The Coastal South of Croatia

Remember how Peter and I crossed into Montenegro at what wasn't a real border crossing? So we didn't have stamps in our passports? Well we were a bit apprehensive about leaving the country. We just had no idea what kind of body cavity searches they would want to perform.

It was a Saturday morning and the two guards at the border didn't look as though they even wanted to be bothered. We gave them our passports and waited outside. One of the guards came out a minute later to tell me that his grandfather lived in Portland, Oregon for 25 years, then went back inside. A minute later he came back out to ask me if I worked in Kosovo (he didn't ask Peter...just me), then went inside. Came back out again and asked at which border we crossed into Montenegro, then back inside. Outside again he told us that we needed a stamp. We asked if we could go and he said yes. And that was it. We went to Croatia.

Dubrovnik. This city is gorgeous. You'd think I would be tired of riding my bike into incredibly old and charming cities wrapped in stone walls with stone walkways and stone buildings, but I'm not. And Dubrovnik was definitely an incredibly old and charming city wrapped up in stones.

The walkways in these cities get so polished from all the foot traffic that you can almost see yourself in it.

Beach.

Nook.

We got into town in the early afternoon, checked into a hostel and walked around. I know nothing of the history or anything of this place. It was just nice to explore.

Alley.

Stone wall.

Dubrovnik is still lived in. It's Croatia's second city and most of the population isn't within the old city walls, but there are still some people. And while I thought it was a spectacular place, it felt a little too museumy. Damascus, for example, is a really old walled city that is very much lived in and very much used as a city just like it has been for thousands of years. Old town Dubrovnik is set up for tourists. And it was nice that there weren't too many tourists, but the cleanliness made it feel like Disneyland.

Staircase.

Charlie and Dubrovnik and night.

Gellato. I can't get enough of it.

While riding into Dubrovnik we had to ride the highway for something like 15 km. And it was awful. Too many cars going too fast with too little room for us on the shoulder. I don't like it. And neither does Peter. I've met handfuls of cyclists who tour Croatia on the coast. I would go nuts.

And Peter was running low on time, so the next morning we hopped a bus to Split, and then a night train up north to ride a bit there before Peter had to take off.

We had the day to spend in Split. Another beautiful city.

Charlie feet.

It was an interesting place with Venetian architecture and Roman architecture all blended in with each other.

Split was another walled city similar to Dubrovnik. Just as spectacular, and just as museumy feeling. I still loved it.

A lot of the homes had shutters on the windows, mostly green.

Stone wall.

Love the shutters.

I had ripped my shorts while riding into Kotor a few days previous. We walked past this little shop and saw a sewing maching, so I walked in and asked if they would fix my shorts. I love having to find someone to mend my clothing. I don't know. I just think it's fun. This shop is a women's clothing store, and the women running the two machines were making the clothes which get sold. All the dresses and shirts and pants were all sewn right there. Super cool.

Montenegro = Black Mountain

Montenegro has become one of my more favorite countries I've ridden in. The scenery was spectacular and varied, the roads were quiet, the people were nice, and the food was good. Who would have thought?

Montenegrin countryside home.

The day after our brutal snowy-bike-push-slog-up-and-over-a-closed-border-mountain-pass we had another pass to ride over. This pass however, was very much open, we saw a handful of cars and the roads were plowed.

Peter and snow and asphalt.

Kolasen. A resorty type mountain village where I ate a pizza for lunch. I also ordered a 'Greek Salad', one of my favorites. But the waiter understood 'green salad', and brought me a bowl of lettuce.

The Balkans have the prettiest rivers I've ever seen. They weren't just a turqouise color, but a clear glassy color with just a tint of blue. Clear enough to see the bottom, but blue enough to make it beautiful. It was like floating glass. I took millions of pictures of just the water, but none of them even got close to showing how pretty they are.

In northern Montenegro we rode through the Tara Gorge. It was a pine foresty canyon with a beautiful river running down the center.

Peter and a short tunnel.

A windy bridge something like 100 m over the gorge. I read a whole booklet on it while waiting for the tea house lady to make me a sandwich (which was very mediocre....too much mayonaise and the ham tasted too much like bologne), but I can't remember the details. The locals are very proud of it.

