the deck of the boat before my brain could even register the nearby Italian passenger calling out, “Delfini!” I peered out over the side and got one last glimpse of the dolphins before they disappeared. I’d like to think that they wanted to personally escort us out of Greek waters ;). I decided to stay seated on the top deck, glorying in the blue of the sea, which unfortunately soon became cold and extremely choppy for the remainder of the journey. My stomach and my equilibrium were both overjoyed when we finally docked back at Saranda.

Happy as a clam (while waters are calm!)

One day and four passport stamps. I consider it time well spent!

Categories: albania, balkans, Corfu, Greece, Ksamil, Saranda | 2 Comments

Tirana and Berat

Posted on October 6, 2014 by toothontheloose

I had booked a shuttle from Budva to Tirana, the capital of Albania, through a nearby hostel. At the early morning meeting point, I was introduced to my fellow passengers and to Bato, our Montenegrin driver. Once Bato learned of my Slovenian heritage, it was like we were old friends, and we chatted almost the entire way to our destination. He knew an incredible amount of information about both Montenegro and Albania, as he is a trek and tour guide as well as a driver, and is planning to open his own tourism company next year. Look out for this guy: he is awesome! We stopped to take a photo break overlooking Sveti Stefan, a tiny island on the Adriatic coast that has now been turned into a private resort, so no actual visiting allowed unless you shell out the big bucks :(. As we headed away from the water and towards the more mountainous parts of Montenegro, I soon regretted not allotting more time there: just between visiting monasteries and outdoor excursions like rafting and hiking, there is so much to do there! Add that to my ever-growing list of countries that I need to revisit.

Gorgeous coastal view with a teeny tiny Sveti Stefan in the distance

Crossing into Albania in a way was like stepping back in time. It seems like the entire country is under construction in some way, shape or form, but there are still constant reminders of how much has yet to be done in terms of infrastructure. (I will delve further into this and transportation in a later post).

Bato took us to an atypical garden restaurant not far across the border for a lunch break. The owner had designed the restaurant and gardens himself, with hand-painted murals covering the walls inside. Delicious and inexpensive food!

Our shuttle crew with Bato (center)

Handpainted murals in the restaurant

When we arrived in Tirana in the early afternoon, the van’s temperature gauge read a sweltering 42 degrees Celsius. Bato dropped us off near Skanderbeg Square, which- thank God- was not a far walk from my hotel. Drained of all energy from the unbearable heat, I promptly passed out in my air-conditioned room and slept the rest of the afternoon. I emerged not long before dusk and strolled around the neighborhood. Passing the beautiful mosque in the square, I continued past parks where green-aproned ladies watered the lawns and children played. Everyone had come out, it seemed, to finally enjoy the evening now that it had cooled slightly, and the streets were abuzz with people of all ages.

Skanderbeg Square

Et’hem Bey Mosque and clock tower at night

The following morning, I left by bus for the town of Berat, nicknamed “The White City” (from its former Slavic name of Beligrad) and “City of a Thousand Windows” due to its hillsides covered in squat white Ottoman-style houses. The bus dropped me off near my hotel, the Hotel White City, whose immaculate inside lavender-and-white painted walls stood in stark contrast to the dusty, torn-up street outside. With the exception of a distractingly blinking fluorescent light in the lobby (if I were epileptic, I would have been very upset), the rooms, service, view, and location were spot-on. It was possibly the nicest hotel that I have stayed in this year. I was offered a complimentary welcome beer which I gladly accepted to quench my thirst, only to realize halfway through, temporarily woozy, that perhaps an alcoholic drink was not the smartest idea in this intense heat. it looked like it was going to be another afternoon of napping in the a/c! I quickly introduced myself to a British couple that had also just checked in, Will and Camille, and we made plans to meet for dinner later that evening.

The windows of Berat

View from my balcony

Once the sun began to set, the three of us ventured out to walk up the nearby hill to get a view from the fortress on top. In the previous few days, I had begun to feel little twinges of tenderness in both hip flexors similar to what I had on the Camino. On our walk up the hill, this rapidly deteriorated from a mild discomfort into “Owowowowow!”

