Day 27 - Bar to Tirana

Peering sleepily into the kitchen I saw Ilya busying himself over several pans. Soon I had in front of me a large bowl of millet kasha, accompanied by a tin of condensed milk with sugar, a staple product of the Communist era. In the past it was popular with Soviet outdoorsmen and sweet toothed children alike. This morning I enjoyed it from both perspectives. The sweet treat cheered the tired little boy inside me while the large wodge of calories was good juice for the hundred odd miles to Tirana.

After Ilya’s “short cut” took me along a dirt road up a hill then a stony road down the same hill I arrived on the road to the border, which I could have sworn I’d seen from the front door. A nice thought, but not the most expedient route I had taken.

Turning eastward at the town of Ulcinj, I found myself in a succession of valleys, filled with shady woods, little green meadows and wildflowers. The roads narrowed to lanes and every now and then I would pass smiling rural people who were pleased to return a wave and call out support. I was a little unnerved by the regular flow of tinted Mercedes carrying suited men. I tried to ignore the mental connection with Pacino’s Sicilian exile in The Godfather and made good time to the border. The smile and brief but open conversation of the Albanian border guard was the first taste of a consistent friendliness I would find from the first to the last miles in the country.

The small, countryside villages were alive with people of all ages trading, learning or talking on or near the street and as I met the gaze of the locals I was ushered through with waves and shouts. I even received a high five from a school kid. All this kept me well motivated through to the large town of Shkoder, where I had to cross the river which constituted the physical, if not the political, border with Montenegro. The bridge was a criss-cross of rust bedded with old wooden planks of varying proportions. I kept my eyes fixed on the few feet in front of my tire to avoid puncture on the several bent nails. Arriving at the other side I looked up just in time to see a sign which had no business being there – Instanbul (sic) 1109 km. A swelling of excited joy took me quickly round the first corner of the broad main road and grinning I looked out hungrily at the flat plain stretching out in front of me. With a slight wind at my back and my spirit as high as ever, I put in two hours of my best work and with it a good dent in the day’s mileage.

After a quick lunch in the company of some talkative boys operating a roadside carwash I cracked on with the approach to Tirana. After a short while, the good road I had been eating up was interrupted by major road works. To start off with, this was a boon as I found my way onto stretches which had not yet been opened to cars. This gave me a three lane bicycle path of freshly laid, tar black tarmac for a few miles. Later, though, the barriers were less substantial and drivers had the same idea as me. It all came together in a free for all where drivers would find a stretch of passable road and go for it. Vehicles travelled in both directions on either side of the central reservation and I was amazed that no one seemed to think this unusual. I stayed well clear at the side of the road.

As I neared Tirana, the road works were at a less advanced stage and I made slow progress on surfaces that ranged from dirt to gravel to potholed mess. Soon the outskirts of the city appeared about me and immediately I felt the brawn of the Mediterranean capital. It was exciting. I made my way through to the centre looking bright eyed all around me and finally stood in awe beneath the barrel chest of the national hero Skanderbeg, set in bronze in the central square.

If ever there was a man to match his city it was my host Andel. The confidence of his conversation and the sure swagger of all his movements reflected perfectly the attitude of Tirana. We enjoyed a couple of beers together before he set off for his night shift and I retired to bed.

Distance covered 101 miles