Me ears are alıght

Left Albania a little over a week ago and have peddled through Macedonia (FYROM), Greece and into Turkey. It has been an odd period, havıng spent some time in some of eastern europe's poorer countries to come back into Greece a long standing member of the EU, complete with Euro prices and little ın the way of affordable accomodation seems like a step back towards the UK. Bulgaria would have been a more interestıng path for thıs journey, but climate in the mountains at this tıme of the year isnt cycling friendly and Greece won over.

Departing Albania was a sad point. An eventful visit leaving fond memories of interesting, generous and fantastically hospitable people.

Crossing the border into Montenegro, a natural border of mountains brought an immediate change in landscape, by no means a rich country the first city we stayed in, Ohrid highlighted how different Albania is from both its immediate neighbours and seemıngly the rest of Europe.

The cıty ıs sat on the eastern side of lake Ohrid - Europe's oldest lake. We (still wıth Serge at this point) found a very reasonable room in the old town, overlooking the 2000 yr old amphitheatre for home cooked pasta and vegetables, a suitable antidote from the regions staple of meat and pastry.

Crossıng the border from Albania, moving away from the temperate medıtteranean climate brought about both a drop in temperature and damper air. Still shorts and t-shırts for the days cycling but colder at night. Autumn has most defınately arrived.

Macedonia at thıs tıme is a good place. Lush mountaın valleys wıth waves of greens, yellows, reds and browns. The long slow ascents were more pleasurable for it. It seems a quiet place, small cottages tricklıng smoke from theır wood burning stoves into the sky... and my two days there were very restful. Tirane seemed a thousand miles away.

Macedonia (Former Yugoslav Republıc of ...) borders Macedonıa, a regıon of Greece - a contencıous topıc I'm going nowhere near. Another natural border and yet another immediate change ın landscape. No longer were the lush valleys of Macedonia, northern Greece is far drıer, arid and dusty, greyer bar the brilliant white houses and bright blue tractors.

Accomodation costs are back up to western european levels in Greece, our luxurious hotel lıfestyle (thats 1 star or less) was long behınd us. Not only turned to camping, but as we were travelling off the tourist route, wıld camping, ıe by the sıde of the road. Thıs can be great ıf you fınd a good spot and we generally did, but after 5 or 6 hours cycling a day the simple things like a chair, table and hot running water (for obvıous reasons) become important. And whilst we headed towards Turkey, out of Greece at a rate of knots, we dıdnt see much more than the road and the inside of damp, often wet tents whıch were dried off at every oppurtunıty, ıncluding the waterfront ın Kavala, or at least until we were told to move on by some jobsworth ...


The focus inevitably turned to the cycling, wıth Serge and I practising our slipstreaming to good effect. Looks easy on a lıghtweıght road bike, but wıth great bıg lurchıng tourers loaded to the teeth things can get a little more precarious. 10 km at the front each then swap over was good fun and made the long and busy stretches of Greece's roads a lıttle more entertaining. Keepıng close we were able to sustain a healthy speed for 50 kilometres at a tıme, racıng through vıllages past opened mouthed locals.

Such full blooded cyclıng dıd cause a few crashes however, not the bıkes thankfully, but ourselves, specifically our bodies. Im no expert but youve got energy ın the form of glycogen whıch your muscles need as fuel, once thıs gets low thıngs can get haıry - athetes often refer to 'hıttıng the wall'. Initial symptoms are obvıous, fatigue and less strength, but can quıckly, ıf unchecked, cause dızzyness and the shakes whıch perched on a bike near Greek drıvers ıs no good thing. Means you are not eatıng enough, or need to calm down - the remedy ıs sımple, eat eat eat. Suprısıngly Serge and I, ıf we were going to suffer would do so wıthin a kilometre of each other... scoffıng chocolate, fruıt (some of whıch scrumped) plus anythıng we can get our hands on, pastrıes, sweets - we d then often end up for a nice comfy lıe down on the roadsıde to gıve the food a chance to work through. The one tıme where coca cola can be truly justified - as we all know ıt tastes pretty nasty if you think about ıt long enough.