My tendinitis was back. Yippee.

Unfortunately, this occurred at a spot that was most of the way up the hill, so it was pointless to turn around. I’m glad we didn’t, because (hip pain aside) we spent the next half hour exploring in the fading light. Unlike most other UNESCO sites that I have visited, this area only had a handful of tourists, and much of our wanderings took us past intact local neighborhoods on the hill. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live next to fortress!

Local street next to the fortress

An old Orthodox church makes for beautiful wedding photos

Overlooking Gorice from the fortress

After dark, we painstakingly made our way back down the hill (I say this because of both my hip and the extremely slippery cobblestones of the steep road. I think at one point Will gave up and went barefoot, but tendinitis plus tetanus was not something that I particularly wanted to risk). We ate dinner at the roof patio of the Hotel Palma, which had fanastic views of the old town in addition to its yummy food. Thumbs up to Ferdinand, our waiter, who was a sweetheart!

The eagle, symbol of Albania, watching over Berat at night

Dinner at the Hotel Palma with Will and Camille (and my wings, haha!)

Will and Camille left the next morning, but I still had another day planned. Remaining indoors and resting my hip during the heat of the day, I went out in the early evening to explore again. I crossed the bridge near the Hotel Palma to take some photos of the river, which had dried to a shallow stream in the summer heat. On the opposite side of the bridge, the Gorice section of town, lay a tiny roadside produce market. I watched as a middle-aged woman led a much older white-haired lady in a black dress down the steps from the Orthodox church.

As I wandered, a friendly Albanian man who was missing most of his teeth beckoned to me and offered to show me a spot with good views of the town. Hesitant at first because of my hip and the upwards hike, I accepted and followed him up the steps. Introducing himself as Vasil, he became my tour guide for the next hour. We stopped at the Orthodox church, where we met a young boy of about 11 by the name of Dmitri. The enthusiasm of these two was infectious, as they leapt around the building (sometimes literally, as when Vasil climbed to a benchtop to get an aerial shot of me in the church!), pointing out important works. “See! This is St. Nicholas! Very important! This is Last Supper! Take a picture! Wait, stand here! Good view!” I admit, Vasil has some great photography skills.

Dmitri and Vasil

Creatively shot photo inside the Orthodox church

I thought the tour was done, but we continued on, winding upwards through the labyrinthine Ottoman streets of the town, talking in a gibberish of English and Italian and Albanian but able to understand each other well. Vasil, like the majority of Albanians that I met on this trip, had a very favorable view of Americans. He scrambled up a roadside wall to pick me a ripe fig off a tree. I got to see every nook and cranny of that neighborhood. Above us, a head popped out over a roof. The woman overhead and Vasil had a conversation in rapid Albanian. The next thing I knew, I was being led onto the balcony of a family home and taking pictures like this:

The family was incredibly gracious, with little Elena handing me a tissue to wipe off my fig-covered hands. Liliana, who appeared to be the matriarch of the family, is going to be opening a guesthouse next year and so gave me a tour of their property, complete with a tiny kitten in the still-unfinished bedroom. It was a beautiful view. If I am ever back in Berat, I’ll know to look up Hotel Elena. I was thankful for the opportunity to meet such a nice family: it’s experiences like these that make me glad that I am traveling alone. I don’t know if people would have reached out in quite the same way if I hadn’t been solo.

Back in town, I stopped again at the Hotel Palma for dinner (if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!) and prepared for my trip to Saranda the next day. The promenade between the hotels and the city was flooded with people, who avoided the ubiquitous areas of construction and open holes in street during their evening stroll.

The new university at dusk

Riverside promenade (under construction, but still striking)

Berat was a very special city for me due to its beauty and warmth (if not its mid-August heat!) I know that as the construction finishes, tourism will flourish here, so I was happy to get a taste of it while things are still a bit simpler. Do yourself a favor and visit, and while you’re there, say hi to Vasil for me.