On the bridge.

Montenegrian mountain people basketball.

Peter.

Notice the spare tire riding on the back of my bike? In Albania, before meeting up with Peter, I got another hole in the sidwall of my tire (remember when that happened to me in Tajikistan....while riding with Peter?). I bought a cheap replacement to get myself to Tirane and called up Peter, who was in Italy about to take a boat to Albania, and he was able to buy me a real tire from a real bike shop. But I carried the cheapo as a spare cause I don't trust my other Continental tire.

Lightly snowy plateau pass.

We stayed in the only hotel in Savnik. It had been a blustery cold day and setting up camp when your clothes are wet is never fun because they don't dry overnight (when I do camp with wet clothes I usually sandwich my smelly socks right up against my chest under my shirt and let my body heat dry them out....). The woman running the hotel was odd. I don't speak Montenegrin and she didn't speak English, and she just could not figure out what I was trying to ask. When asking how many euro for the room she would just agree with me, that yes, she did accept euro. And then my shower was cold. Savnik kind of sucked. But then in the morning the sun was out and we crossed this beautiful river before the climb up and out of town.

We wanted to take a back road again to get away from what little traffic was on the main road. Back roads are just nicer, more feelings of solitude.

We asked locals about the back road and they said there may be snow up there. At the turn off it looked as though the road had been plowed, so we went anyway, then we came to this:

The road just ended in snow. I think in a very personal and not so silent way, Peter and I had both sworn to ourselves to never push bikes through snow again. At least not heavy loaded touring bikes. But by the time we got to this snow covered road we were already 5 or 6 kilometers from the main road (which, really, is nothing), but we had also climbed a bit to get here (not really enough to even remember how much). But by the time we got there, we just didn't feel like going back. I hate going back. So we pushed. Fortunately we only had to push for about 100 yards before we hit asphalt again. Then after 400 yards of asphalt, we had another 50 yard section of snow, and then asphalt and then snow and then again and then again. I think we crossed about 15-30 patches of snow (it's really hard to keep track when you always think you're crossing the last one). Sometimes we could ride on dry grass off road to get around the snow, but we still had a lot of pushing.

But the scenery was fantastic and the bikes rolled on enough asphalt that I really didn't even have to swear that much.

Peter. And asphalt.

The cemeteries here all have small churches in them where they have funerals. Always made of stone, always really small, always really pretty and always well maintained. We dropped down out of the mountains with a long windy asphalt descent into what was feeling more and more like spring.

Sunny weather. Pretty lake.

For the first time in over a week we could ride in shorts and short sleeved shirts. The sun was out and felt oh so good.

We spent about 50 km on this high plateau which was all limestone. Most of the land looked worthless, too many rocks to farm, and the limestone is porous so there was absolutely no surface water. It was strange. The land was really hilly and really desolate looking. We wanted to camp but couldn't find any rivers to get water to cook dinner with. So we pulled into a tiny village and bought some tea off some guy who filled up our bottles for us. The two guys at the tea house were bought very drunk, and very irritating. One of the guys kept asking Peter the same question over and over. Peter would reply, in english, that he didn't speak the language. Which usually means people quit asking the question, or ask in a different manner. But not this guy. He just asked more loudly. It was awfully irritating. He also kept backhanding his buddy's crotch, like play fighting. It was odd. We got out fast. And it's probably better that we don't know what he was asking.

This is a different tea house, not the homo-erotic one.

Peter. Yellow wall.

Limestone hills.

Into the White

Kosovo.

Really, we only came here because there were no good border crossings from Albania to Montenegro. And we were only in Kosovo for two days. But it was nice. A lot more normal than you would think, considering they have only been a country for 2 years. We stayed in a town called Peje, which was right up against the mountains with a river running down the center and pizza restaurants all over the place.

It's about damn time. Should have hit this a long time ago. It's all the trekking in Pakistan, getting hit by cars in Georgia, trip to the USA, climbing in Jordan....makes it hard to rack up the kilometers.