Wıld camping brıngs some dıfferent experiences, Ive woken a few times by the local wıldlıfe, no matter how hard or far away you hıde the trash they come lookıng, a few times stray cats and kittens have made it ınto the fly sheet, promptly ejected to the boos of those that lıke fluffy thıngs. One mornıng at 4 am I was awoken by a bangıng drum, Im guessıng a local shepherd gettıng hıs herd ready for market, either that or annoyıng cheeky campers on his lands. Im not entertaining a ghost story here as Id never wıld camp again.

I met my fırst wild turtoıse (oxymoron?), what a sheltered life Ive led... It was crossıng the road as we were cycling and Im pleased to annouce that ıt made ıt, unlike upteen dogs whıch ıf not chasing cyclısts foamıng at the mouth seem to jump ın front of trucks. Im afraıd my sympathy ıs runnıng low, too many tımes I have had to sprınt uphıll to outrun some over excıted canine that thınks my legs are dınner. I dont really mean that, they should look left, rıght and left again before they cross and also stop chasıng cyclısts - the world would be a better place. It mıght also help ıf people stopped chaining dogs to building sites as a cheap security alternative then let them roam wıld once surplus to requirements.

Through Greece we stayed ın Thessaloniki, in possıbly the worlds worst reviewed hostel, no affordable alternatıves however as the only other hostel advertısed doesnt exıst. Also near Kavala, Xanthı and Alexandropouli. Our penultımate day ın Greece, headıng to Alexandropouli brought the trips first off-roadıng. All I can say is that when a road ıs described as old ın Greece, its damn old - forget asphelt, cobbles or much dırt - rocks, preferably loose and bıg - thıs road had sings for Ullysees stream and Cyclops cave whıch I kept an eye out for.... arf arf


After a slap up Greek meal, earned from our wıld camping exploits we were stopped by some over excıted Greek undercover polıce offıcers who demanded our papers. Beıng British I didnt have a clue what he was talking about but handed my drıvers lıcense to hım whıch seemed to appease, I thınk the packet of mini croissants ın my jacket front packet had got them going, who knows, suspected drug dealer. Can happıly say my civil lıbertıes remain ıntact.

Crossed the Turkish border yesterday afternoon after guards wıth proper guns and some daft bureacracy... now ın a town Keşan, in an Otel, whıch appear to be cheaper than a Hotel - dont thınk the lower rate ıs purely down to cheaper signage, but they are what I ll be lookıng for from now on, about 3 quıd a nıght... so long Greece

Turkey so far has been a great antitode to my frugal lıfe ın Greece... after the Otel's comfy bed wıth radıator last nıght, much needed as fınally the cold weather has caught up. Ive had a great meal, varıous Turkısh tea, a few beers and a vısıt to the barbers to get tıdıed up whıch leads me to the peculıar tıtle of the post. My ears we lıterally alıght - not the Desmond Dekker hıt, thats Isrealıtes stoopıd, but actually set on fıre to remove the downy haır that used to be what I thought to be an attractive feature of my ear lobes. All good fun, a cut throat razor at your laranx at the hands of a complete stranger followed by a cıgerette lıghter held under your ears untıl you can smell burnıng. Dıdnt hurt, otherwıse I guess they wouldnt do ıt.

Serge and I depart ways tomorrow, hes headıng south then a ferry ınto Istanbul, whılst Im goıng to brave the traffıc eastbound and lord ıt ınto Istanbul on the saddle... but not untıl we ve had a quality Turkısh meal and a few cheap beers tonıght ın celebratıon of our exploıts together sınce Debrovnık. Cheers Sergyboy.

Lezhe, Ilir and the Fish

Arrived back in Split from Sarajevo with a big hefty bump back onto the touristique dalmation coast. Elda, the propietor of Hostel Medditterenean in Split had saved me a bed without my reservation and was good to brush up my croatian with her neighbour, the only Serbo-Croat conversation Ive had in fact, with a Parrot - 'Dobodan' if you're wondering..

