Lovely, but wet and cold, Novi Sad
Building facade in Belgrade
Restaurant sign in Zemun

Belgrade, Serbia

I wasn't going to go to Belgrade because for some reason, it just didn't have enough appeal for me. But plans change and so I ended up there and surprised myself by how much I liked it. So much so that I ended up staying for 8 days, the longest stay of anywhere on my trip so far! I can't really put my finger on what it is about Belgrade (Beograd) that caught me up. The energy of the city is attractive, in that even though it is big, it isn't frenetic like most big cities. It has a quiet sort of style that is classy and classic, as well as a fresh energy of a hip, educated generation moving up and on after the dark, bad days of the war. I didn't notice any signs of reckoning or remorse over the years of aggression in the Balkans conflict. Belgadians appear to have put the whole thing behind them and are looking ahead to increased prosperity and growth. There is a lively performing arts scene, and loads of bars and clubs playing the very latest in electo music trends.

Belgrade is stuffed full of buildings from the Austro-Hungarian era. Most of them could do very well with a damn good scrubbing to enhance the handsome art-deco facades. Each one has it's own special styling and allure that I never tire of. I go around cities like Belgrade looking up at the buildings and bumping into street lights and garbage cans! So much style and panache. Too bad for us back in Canada that few, if any, of our edifices can boast these artistic and graceful details that beautify a city. Amazing what a bit of creativity and plaster can do!

At the hostel in Skopje, I met a couple from Switzerland. She works in Belgrade and he works in Tirane, so they decided to meet half way, in Skopje, for a long weekend together. When I left Skopje for Belgrade, Sophhie and I contacted each other, and we were able to rendezvous a couple of times while I was there. One of those times, we decided to take the bus to near-by town of Novi Sad. By this time, Carly, my young Australian friend, had arrived in Belgrade as well, and since she was staying at the same hostel the three of us made a day trip out of it. Unfortunately the weather was pretty cold and wet, but we found a lovely town with elegant buildings and churches and a fortress on the hill. (Sounds familiar, right?)

Another day trip I did was to the now annexed suburb of Zemun. Not so long ago it used to be a separate municipality, and as such it had, and still has, a distinctly different ambiance from Belgrade. I guess a bit like the difference between Edmonton and St Albert! No need for a major commercial centre, with Belgrade just across the river. Again, a lovely community to explore and wander through, even in the cold and wet. Zemun lies along the banks of the Danube, and obviously that draws significant summer tourist traffic, with restaurants and pensions and inns along the waterfront, all low-rise and oozing charm. A lot of fish seems to be hauled out of the Danube, but I am unconvinced about the wisdom of eating anything from that river...

I saw a production of Swan Lake in Belgrade. There is a fine theatre building there dating back to the mid to late 1800's. Small and intimate, the audience seemed to know everyone there, except me! So many pretty little girls all excited about the ballet and seeing their favorite ballerinas on stage. The Prince was the weak link in the production, the choreography for whom had obviously been dumbed down in order to accommodate his limited capability. He looked a little like Superman, whom after all looks pretty good in tights as well!

Belgrade has more or less laid claim to Nicola Tesla, even though he was actually Croatian. There is a tiny Tesla museum, displaying a few of his belongings and artifacts regarding the inventions of this super genius. If you don't know who Nicola Tesla was, you should Google him, and then say "thanks, Nick!" I'm not sure if either Edison or Westinghouse thanked him, but they most certainly should have!

I was lucky enough to strike up a friendship with one of the hostel workers, Igor. He was great fun, and took some pleasure in showing me around his favorite parts of Belgrade, after he finished his shift. One of the most interesting places was an old communist tavern, that was in its heyday during the days of Tito. Here communist ideals were hammered out, debated and refined in this still busy locals' hot spot. Interesting bits of communist memorabilia cover the walls, and line the book shelves.

Igor convinced me that I should go to Sarajevo, to get a completely different spin on the Balkans area, from what I had so far experienced. So after 8 nights in Belgrade, I was heading west to Sarajevo, maybe the saddest city in the former Yugoslavia.

Skopje, Macedonia

Macedonia is where Mother Teresa was from. Not Albania, apparently. There is a museum in Skopje in her honour, and of course a statue. There are several statues and sculptures along the main pedestrian boulevard in downtown Skopje. Some are of important historical figures, and some are more whimsical depictions of everyday sort of folk. This city has a real sense of sophistication to it, especially after Albania and other parts of Macedonia! It is big and busy with lots of traffic and pollution, but a huge improvement on Tirane. It also sits at the foot of a rather large hill, almost a mountain, which has several hiking trails up to the summit. Locals seem to be avid hikers, as we found out for ourselves, when we decided head up. At the top is a refuggio with a basic canteen selling instant coffee and hot chocolate and snacks. Many hikers were enjoying their packed lunch with beer and homemade rakia.