Categories: albania, balkans, berat, tirana | 2 Comments

To Budva and beyond

Posted on October 2, 2014 by toothontheloose

This is going to be a short post, mainly because I don’t have much that’s interesting to say about Budva.

The bus from Kotor to Budva took less than an hour. I walked in the already scorching heat to my hostel, where it was too early to check in. This was not my first choice of accommodation, but as it was high season and I booked at the last minute, this was about all I could find. While sweating on the common room couch (which was later covered with a sheet and charged as a bed, I believe), I met a couple of backpackers heading into town and asked if I could join them. After stops at a bookstore (one of the guys was collecting a copy of Lord of the Rings in every language) and another hostel to meet up with other travelers, the group of us sweated away the afternoon at a bar/cafe in the Stari Grad.

Budva’s Stari Grad

The hostel crew.

Curious dental cafe decor

In the afternoon, I tried to cool off a bit by heading to the beach, which was definitely a see-and-be-seen sort of place. It was like Club Med, only everyone was speaking Russian.

Pretty laundry

Mellower section of beach where I went swiming

Slightly mellower section of the beach where I went swimming

Unable to bear the heat anymore, I walked past the plethora of yachts on the dock and back to the hostel to check in. I had a private ~~closet~~ room with its own bathroom and a dust-caked fan wedged between the wall and the foot of the bed. In the hallway, I met a friendly German guy with a Fantastic Mr. Fox tattoo on his arm, then kindly declined a staff member’s offer of weed (um, thanks but no thanks?). Later on, I rejoined the group for dinner and a drink, but the scene along the strip of beachside clubs was not really up our alley. Overly loud techno music, young women with sky-high heels and obvious plastic surgery, and laughably ostentatious decor. An Eiffel Tower with strobe lights and disco balls? A neon-lit glass waterfall? Really?

Although we were enjoying each other’s company, we called it a night fairly soon since some of us had to leave early the next morning. That night, I had to tip the fan precariously backwards in order to keep my toes from hitting the fan blades in my sleep, which was restless on account of the dust-induced sneezing fits.

In the morning, I tiptoed passed the sleeping backpackers on the couches and the patio tables strewn with overflowing ashtrays and beer bottles on my way out the door. (Needless to say, this was not an A+ hostel experience). I was all too happy to be leaving Budva: I had a shuttle to Albania to catch.

Categories: balkans, budva, montenegro | Leave a comment

Get your Kotor runnin’

Posted on October 1, 2014 by toothontheloose

The bus ride from Dubrovnik took much longer than I anticipated. While the bus zipped along for the beautiful views at sunset along the coast, our trip was stalled at the Croatia-Montenegro border for over an hour. After the standard collection of passports for inspection by border patrol, the guards picked two young men -both in scruffy, bohemian clothes- and asked them to step out for questioning and luggage check. I can only assume that they were looking for drugs, because this was not the first border check where I have seen guys with a similar appearance singled out. In the meantime, the bus was shut down, turning the inside lights and air conditioning off: Sweat City. This lasted entirely too long, and I was wondering how much longer it would take, as we still had quite a bit farther to drive and I didn’t bring much food with me. I watched as a family of dogs galloped around the security office like they owned the place.

The men were finally allowed back aboard, and the bus continued in the dark. (Later on at the station in Kotor, there was a huge shouting match between the two guys and our bus driver during which they swore like sailors and accused him of discrimination). The rest of the trip went smoothly, though, punctuated only by the gargantuan yawns of the British backpacker sitting behind me: “YEEEEEAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWW.” After the 7th or 8th of these, she started receiving dirty looks from other passengers. “Whuh?” she countered. “Cahn’t a person even YAHWN in peace?”

