So, Albania?

The first evening, as I rode into Albanua, the sky was clear, the air was cool, and people were working in the fields, primarily cutting and stacking hay, women working alongside men. In the smaller fields, it was all being done by hand, cutting with a hand scythe, raking with wooden rakes, stacking with hay forks. But larger fields were worked with tractors and balers. It was a pattern I saw: the smaller and poorer fields were worked by hand, larger farms were mechanized. 

Yes, there are still horse and donkey carts on the roadways, and cows being tended by their owners as they grazed them in the ditches by the road. I also saw a woman with a small flick of sheep grazing them next to the highway that first evening. 

But where to camp?  I spotted a sign by the road advertising Lake Shkodra Resort just a few kilometers ahead. I figured I would take a look, as the town of Shkodra was just beyond, and if the resort didn't work out, I could try the town. As I approached the turn to the resort, I saw two policemen standing in the road, looking at oncoming traffic. I ducked quickly onto the road to the resort. 

Road is not the best way to describe this piece of transportation infrastructure. Country lane doesn't fit it either. How about "single lane, ditch lined, rock and dirt track." That's better. And when I say single lane, I mean I had to get on the edge of the ditch for the oncoming cars, and I had hay on my helmet from the horse drawn hay wagon I met. 

But when I got to the end, I found a lovely new campground with small restaurant, friendly people, and wonderful clean showers and toilets. And they took my dollars!  

A "small salad."

But a wonderful part was the sound of goat bells, followed by the sounds if the goats bleating, followed by the goats themselves, followed by the little boys herding the goats. Incredible fun. 

To get where I wanted to go, the capitol of Albania, Tirane, was a short side trip, so I went there. I had to get some cash anyway, and that was so I could get fuel. So I rode to Tirane. As I was riding on, I spotted a bank, and exchanged $65 for a bunch of Albanian notes. 

I rode further into town, following Mr. Garmin's instructions. Traffic was a little hectic, one reason being Albania doesn't waste their national resources on painting lines on roadways that no one would follow anyway (Get a clue, Italy!! Albania is ahead of you on balancing their budget!!), but civil enough. One street was like a long market, with goods spilling out of store fronts and onto the sidewalks. There were goods of all kinds, and it was very colorful. 

My routing took me through some poorer parts of the city, and finally back on the roadway that leads, eventually, to Greece. I say eventually, because Mr. Garmin, possessed once again by that imp of the perverse, took me over a road that only the locals know about, and that most are too smart to use. The latter I figured out when, upon leaving Fier (Fier the town, not the fear I was soon to meet), I was following a tiny little Ford up a hill. When we for to the top of the ridge, the Ford pulled over and stopped. I gave a jaunty little wave as I rode past, and received a look in return that was kind of "Whete do you think you're going, buddy?"  

The look was explained around the next corner where there was a sever pavement break and washout for about 50 meters. But so what, right? I'm riding a BMW Dual Sport moto with off road tires and skills! Pop me on the fanny and call me Jack, off I went!

There were several more of these breaks, and finally the Grand Daddy of them all: a mudslide had covered the roadway, and there was a 200 meter or so detour. 

But the country is beautiful. 

The ride seemed to go on forever. But I finally made it to the border, where there was a line of people waiting to get out of Albania. Getting out was easier than getting in, although there were some line jumpers. In the line I met two bikers from Croatia on VStrom 650s. Really nice guys, they asked if I would have a drink with them in Greece. I said sure, I only drink coke. We had a coke and coffee together, and pictures, too. 

These two young men are super nice. They were on a two week trip through Greece. Last year they were in Morocco. They have done some great rides, and I expect they will be headed to Mongolia soon. I'm the same age as the father of the guy on the left. He said he will use me as a bad example for getting his father to ride with him. 

So. Two final thoughts about Albania: police and expansion joints. 

There are police on the major roads leafing in and out of every town. I don't know their purpose. But they are there, and often in between as well. To play it safe, I was very careful, if somewhat frustrated by often not knowing what the speed limit was. But I was never stopped, for which I'm thankful. Without Joe Bottini to interpret . . . Wait! Joe doesn't speak Albanian either!

The issue with the expansion joints is this: on the bridges, they are failing or have already failed, leaving huge gaps on the bridge decking. You can't cross many Albanuan bridges at speed. If you did, you would bend or break wheels. Perhaps that's a national defense strategy, as any invader could not move very fast on the roads. Hmmm. Always thinking, those Albanians.