It was one such group of comrades that invited us to join them at their picnic table and share their local specialties, including cheese, olives, meat, bread and rakia. Rakia is not too different from grappa, and is found all through the Balkans. It is often home made, from plums, apple, walnut, quince (highly prized), or anything that grows and bears fruit. Clear and cold, and dangerous in excess.

A lively conversation ensued in all directions, and the most outspoken and flamboyant member of the group was an opera singer! In fact, he was the one who invited us to join them. Cigarettes and rakia apparently are not damaging to an opera singers throat. Well, he is a bass anyway! We all discussed many things, as many as language limitations would permit. The sun was just beginning to show signs of tiring, so we all headed back down the trail to the parking lot together.

There is an obscure little "mountaineers hut" nearby the trail head, and since 3 or 4 of our host party were heading there for beer and song they insisted we come along too. A tiny little hut with a long table, benches and a few chairs, and a custodian who provided the beer, it was soon vibrating with the voices of the bass opera singer and his buddy, neither of whom I can remember names for. It turns out the other fellow is a high level executive in the Macedonia Central Bank. These two gentlemen were real characters, and they were absolutely in their glory playing guitar and singing the songs of their land, with great gusto and passion. It was pretty amazing to hear them go from one song straight into the next, pausing only to drink more beer and rakia, roll another cigarette and pass around the guitar. It was non-stop, and soon the three young men who were already there when we came along were compelled to join in and sing and play along as well. And along came another fellow who was well acquainted with this gang, a joining in for a time as well. When I made it absolutely clear to him that I would NOT marry him, he left!

After at least 3 hours of singing and drinking and laughing and telling lies, the custodian, who was about 70 yrs old, announced it was time to pack it in. It was now raining quite heavily, but is was easy to turn down the offers of a ride back to town, some 3 kms away. Of the entire group, I have to report that I was the only sober one there, preferring not to drink beer on cold days, and being extremely wary of the rakia. It was far too dark to use the trail, so we said our good byes and trudged off in the rain down the road to town. By the time we got to the bottom we were drenched and cold and hungry, and practically on the doorstep of the British Embassy, which was gated and guarded. And to our amazement, it was only 7:00p.m.. It seemed like mid-night! That's what happens when the partying starts at 2:30!

There was a rather lovely hotel and restaurant that beckoned us to come in, so we decided to treat ourselves to a proper restaurant meal and dry out, literally and figuratively. Fortunately we were the only guests, and so we didn't embarrass the staff too much by taking off or sodden footwear and socks! They were very sweet and understanding. And the food was delish and we deserved!

Macedonia

It was a real treat to arrive at Orhid in Macedonia, just over the border from Albania. It is a very beautiful summer resort city situated on Lake Orhid.

When we (Carly, Carlos and I) arrived in Orhid from the Albania/Macedonia border by taxi, we were let out at the top of the main square. Having no map and no knowledge as to the layout of Orhid, we must have looked dazed and confused. In fact, we were! As it seems to happen more often than not in these situations, we were spotted by an opportunistic but friendly fellow who asked us if we needed accommodation. We did, so he offered to show us his tourist apartment just a few minutes walk away. He just happened to be marketing when we showed up, and if not for him, I guess we would have attracted a different entrepreneur with available accommodation. But his apartment was clean and modern and we agreed to take it for a few nights

Orhid is a city worth visiting and touring around on foot. Lots of history and ancient sites, and a gorgeous location. We took a short boat tour of a small part of the lake. The boatman was super friendly and pointed out a few of his favourite spots. He was very deliberate about turning his boat around at a certain point - the Albanian border runs through the lake, and he seemed to know exactly where on the water that line is. One doesn't mess with the Albanian border, apparently.

As we were wandering about the grounds of one of the old churches, I met another young Aussie traveler, (I think that there are more young Aussies out of their country than in!). Later that day, we bumped into him again near the market, and we made arrangements to go for a hike in a nearby national park the next day. We rendezvoused at the bus stop at 8:00 am next morning, but were unable to squeeze onto the already over-crowded bus. Of course, there was an unofficial taxi there, willing to take us to our destination for slightly more than the sum of 4 bus fares, so off we went.