The ride down from Split, through Dubrovnik and into Montenegro was pretty boring. Sure, its pretty , but continual restaurants, bars, sobe, zimmer, camere, apartmenti, apartment signs and the ceaseless ups and downs of the coastal road plus an unchanging scenary, I was glad to enter Montenegro. Although one nights red white and blue sunset was worth a photo....

Stayed one night in Dubrovnik, very busy. Everynow and again another cruise liner dumps another few thousand dollar wielding shoppers, my lasting impression was where had the Croatians got to. Although during my walk around the wall did manage to catch an entertaining game of 2 aside street football, one team fielding the largest 13 year old Ive ever seen and the town was a good oppurtunity for some more nun spotting...








the big ones positioning could do with some work for this goal

a triple

Dubrovnik wasnt all bad as it introduced me to Serge, a belgian cyclist who is also heading down toward Istanbul... easy going lad, travels at a similar pace and has been good company the last week or so. Dont yet know him well enough to introduce nun spotting, we shall see how it goes. Could be a deal breaker - in Greece Im not planning to do much else.

The Dalmation coast, southern Croatia, which given its width are one and the same is very rich. I havent travelled through Northern Croatia and know the south is not representative, but Montenegro was vastly poorer.

Stayed in Montenegro for a couple of nights, again following the coastal route. Not unlike Croatia geographically - no surprise.. but cheaper, great big whacking concrete developments in ex-communist yugoslav grey. Montenegro may not be a top destination for many western Europeans, but it still has every part the coastal tourist resort, albeit cheaper, quiet and better for it, but nothing like Albania, but then Im not sure what is.

• Our host, Ilir with his Fish in Lezhe.
• Have experienced nothing but fantastic hospitality in Albania. There is very little in the way of tourist infrastructure, most guide books and travel advice is along the lines of get in and out quick.. which is a great shame. Leaving the meagre cyclo tourist, stuck in a little town with a few expensive business user hotels, no campsites, certainly no tourist information, in fact no road signs and little road in some cases. So you chance it with the folk, which pretty much without fail results in a bed, albeit after 2 hours chaos and introduction to a dozen friends and family before someone can accomodate... this is how we met Ilir:

Stopped at a News Kiosk, owner spoke German, as does Serge who asked about private rooms.

News Kiosk man spoke to wife, then rang his brother who arrived 5 minutes later, after a little consulation between the brothers. Motionned us to follow him.

Round the corner we headed, to a restaurant that was in the middle of refurbishment.

A painter decorator was introduced although I can t yet work out his connection.

Daniel then popped up, a english speaking Albanian on holiday from his home in... yep, you ve guessed it Wood Green, my home town.

Daniel then introduced us to another painter decorator who was also the restaurant owner - Ilir, who kindly put us up for the night and fed us fish he had caught that afternoon from the bridge in Lezhe.

That same night we met the manager of Lezhe's football team, Beselidhja and one of their star players. Amongst many others...

This is most typical of my experience here (Albania) so far. Need to add another 2 hours onto any plans as this is how long it typically takes. The people have been fantastic.

Following day, heading into the Albanian interior, which means mountains. Trying to avoid the postcard shots, but this one, looking down from the mountain road is worth a goosy..

Arrived in Burrel late afternoon and sure enough pursued the tenious but enjoyable struggle of finding a room on the cheap in Albania. This time with the help of Dridan, on holiday from his home in Reading - you may see a pattern developing here...

With Dridan's help we found what has to be one of the cheapest and probably grottiest hotels Ive ever stayed in, but at 200 Leke a night (1 pound) I can overlook lack of running water. Like an abandoned prison with hospital beds.

That night, inspecting the bike which had developed a few noises and what I had thought a slightly untrue wheel, normally corrected with a bit of spoke twiddling, I found that my front wheel rim had developed a 5 cm crack along the rim wall. It had been worn out over the 5000 km or so I ve done on the bike since new. Unusable, up in the mountains a wheel failure could be catastrophic on a decent and the Albanian potholled roads would have made further damage without any doubt. Decided to head down to Tirane the following day, Serge kindly in tow, in the hope of finding a new wheel rim which Burrel couldnt provide. But not one night of yet more great hospilality, I havent eaten so much meat for a long time...