Kotor, our destination, is an old city on an inland bay which is often mistaken for a fjord. The road there swerves directly along the water, tracing the multiple inlets of the bay like the petals of a flower. In the dark, only the moonlight illuminated our surroundings. I could see the reflection of the water, the tiny lights from cities across the way, and the eerie blue sheen of the nearby peaks. It would be interesting to see what this actually looked like once morning came. In the distance, I saw rows of bright lights which I assumed was a hotel. As we approached, I realized that it was not a hotel but instead an enormous cruise ship docked at the port in Kotor, dwarfing everything around it. It was almost frighteningly large. The Yawner was also impressed: “GAWD! I cannot even WRAHP my HEAD around the sheer PHYSICS of that thing!”

I had booked a private room with a shared bathroom in the village of Prčanj, which is about a 10-minute drive from Kotor. (I tend to gravitate toward places with unpronounceable, vowel-poor names that end in a silent “J.” They comfort me. Call it solidarity 😉 ). Once at the station, I had been warned to only use taxis which used a meter, so I accepted a ride from a tough-looking but honest female taxi driver named Anđe. I couldn’t get to the room fast enough: I was exhausted, sticky with sweat, and famished. I was welcomed into the apartment complex by Danijela, the daughter of the owners, who spoke in excellent English and offered me some homemade pastries. I almost cried. She showed me to my room, where I declined her invitation to join her at a neighborhood festival in favor of going straight to sleep.

Peach pastries to match my peach-and-orange guest room. Delicious.

In the morning, I got to see what I had missed the night before. Holy cow.

View from the common area

View from my room

Prčanj ended up being the best possible place that I could have stayed; in fact, I ended up booking an additional night (and would have stayed longer had there been availability). The apartments were a two-minute walk from the water. In the village were several small grocery stores where I bought food to cook in the shared kitchen, a few restaurants, several churches, and scattered docks from which to swim. A local bus came by hourly on the way to Kotor and cost only 1 Euro. I saw mostly local tourists (Montenegrin along with several Bosnian and Serbian license plates). Families filled the docks to swim during the day, but the place was quiet and peaceful at night. I was in love.

The waterfront in Prčanj

It was a great place to do nothing. I’d go swimming daily, enjoying the water, which was considerably less salty than the Adriatic had been, and marveling at the enormity of the surrounding cliffs. I could never get tired of looking at them. I took a trip one afternoon to Kotor, which was pleasant but whose noise level made me very thankful that I was staying elsewhere.

Inside St. Tryphon’s Cathedral. Check out the pink stone.

Midway through my stay, I was returning one afternoon from the “beach” and ran into two women about my age in the hallway. I was surprised to hear them speaking English. They introduced themselves as Fernanda, who is originally from Brazil but has lived and worked in the US for over 15 years, and Elena from Italy. Fernanda was also traveling through the Balkans solo and had a itinerary oddly similar to mine. Elena, a surgeon, was completing a shorter trip, but on her motorcycle. Two words: BAD ASS. They convinced me to ditch my plans of staying in for the evening and to instead join them for dinner in Kotor. They had even arranged a taxi, which would be arriving shortly. OK, twist my arm.

By the way, the road along the waterfront to Kotor could be described as treacherous at best. Not quite wide enough for two cars and at points only inches from a dropoff to the water, it created frequent traffic jams during busy periods and games of chicken where only one vehicle would be able to pass at a time. Add that to the curves in the road, and you can see why I almost got hit several times just while walking to the store. Our cab encountered no hassles, though, and I made our taxi driver (another cool woman who was really into classic rock) laugh by singing harmony to “More Than Words.” The three of us wandered the streets of the old town together. It was so nice to have dinner with other people: I don’t mind being alone at all, but company is almost always appreciated!

Those cliffs again. Ain’t they purty?

Mother of Dragons, Montenegro style

Though Elena was leaving the next day, Fernanda would be staying, so we decided to hit the beach together and then get a taxi to visit Perast, a quaint town on the other side of the bay. We didn’t do too much there other than get coffee, but it was a beautiful place to see at dusk. Fernanda and I got along so well that we checked her itinerary to see if there was a way that we could meet up again somewhere in the Balkans. We set a tentative goal of meeting in Albania in the following week. Isn’t traveling fun?