The somewhat bemused driver dropped us off at the park border, where we set out in search of a trailhead. We found the park map, with trails marked on it, and chose the one we thought was appropriate. Turns out to be an old road, up through the trees, arriving eventually at a summit. No big deal - just an easy hike up a dirt road. Until the park warden showed up, that is. He and his sidekicks came along in an SUV, and warned us to not go any further, that we were almost at the Albanian border. He demanded to see our identity documents, and told us to turn around and go back. Albanians were out there, with guns and it was a dangerous place to be!

There were other interesting sites within Orhid itself, including a re-construction of a magnificent Orthodox Church on the original foundations, and Roman amphitheatre and fortress.

It is a beautiful and restful spot and after a few days in Orhid we felt refreshed and ready to move on to the next destinations: Bitola, Kavadarci and Skopje.

Bitola seems smaller than it is, with a surprising population of over95,000. There are some lovely old buildings from the 18th and 19th centuries, but a lot of them are in a "quaint" state of disrepair. There is a large market and pazar area with many craft and artisan shops. The cafe culture is alive and well in Bitola, centred mostly on the main pedestrian boulevard bisecting the central business district. This is where you will also see dozens and dozens of very young gypsy kids, with or without their very young mothers. These kids apparently don't attend school and are extremely disadvantaged, judging by their lack of warm clothing and footwear. They are constantly on the look out for cash handouts, which apparently goes straight to the gypsy mafia in Romania. At least that is the general consensus, and so they rarely if ever receive any support from the citizens of Bitola. They take it all in their stride though, and seem undaunted by their low success rate.

Bitola is where we parted company with Carlos, who went straight through to Skopje, the capital of Macedonia. Carly and I had decided to check out Bitola and the wine district of Tikves, first. Macedonia has very good wine, and the Tikves region has the largest winery in Eastern Europe. A closer look was recommended by the Lonely Planet guide. Read on.

We left Bitola for Kavadarci, the heart of Tikvis. (There is supposed to be a little smile on top of the "s", but my anglo keyboard does not provide for that punctuation, so you will just have to imagine it being there. What that does to the "s" is it turns it into "sh". Tikvish.) Upon arrival at the bus station, I made an enquiry about the winery and accommodation options. As soon as I spoke, I was waved over to a young woman sitting in the waiting area, who obviously spoke English. In fact she was an American Peace Corp worker, and indeed, she did speak English! She was also functional in Macedonian. She was amazed and concerned that we had come to Kavadarci as tourists, and she wasn't even sure if there was a hotel in town, nevermind a hostel! She made a phone call to her local friend who told her that there was ONE hotel, and it was right near the bus station. She also pointed the way to the winery, and basically wished us good luck!

That was when Carly bailed. She said she really wasn't interested in seeing the winery or the area and that she was going to get on the next bus to Skopje ("j" sounds like "y") and get to the big city in time for the weekend party scene. So that left me stranded for the full shot for a hotel room, but I figured "whatever".

I took and paid for the hotel room, put my suitcase inside, and started making enquiries about the winery tour. The receptionist was unable to get me the necessary information, but promised to try again in the morning. Meanwhile, I decided I might as well walk over there, since there was nothing else to do.

After a 20 minute high speed walk, I located the visitor kiosk at the winery entrance, and found the attendant doing his day-end bookkeeping. I managed to get through to him that I was interested to do a tour, but he indicated that the last tour for the day was done (4:00) and that there would be no tour the next day - "Subato!" Saturday!!!! Oh no! I quickly decided to high tale it back to the bus station to find out when the next bus to Skopje was, and if there was a chance to get it I would grab my suitcase and head that way, rather than spend the night in this dreary, grey, grim city.

The next and last bus was leaving in 5o minutes, so I dashed back to the hotel, pleaded my case and managed to get my hotel fee back, since I had not used the room for anything other than to put my suitcase in. I had a few minutes to grab a quick bite to eat at the restuarant attached to the station, but got most of it packed up into a doggie bag. I made it on the bus with seconds to spare, and got the last available seat. And who should be on that bus, but Carly!

So we both ended up in Skopje at the same time after all, and the icing on the cake was that Carly's bus seat mate (a young woman living in Skopje) offered, no - insisted, on getting us to our hostel. That was very kind and generous, because we would have had quite a time finding it ourselves, late at night. And on top of all that, our friend Carlos was staying at the same hostel, so we had another re-union the next morning!

Skopje will need an entry of it's own. Stay tuned...

Albania

How do I even begin to describe Albania?

Getting from Budva, Montenegro to Tirane, Albania was a whole different experience from previous travel arrangements. Basically, it was a matter of trusting fate. There are no scheduled buses in Albania, and in fact there aren't even bus stations. We did take a bus from Budva to near the Montenegro/Albania border. From there we had to get a taxi, which took us through the back roads to the crossing, and into the "city" of Shkoder, Albania.