Sweet sweet Kosovo.

It was my birthday, and for my thirtieth birthday I crossed from Thailand into Laos in a canoe. So for my thirtyfirst birthday, I decided to cross an illegal border over a mountain pass from Kosovo to Montenegro. Good times.

This Kosovoan waved us over for drinks and sausage. Of course we accepted. He's a tooth technician, as in I think he makes false teeth. He was having a picnic on a rock outcropping overlooking a river way up in the mountains. His son plays professional soccer in Albania, he didn't talk about his daughter much.

It wasn't so much that the border was an illegal border, but it wasn't a functioning border. They dug a big hole in the road and put concrete blocks on it to keep people from driving up there. There would be no border guards to check us out of Kosovo and no border guards to check us into Montenegro. At this point, we're unsure if this is a big deal or not (we're in Montenegro right now). We're hoping it's ok, because when we check out of Montenegro and into Bosnia, Montenegro will probably ask why we don't have a stamp....but we have a week to think of something....

The road up started out beautiful. We would be crossing a pass, on a closed road, at about 1800 meters (5,900 feet). The scenery reminded me of Idaho/Northern Utah. The smells coming from the trees were the same.

In Macedonia I hit snow going up a mountain. And it was nothing. This was nuts. For over 3 hours we ferried our bags and bikes up the road. I was wearing Converse and after 3 hours of this my toes were frozen. We just stopped and put up the tent in the middle of the road. We weren't even close to the top. Peter cooked me dinner so I could lay in my sleeping bag getting my toes to thaw (that was Peter's birthday present to me....).

It snowed a little over night. And rained a little. It made the wet heavy snow slightly wetter and slightly heavier.

The road was not steep at all. It had a ton of switchbacks, but each switchback barely gained any elevation from the previous one. When we could we schlepped our bags straight up the hill instead of walking around to the switchback, but it only worked a couple of times. It was too steep or too snowy. So we carried our bags 50 yards, walked back to our bikes, then pushed our bikes to where our bags where and then repeated. It took us fourandahalf hours to get to the top. It rained, snowed, mixed, was windy, sunny. Everything.

I got so sick of pushing my ridiculously heavy bicycle that I put the thing on my back and shortcutted 100 meters straight up the last stretch. I thought it was going kill me.

There were about 3 dry patches at the pass....

And then another three hours of pushing our bikes through the snow down the other side. It was downhill so we could keep our bikes loaded, but not steep enough to make it easy.

We ended up down in that valley. You can see the road on the right side, below snow line.

The Montenegroian (I'm not sure if that's a word) valley we rode into. Cold and wet and hungry and thirsty. Long long day.

I think I'm going to like Montenegro.

Leaving Albania

Old Albanian factory.

Albania was cool. The locals were friendly. It's one of those places that has a bad reputation in the world, but the locals don't think they deserve it (although, Peter tells me there are some mean mean Albanian Gangsters roaming around England, to which the Albanians say there aren't gangsters in Albania anymore , because there is nothing to steal....), and because they don't feel they deserve the bad reputation, they go out of there way to be nice to guys like me.

Albania's leader was a hardcore communist. So hardcore that when Stalin died, he thought the Soviets were sissies, so he started hanging out more with Mao Zedong. Then when Mao died, the Chinese weren't hardcore enough, so he went off on his own. Which makes thisplace somewhat backward....

A lot of cyclists are into this 'stealth camping' where you hide your tent so locals can't find you. I'm not into. If locals are around, I ask their permission. So when I asked some locals if I could camp on their land, they sent us to the church.

Spring is not quite here yet, but it's trying. Green grass was everywhere and some of the trees are starting to bud.

Because of Albania's civil war, there are bunkers like this all over the place.

There were mountains everywhere in Albania. I loved it. Rocky peaks, rolling hills, forested hillsides, grassy fields. Everything. A lot of the villages were surprisingly nice. I thought they would be more broke, but they always had a park in the center with lots of people milling about (nobody has jobs). I always found lots of good fruit, though the markets weren't always great. I would have loved to see the south....but instead we headed to Kosovo.