Macedonia, Greece, Albania, Montenegro, Croatia, and Bosnia-Hercezgovina

Macedonia, Greece, Albania, Montenegro, Croatia, and Bosnia-Hercezgovina
In this episode, I...
-happen into Macedonia on its 20th birthday
-have fun with Bunkers in Albania
-Go “tunnelling” in formerly war-torn Sarajevo
MACEDONIA
After arriving in Macedonia’s capital Skopje from Kosovo, I assumed things would probably be a fair more developed than in Kosovo but not as developed as Belgrade (a fair assessment), but I was surprised to find getting a taxi driver to take you to your actual destination is quite an undertaking (not only was I taken by two separate taxi drivers to two wrong locations, my actual hotel ended up being only a few blocks from the bus/rail station anyway, so I could have walked). That said, the hostel was very hard to find (tucked away in alleys by the river, and devoid of any sign, or street sign for that matter) but somehow I managed to get to it (granted I think my guidebook had an error on its map which caused some of the confusion).
Skopje is actually a fairly compact city centred around its central river. You can walk most places although most of it seemed under construction, possibly for its 20th anniversary celebration which my visit happened to coincide. Despite the fact that if the country isn’t even old enough to drink in the US, Macedonian pride was on high and the flag—a striking Hellenistic yellow sun on a red background—was visible everywhere. Skopje’s showpiece square (which at the moment I believe is called Macedonian square), features a highly oversized statue of Alexander the Great on a horse on a pedestal above a series of other statues, lights, and fountain show (though at the time, much of this was behind scaffolding).
After hanging out in Skopje for a bit, I took a bus out to Lake Olhrud (Ohlrud? Ohrud? Ohruid? How do spell this blessed thing?) which is said to be the spiritual heart of Macedonia (although its shared with Albania). This is said to be the place where the Cyrillic alphabet (the one used by Russians, Ukrainians, Serbians, Bulgarians, Montenegrins, and of course Macedonians) was invented, apparently to confuse people who read the Latin alphabet. I’m not kidding. The Eastern Roman empire at the time was trying to distance itself from the Western Roman empire (ie. Rome), so it figured if it created a different alphabet (and made it based on local languages instead of Latin) it would be more popular locally and the Western Romans wouldn’t be able to read it (also Easterners wouldn’t be able to read Latin).
Lake Olhrud (let’s just call it that) is certainly a gorgeous setting to create a new alphabet, a scenic medieval town (with twisty cobblestone streets, old churches, and the like), dominated by an old Ottoman fort, overlooking cliffs and a freshwater lake, with café and beaches along the base of the cliff where you can swim and have a drink. Fantastic. It’s like Greece except affordable… and less salty.
Technically I was supposed to move on at that point, but the train appears to have been cancelled between Macedonia and Greece to the ongoing name dispute. In effect, Greece—which has a province called Macedonia with occasional separatist tendencies—has objected to Macedonia calling itself Macedonia for the last 20 years, but Macedonia refuses to budge (I suggested they just change the name to France, but apparently that’s another kettle of fish). I find it a bit odd that Macedonia and Greece’s squabbling over a name has caused more border issues than I had between Serbia and Kosovo (despite the fact that Serbia and Kosovo had legitimate concerns, like a war and genocide, to get all ancy about), but I was able to get a 6 am bus the next day so it was no big deal.
As a result of the layover, I was also hosted by Melka, a local Macedonian woman I met on the bus back from Olhrud who—a heavy metal enthusiast—took me out to party in Skopje. She showed me quite a few places in Skopje, but one thing she didn’t show me—despite its apparent Balkan popularity—is something called Turbofolk, which her (and the Serbian rocker) both were adamant about their absolute distaste for it. Turbofolk as far as I can gather involves twisted souped-up remixes of folk music (probably techno) involving in the words of Melka “a big breasted woman and some stupid people.” Turbofolk is probably as distasteful as its made out to be, but my morbid curiosity is starting to get the better of me.
Anyways, strange pop cultural phenomena aside, Melka showed me a fantastic time and we cooked up a Macedonian storm in her little apartment, including sausages (most of which I can’t pronounce), vegetables, and fun scaring her roommate who would freak out any time I spoke English to her. Sadly though, I don’t have time to linger on this trip so on to Greece I went.
GREECE
Greece, to be frank, was something of a disaster for me. Being a history and mythology buff, I had high hopes for Greece and had heard great things (most people have a great time), but a disappointing introduction to Athens, high prices, and the theft of my digital camera made me wish I’d stayed in Macedonia.