Shkoder is unbelievably filthy and littered. The roads are mainly unpaved, and garbage is strewn absolutely everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. There is barely any patch of ground where it isn't evident - it's really just a matter of how deep. I believe it's safe to say that there is no waste management program. No landfills, as such, and no garbage collection. The capital city, Tirane, does have collection, but there is still an unbelievable amount garbage piled up and strewn about.

Our taxi dropped us on a back street in this mess, and pointed us toward a "furgon" or mini-bus, for our onward trip to Tirane. There was no indication that this was a passenger bus going anywhere, but the driver knew where we were headed (we certainly weren't staying in Shkoder!), and so we hopped on. Happy to get moving right away, we set out and picked up and dropped off local passengers along the way. The "highway" was a tangle of traffic, potholes, mud, dirt, gravel, tractors, mule carts, motor scooters - you name it! Incredibly, no one crashed, although there were numerous close calls. The litter and filth is a constant feature, where ever you look - piles of it. Everywhere. And air pollution, the like of which I have never encountered.

I didn't take many pictures of Albania, and none of Shkoder, so if you want to see for yourself on Google, bear in mind, that from what I have seen, the photos must have been "photo-shopped" to not reveal the litter and pollution. One reason I took so few photos was because of the air pollution, which makes for a really boring picture. The smog seems impossible to escape, even away from the cities. In fact, I think a lot of it is from wood smoke, with a large contribution from diesel engines that need tuning up. Albania is a very poor country, a long way off from being an EU member. Third world for sure. I remember what Afghanistan and Pakistan looked like in 1974. This is 'way, 'way worse...

When the furgon (minibus) arrived in Tirane, after about two hours of threading through dense traffic on atrocious roads strewn with construction rubble, we were deposited on the side of a busy road, who knows where? But of course there was a taxi waiting to take us the final leg of our journey, to our hostel. Once we were able to communicate successfully where it is located (across from the Arts High School - ah yes! Addresses mean nothing.), we settled on the price and within 15 minutes we were shown our dorm room in the hostel. It was a great relief to arrive, and we four were glad to have had each other for company on the rather mysterious adventure of getting to Albania.

Tirane is a very busy and dirty (surprise!) city. It is really like a very large village. People are very friendly and willing to help where they can. As in all countries in the Balkans, almost everyone smokes, and there is nowhere that is off limits to smoking. It is very common for people to light up during a meal in a restaurant, regardless of children or other patrons. Caffe's are particularly bad, where men gather for long visits over an espresso and multiple smokes.

Having said that though, it is the first place since leaving Italy where I got a decent cuppa java (Lavazza), and as far as restaurant food goes, it is the BEST food on my trip so far! We were recommended a restaurant not far from our hostel, and it was so good that we ate there three nights in a row. Quite rich, and heavy on the meat, but very well prepared, incredibly delicious and the prices are ridiculously low. Even the hole-in-the-wall vendors' food is super delicious and of course, super cheap. We stumbled across the main market on our second day in town, and we were absolutely blown away by the high quality of the produce and the variety of foods stuffs available. Nuts, beautiful cheeses and dairy products, honey, fresh fruits and veggies, dried fruits, pickled and stuffed peppers and eggplants and zucchinis, olives, fish and meat, even tobacco (of course!). It is by far the best market I have been to yet.

A side trip to Kruhje was recommended and so we decided to make a day of it. The furgon takes about two hours to get there, and when we disembarked we made an arrangement with the driver to meet him back at the same spot at 5:00. Off we trundled around this town that sits up high on the mountainside, above the thick blanket of ever present smog, which obscured the views of the valley completely. It was very good being high up in some cleaner air for a few hours, and another nice meal was taken in a lovely traditional restaurant with friendly staff. We had a good look around in less time than we expected to take, and so ended up killing almost an hour just sitting in a square nearby the aforementioned pick-up spot, waiting for our furgon. Two hours later, we were pretty convinced that the driver was not going to show up, and we had to start finding an alternative way to get back to Tirane.

Trouble is, after dark (which it already was), cab drivers won't drive to Tirane, because of the bad road conditions. So that put us in the position of being at the mercy of unscrupulous drivers, offering to take us for exorbitant prices. After more negotiating and searching we we lucky to find someone willing to take us back, for a lot more than it took us to get there, but the alternative was booking a hotel for the night, so we were very grateful to the driver for taking us back to Tirane.

I went to the opera in Tirane, and saw Salome. It was pretty bad, actually! In fact the soprano was awful. But she could dance, and so I guess that's how she landed the part! One of the difficulties for me was that the surtitles were in Cyrillic, and I don't understand any German. So, it was a lot of guess work with regard to the libretto, but I got the gist of it. It's not exactly the most subtle of stories anyway, the general idea being pretty obvious, even in Cyrillic!

