Chasing Ideals

Saturday morning I skidaddled from Dubrovnik and am now in Greece. Coastal Montenegro turned out to be much like the coast of Croatia apart from being sign posted in Cyrillic letters. The scenery was certainly beautiful and the drive relaxing as I basked in awe of the surroundings. It wasn't until I headed up the mountian passes that the real fun began. The first sign of change was that I was oft sharing the road with livestock of various varieties. There were no herders about just cattle meandering on the steep and twisting roads. Sunlight at the coast turned to cool weather in the clouds atop the mountains. The climbing roads were trecherous but once the summit reached it was an easy drive toward the border with Albania. The final stretch of road leading to the border was littered with police officers strangely enough. The first I passed spoke to me briefly asking if I indeed wished to go to Albania. One other saluted me as I passed while the rest just smiled as if they knew something that I did not but would soon discover. With great courage I journeyed on despite the roads becoming progressively narrower and a pronounced absence of traffic. I'm not sure whether it is courage or stupidity but I like to think the former. The guidebook states that Albania is a place only for the adventerous and that to drive there you must have nerves of steel. I can honestly say that when I read such statements it doesn't deter me in the least.

At the border all cars and drivers were given the full strip and cavity search. All but mine anyway assumedly because of my appearance of meekness. Should be noted for future reference when I'm desiring to trade in heavy weaponry with the locals. The moment I set out from there I noted a disturbing lack of asphalt maintenance. To say that the roads were poor would be an epic understatement as it gave one the feel of having arrived in Lebanon. The first villages of welcome were arrayed with frequent mounds of trash and the occasional stripped and burning vehicle. It was apparent also that Mercedes was the car of choice. All persons who did not own a stone age moped were driving Mercedes diesels from the late 80's. Upon arrival in the first actual city the Rhode Island sized potholes became so severe that I feared the worst for the old Citroen. Myself and the other drivers had to weave back and forth between lanes to avoid the worst. I swear there were children doing laps in some of them. Made one wonder why there was a 10 euro road tax payable at the border. One of the side roads even had a sign up apologizing for its condition. Miraculously I survived this initial onslaught and was amazed upon exiting this city to find a stellar motorway. Well paved but confusing as hell would best describe it. All side roads were outfitted with a stop sign but strangely the stop sign always faced the motorway. The first time I nearly stopped before realizing that upon doing so I would have citizens of Albania and their vehicles exploring my back end with gusto. The speed limit frequently plummeted to 40 km/h and once even dropped to 4.6 (what I don't know). Before every side road the limit was 40 but no drivers payed any attention to it so I assume they did that just for a laugh. At one point I passed a woman of about 4'10" yanking at the head of an obstinate cow. As she yanked away feverishly the cow simply continued to chew away at a patch of grass. This right at the side of the motorway. The woman was attired in some sort of bee costume hoping one would assume to entice the cow toward movement. I later reached an area lined with furniture stores. Stores with massive front windows that allowed one to view the entire contents of the store from considerable distance. I had yet to reach any city so was unsure how this particular spot became furniture central. A short time later el capital hoved into view. My hopes were high that this would be crown jewel of the area. Instead a cloud of pollution thick as molasses filled the lungs and the potholes returned though not to the level of the first town. The streets were filled with people crowding around tables of fresh mango and the like. One small group were standing around the carcass of a pig. I'm not sure what their intention was but the hour was late so one can only guess. The first hotel I saw became my resting place that night and the next. That first evening any person who entered the hotel and could speak some English was introduced to me and I was tossed a number of warm smiles. The smiles sadly came from the young lads who frequent the place wearing white jeans and bright colored t-shirts. The old chaps who came looked like ranchers in their get ups. Black jeans and colored button up shirts. All in sundry were very friendly though and the brother Blerjan of one of the waiters ended up chatting to me for much of the evening. I had planned only to stay one night but he offered to show me around the "beautiful city" of Tirane the next day and that sounded a nice change from wandering cities while having no knowledge of them.

Day 2 the gobshite arrived chronically late but he is my brother's age so what can you do. After a day of wandering the city and surroundings I could hardly share the "beautiful city" notion but it was nice to be shown around. He told me about what he knew of the city's history and we also looked around at the national history museum which I did find very interesting. The best part of the day was driving out of the city to the mountains and an overlook. The stiff regulations that all cars in Albania must produce upwards of one ton of pollution per year prevented us from seeing anything but the surrounding mountain landscape was nice. In the evening we returned to the hotel and he and a friend of his offered advice on the best way into Greece. Albania's definite appeal is that food and drink is dirt cheap making a pleasant change from other tourist stops. Every person I encountered was very friendly and helpful also. They will go out of there way if need be to offer you assistance.

Today I hit the road at about 10am into the monstrosity of traffic that is Monday morning Tirane. Thank God I asked after a short time how to find the road out of the city. The man I asked led me to the road with his car as I never could have found it myself. The first stretch through the country was up very very steep mountain passes on crap roads. At times the entire road was missing and in the process of being redone. Along the way I encountered herds of sheep, goats, turkeys and a plethora of dogs of one to three legs. The car I followed much of the way took the turns with such fury that the old female passengers in the back looked as if they were in a mosh pit. To watch their heads being tossed around I must admit brought much in the way of laughter. After the peaks were scaled and descended the roads were much flatter and much better. From the town of Elbasan onward was incredibly different. The roads were even signposted by some miracle.

In some manner of conclusion I must mention the final noteworthy and hilariously (for me) ironic event of the day. I said that the roads greatly improved and this was true until the point of Pegoradac. This point being only 50km from the border with Greece. The city had the worst of roads thus far and I made the mistake of heading down a dead end one. In an attempt to reverse out of it I ended up in a small but considerable ditch. I could not get out of it alone but with the help of a construction vehicle I was towed out. Unbeknowst to he and myself when he began to tow me a metal pipe sticking up from the ground smacked the underside of the car right in the spot where I have had repeated hydraulic leaks. My rescuer said "Oh no problem" and then proceeded to look under my car and find underneath a large piece of mangled tubing and hand it to me with a concerned eyebrow. I got in my car convinced that that pipe had done in the hydraulic system once and for all but you know something broke inside me there. I laughed so hard that in light of recent events this pipe didn't rip the bottom of the car off or at least all of the hydraulic lines. I laughed at the irony of having made it so far on roads in Albania not fit for a tank only to smack a big pipe near to the finish. God has brought me through so many situations and in this situation I no longer (excuse the language) gave a shit. I felt such a heady degree of freedom that if the car was toast a solution was around the corner with the stamp of heaven on it. My dependance that I had put on this car and my sense of panic truly fell away and I laughed all the way to the Greek border. I was fully confident the car was done in and I really and truly had no fear or doubt about what I would do. Upon arrival at the Greek border and again since I have given the cursory glance to the spot and you know what, there is no leak so far as I can tell.