Getting to Greece from Macedonia in the first place was tricky, as Greece had inexplicably cut off rail links with other countries, presumably due to the economic crisis (although I don’t understand how making it more difficult for people to come to your country helps your economy). Having limited time, I decided to base myself in Athens and maybe check out one of the legendary islands of the Aegean.
On my first day in Athens, I tried to do a walking tour (one of the great ways to meet fellow travellers in a new city, well usually anyway) but the tour guide (a cynical American expat who apparently was only in Athens because he married a Greek girl) seemed more interested in pointing out where to find the city’s crack addicts than talking about history and myth (in fact, he complained about tour guides talking about history and mythology, saying “nobody gives a damn about that shit.”) Of course, he made sure to remind us to tip him after the tour (despite the fact that the tour wasn’t even free). Think I’ll stick to the free tours (and if I can’t find one, just go on my own).
The old remaining Greek and Roman ruins are impressive although what remains of them is being not-so-slowly eroded away by the steady march of tourist hordes, often fresh from a cruise boat. And its hard to get an appreciation for what Socrates must have been thinking while you’re being rushed through a mob and trying to defend yourself against pickpockets.
Being told that the islands were what made Greece legendary, I decided to check out one of them—Hydra, relatively close to Athens, but still considered impressive. It was fine, and the old harbor town was quite beautiful (and exactly what you’d expect from a Greek coastal town), but it was quite small, entirely touristy, and you could finish exploring it in about 10 mins. I spent the rest of the day on the island trying to find somewhere to swim (for free). There weren’t beaches per se (at least not sandy ones), but they did have a view ladders built off of rocks into swimming sections. I swam a bit around the rocks as the sea tossed me to and fro (mostly wakes from ferry boats) and was surprised to find that I seemed extremely buoyant (so much so that my head would actually stay above water, and I could breathe, even if I didn’t bother treading water). But swimming on your own is only amusing for so long, so I got back on shore and caught the hydrofoil back to Athens.
It was on arrival back in Athens when I believe disaster struck (I believe, because I didn’t notice them do it, but I had to pass through a notorious square filled with shady characters in order to get back to my hostel, and there were a couple times I got stopped by traffic or someone jumped in front of me and tried to distract me.
Keep in mind I was travelling with all my bags (I had thought I was going to stay on the island for a couple of days, but ended up deciding to come back the same day), so I was mostly trying to guard them and I guess I must have left my pockets unguarded as sure enough next morning I discovered my digital camera—the one I had bought to replace the one that was stolen in South Africa—had once again been stolen (this time with all my pictures of Macedonia, Kosovo, and Greece).
This was a disaster, and losing the pictures broke my heart. To make matters worse, my hostel wouldn’t let me have my bed back (despite the fact no one was using it), because that particular dorm room was empty (yes, not a single other person was even in the room). They reasoned if I got a dorm room to myself, then I should pay a single room rate, even though there were so many empty dorm rooms that that they could have easily scattered everyone they crammed into the one dorm room into separate rooms and given us all a better night’s sleep.
The next day, my last in Greece, was spent trying frantically to determine if by chance my camera had been left in the Metro or the Subway, but it became evidently clear that this was a chronic problem in Greece and nobody cared to do anything about. After hours of futility, I caught the bus to Albania and bid Greece a not-so-fond farewell.
The other countries in the Balkans sometimes refer to Greece as the France of the Balkans, because it strikes a lot, is expensive, and always causes a fuss. The description appears to be apt. Granted many people adore Greece (mostly college students, ladies and couples I find), but I’ll take Eastern Europe over it any day. That and its just way too damn hot.
ALBANIA
After Greece, I was looking forward to getting back into Eastern Europe proper (with its lower prices and smaller tourist hordes). Tirana, Albania’s capital, is practically the anti-thesis of Athens, under-developed, under-rated, and inexpensive. In other words, fantastic! I knew things were going to be different as soon as I bought my bus ticket from an Albanian tour operator, who couldn’t speak a lick of English, and has a big Albanian flag and a stuffed full-size Albanian hawk (yes a real one) overlooking the ticket counter.