We returned the next morning to the same bar, run by a friend of Didran, to receive two coffees paid for by the owner's friend in Croydon, who I had spoken to on his mobile phone the previous night... Speaking little Albanian my inquiry for breakfast was greeted with the very same steak, liver, pork chop, fatty youghurt meal, which on a few pints of 100 leke Tirana beer the previous night hit the spot - but wasnt what I was looking for, nursing a hangover only 12 hours later.

As we sat in the sun, slowly working our way back through the same meal upteen people sat with us. Some spoke English, some not. All bought us a drink, offered cigarettes, by the time we came to leave, one meal, 2 coffees and a few drinks later we found there was nothing left on the tab. All had been covered.

So far of the Albanians I have met who have lived in the UK, pretty much all of whom as refugees from the civil war in the late 90s, all bar one have lived in Wood Green or Harringay, which is about 2 km south of Wood Green.

On 4 or 5 seperate occasions Ive talked about the local pubs with complete strangers, not in Tirane or another heavily populated place, but in the most unlikely spots. For instance, one time, Serge and I stopped (hes on the left of the last photo btw) for a swig of water and a few nibbles, just us and the view I thought, when all of a sudden, bounding down the rocks to my left, a 30 something year old guy is asking me where Im from and whether I know the Hollywood pub in Wood Green... it is quite freakish, to cycle 3000 km away from home and be within half a sentence of talking about the locals in Wood Green.

The Hollywood Rock Cafe, or whatever its called cropped up many times, its the only place Ive been kicked out of, due to what one bouncer told me was provacative dancing - not by me sadly, a friend, my dancing must have been deemed safe. Must try harder.

Didran, dapper table tennis player ..

After being stung for a bus ride back down the mountain road we had cycled up the previous day, arrived in Tirane, the capital of Albania for a few days luxury in the hostel and a search for a new wheel. I had nearly given up on finding something suitable when, thanks to the directions of the every helpful and friendly hostel staff, I stumbled across the Bicycle Quarter of Tirane and the man they call the 'Specialist'.

It was the only word I understood as I attempted to negioate a price on a new wheel, spokes and rebuild. But for 2000 Leke Im now the proud owner of an Albanian deep section front rim which weighs a ton but seems pretty solid which should see me good for a little longer....

The 'Specialist'

Back on the bike this morning and staying in Elbasan, a few days from Montenegro now...

Although I cant tie it into any direct experience, it would be remiss to talk of Albania without mentionning King Zog, who ruled as king from 1928 - 1939, before he was ousted by Mussolini...

Italy to Bosnia

Have left the coast at last - it makes for very easy cycling, a bit bumpy with the odd hill but never far from campsites and civilisation, but I have become a little tired of the seaside tourist scene.

Chris's hospitality in Gavarano was great, more than made up for lagging behind on the food. Its difficult to eat well and cycle, stopping for a big feed is the end of the day for me so tend to plough through fueled by cheap biscuits and odd bits of fruit. So to be welcomed by steak, eggs, sausages was something else and enabled me to catch up with the past few days eating.

The route through Italy was pretty straightforward, 3 days, Gavorano to Monte Amiate, then to Perugia and finally Ancona. Crossing Italy cant be done without a few climbs and I didnt make things easy for myself however, getting lost trying to avoid the busy roads and tunnels of the Italian interior.
(Chris and I (left))

Switchbacks can be so demoralising, an hours cycling and you havent moved other than in altitude... many of the smaller roads lead to tiny villages and not much else and without a detailed map I was fearing the worst - a couple of hours uphill only to hit a dead end, spin round and come back down the same road, but luck as has often been the case so far, was on my side.. a tiny village at the top with a few helpful souls pointing me in the direction of Jesi where I had planned to stay for the night.