After three or four days in Tirane, I had had enough of the pollution, and in fact I was starting to get sick from it. Time to move on and at the last minute three of us decided to head to Orhid Macedonia, rather than south to see more of Albania. Luis, the Spaniard, opted to stay on in Tirane for a while longer, so Carlos, Carly and I headed for the Macedonian border, on another Albanian mystery tour.

The border between Albanian and Macedonia partially runs through Lake Orhid. On the Macedonia side is the city of Orhid which is a lovely resort town attracting thousands in the summer months. In order to get there from Tirane, we had to first locate the street where the fugons to Elbasan (half-way point) leave from. Again, there is no bus station or even a bus stop. It's just the place where these mini-buses leave from for Elbasan. One needs to look for a furgon with particular licence plate numbers in order to determine the destination. Organized chaos, I guess.

The route to Elbasan takes you through beautiful mountainous countryside with small and large villages along the way. Unfortunately, the views are obscured by the air pollution, and tainted by garbage. Such a sad and beautiful country. Once we got to Elbasan, we were told that there were no more furgons, so in order to make the second half of the journey to the border crossing we would have to hire a taxi. This was contrary to what we had been told by our hostel hosts, but seeing no other furgons, we had no choice but to go by taxi. Being a group of three meant that this was not an exorbitant expense, but certainly a lot more than taking a furgon. However, furgons leave only when they are full, and so even if we had found one, we could not be sure how long it would take to get to the border. The second half of the trip to the border was less smoggy so the views from the car were a little better. Within about another hour we were deposited at the border, where we had to hire ANOTHER taxi to take us to the city of Orhid. It was nice to finally arrive, but where to stay?

Kotor Photos

Kotor, Montenegro; fortress walls and footpath; fortress walls!!!!; abandoned chapel.

Kotor and Budva, Montenegro

Another bus trip down the beautiful Adriatic coast gets us to the Bay of Kotor, an amazing geographical feature, that seems more like an inland body of water, or perhaps a fjord, than a bay. The town of Kotor is well inside this bay, and the mountains rise straight up behind it. In pretty much every case, it is the "stari grad" or "old town" that are the attractions in these cities and towns and they are really quaint and historied places, still thriving with business and residences. Frankly, they all start to look more or less the same, having more or less identical histories of settlement and invasion. The Romans were everywhere, and their presence was a huge factor in the establishment of these forts and port towns. And they sure knew how to build things that last! Roads, for instance, and really high, thick walls.

When Carly and I were walking from the bus station in search of the hostel, we happened to cross paths with a wedding party. There was a small band of musicians leading the way, making a merry racket and stopping in the square for the guests and wedding party to do some dancing. It was such fun, and we felt really fortunate to have a glimpse of the local culture.

An interesting feature of Kotor is the mountainous terrain that nearly pushes it into the sea. There is a fortress 'way up high above the town, and stone walls running along ridges, supposedly for the protection of the town against invaders from overland. I have no idea who would even bother to attempt to come across the very formidable landscape of steep and crumbling mountains. I was never able to find out why the walls were built. We did hike up to the fortress and beyond. It felt good to get up high and to scramble around on the ridges, and spend a day off pavement and stone streets! There was an ancient abandoned stone chapel in a lovely meadow, and the sun was just right, lending a peaceful and almost mystical feel to the scene.

Once again, the hostel where we stayed had fabulous staff who were helpful and fun. When the staff is friendly, it's like all the guest are part of a family, and making conversation and travel plans with new friends is easy. We met an another traveler there, Carlos from Brazil, who was heading in the same direction as Carly and I, and we made subsequent travel arrangements together, booking the same hostel at the next destination, Budva.

Budva is a lot bigger that Kotor, and a lot more prosperous, I think. The marina there had some fairly posh looking yachts with flags from several nations, and the whole beach resort thing is more developed, with loads of bars and souvenir stores, now mostly closed up for the season. Again, the main event (other than the beaches and ocean) is the old city. We had a nice hostel inside the walls, and found it without too much difficulty. The first order of business is to claim a bunk and put the luggage aside. Then it's off to explore while there is still daylight. When we returned from our initial exploration, we were greeted by another traveler in our dorm, Luis from Spain. So we now had a happy foursome, and we spent the next several days together, enjoying the pleasures of Budva, and taking on the perils of Albania!

Dubrovnik; Our hostel hosts (standing) and the gang of travellers; church inside Dubrovnik walls; Dubrovnik on the Adriatic.