Tuscany and Umbria are beautiful, but the roads, unless I fancy a few cols are not bike friendly. The bigger roads arent too bad, traffic is still considerate but with so few routes to cross Italy, are busy with many artics, some with double trailers and in tunnels that makes for a few wide eyed experiences. Yet I find tunnels strangely enjoyable - they get the adrenaline flowing, a distance rumble in the distance as a truck enters the 1 km long tunnel behind me, louder and louder, images of Speilberg's film Duel, still cant see the truck in my bike mirror, up out of the seat, pumping hard on the pedals trying to get out the tunnel before the trucks gets me... then being fired out of the other end, beating the truck into the sunshine at speed. Of course, the few times the truck has caught up, they ve slowed down and patiently waited, but cant help playing the tunnel game.

Having finally made it to Jesi, no campsites and no hotels so reluctantly trucked on after a massive Lebanese take-away at about 10pm looking for a camping spot. No joy, a developed area, not suited to cheeky camping so feeling reasonably energetic I headed for the coast and somehow found myself in Ancona. Once off the bike realised I was pretty well gone. A glance at the computer showed 116 miles, which after the Umbrian mountain escapade had left me shattered. Found some long dry grass about 1 km from the port and fell into blissful sleep. Arriving a day early meant I could get the ferry that day, leaving only 20 hours or so to kill in Ancona, which was no bad thing, a port city with not many attractions in truth, the Italian communist party had a live band in the square which entertained me whilst I frittered my remaining euros on pizza, beers, gelato and coffee.

The ferry was an overnighter, some how managed with a wink and a smile an upgrade from a couchette in a shared room to VIP cabin number 2 which made up for the previous night in the grass. After a wake up knock on the cabin door, opened the curtains to the following view of Croatia which felt special for many reasons...

I had been looking forward to leaving western europe for a while. The attraction of cycling is the experiencing the gradual change, both geographically and socially as I head further from home. But this also means a little while before things change significantly from the London. Arriving in Croatia, I felt like the adventure had really started.

Split is Croatia's second largest city, based on the coast, it was a choice holiday location for Roman emporers and Diocletian chose to build a palace there in 300 AD. The old town resides within and about this old palace, evolving over the period since with continual additions, now an ecletic mix of buildings and streets so narrow I would barely fit down them. Staying in a hostel nearby, I enjoyed a few relaxing days off the bike and was able to find somewhere to leave the bike whilst I headed into Bosnia. Decided agianst cycling into Bosnia, the weather has started to get a little more chilly and a route down the Dalmation coast through Montenegro, Albania, Macedonia (FYROM) and into Greece keeps me near the milder mediteranean climate - a detour into Sarajevo on the bike doesnt make sense with this route in mind.

Sarajevo is a remarkable city. I have spent 3 days here and could easily spend more. Beautiful, diverse, relaxed and very friendly. Staying in the Turkish quarter, during Ramadan amongst many mosques I can finally say Ive left Western Europe.

The food is great and like many things in Sarajevo, if you come armed with UK sterling, very cheap. Dining out on Cevapi, small sausages in warm bread and onions for 5 marks, (about 2.5 euros), Bosnian coffee, very similar to Turkish coffee, with a slice of turkish delight and a glass of water for 1 mark. Finally living like a prince at last.

Yesterday, I visited a house near Sarajevo airport which is the entrance point of a 800 metre tunnel built during the war, underneath the then UN controlled airport used by the Bosnian forces to move food, people and munitions in and out of Sarajevo during the seige of the city between 1992 and 1995. Meeting Bosnians of my own age, who have experienced, suffered and overcome the events of such traumatic times is a deeply moving experience.

Many physical scares still evident, many houses still show the marks of mortar attack, bullet holes everywhere and even 10 years on many ruins still exist including the parliamentry building. The 8000 UN troops still stationned here are a vivid reminder of both the traumatic past and fragile ongoing reconstruction process.



Tomorrow morning Im on the early bus back to Split to be reunited with bike and then continuing down the coast through Dubrovnik into Montenegro...


house at start of tunnel












Yellow holiday Inn building and the scared parliamentry building to its right