While tourist attractions were few and far between there were plenty of cafes, old buildings, and old communist-era relics to amuse, in particular the pyramid built by the late dictator Hoxha as a museum to himself, that has since been re-purposed multiple times and is presently, it seems, being used as a monument to how detested the former authoritarian was (another legacy of the Hoxha era are the thousands of bunkers built along the coast, apparently to stave off a Western Imperialist invasion (because everyone knows Albania was target number one) and which have since been repurposed into parts of houses, restaurants, places to lose ones virginity, and of course public “toilets”)
Incidentally, while some Muslim countries (Albania is technically a Muslim country) maybe had a somewhat different opinion of George W. Bush, Albanians apparently liked him enough to name a street after him.
The nightlife situation in Tirana is perhaps a bit tame, I’m not sure, I didn’t really get to explore it. I tried to, but the street I thought the nightclubs happened to swamped with Albanian police in front of a do not cross line when I arrive and an Albanian newscaster was doing a story on it. Clearly something big (and most probably bad) had happened, but I couldn’t figure out what it was as no one spoke English. Deciding it best to maybe just head back to my hostel, I passed a fast food restaurant that was open on the way and I say they were watching that same reporter on the TV (at the same corner I just was) and I asked the guys hanging out in there if they could speak English (thankfully one could… a little) and he explained that two masked men with guns had tried to rob a casino, the police came, there was a shoot-out with police and a couple officers were wounded (one may have been killed), but they managed to arrest the robbers, of this 20 minutes before I arrived (I’m just glad I wasn’t a little more punctual).
The next day I headed one to Montenegro which was a little strange (Albania’s buses tend to defy regional logic, but they’re cheap) which involved switching a lot, but paying more for the cab to the bus station than for the bus itself. After being dropped off in a town near the border, but not at the border, myself and an Austrian guy ended up sharing a cab with local driver (he talked us into it) who took us to the border itself, and after a bit of a confusing time clearing customs and trying to find transportation onward to Budva (a coastal resort town in Montenegro) we decided we would probably have to hitchhike as the buses that were promised to be on the other side of customs were nowhere in sight. We needn’t have worried though, as before I was even able to stick out my thumb a bus came out of nowhere, picked us up and we happily went on our way, ending up in Budva well ahead of schedule.
MONTENEGRO
A tiny country, Montenegro used to be joined with Serbia until it went its own way just a few years ago. As such, it quickly became the latest Mediterranean ”secret” out of the former Yugoslavia (something Croatia was once upon a time), but it is clear that Montenegro is going the way of the Croatia (in many ways its already there) and adventurous travelers might even have to go as far as Albania to escape the hordes.
That said, Montenegro is still a gorgeous country (and cheap and easy to get around, as its so tiny). Budva was basically in the center of the coast and in between two highlights mentioned in my guidebook, Sveti Stefan and Kotor Bay.
We hit Sveti Stefan first because Kotor Bay was on my way to Croatia (where I was heading next). Sveti Stefan is a small medieval town on a small almost-island barely connected to the mainland. It is very scenic but unfortunately you can’t explore because the whole thing has been turned into an exclusive hotel (and if you’re reading my blog, you probably can’t afford it). Even the beach beside it had a big sign reading 50 euros for a swim (outrageous!). Needless to say, we did take a dip, but we ignored the sign.
While my Austrian buddy Michael sunned it up on the pebble beach that you didn’t have to pay 50 euros for, I hiked around the little park area (very pleased to see hills with trees on them after Greece) and asked a waiter what one does in Sveti Stefan.
“Fish or pick-up Russian women,” he replied. I was never a fan of seafood.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t speak Russian either.
Budva itself was a bit more down to earth (although still very touristy) and had its own summer fair-style theme park (filled with children) and right next to it an open air strip club (great for the kids). It seems in Croatia and Montenegro, the most affordable places to stay are at private guesthouses that you get from the old people who approach you at bus or train stations. At first I was a little suspicious of these (based on my experience in Africa, I always assume someone who’s approaching me at a bus or train station and trying to sell me something is not offering me the best deal), but it turned out okay.
Anyway, the next day I continued along the coast to Dubrovnik, but not before stopping for the better part of the day in Kotor Bay which is a gorgeous little town in a scenic bay with churches built on small islands. I could have easily explored it more, but unfortunately my time and budget are running short.
CROATIA
Dubrovnik may have been a hidden gem in past years, but any place with 14 cruise ships anchored off shore can’t make that claim any more. Gorgeous and picture-esque though it was, Dubrovnik had also become very pricey. I tried to save money by going to the island of Lokram (a nature reserve) for some hiking and swimming and this was a good plan (the island was gorgeous and still fairly natural, at least for Europe). Again you basically had no real beach, you just swam off of rocks (some being very treacherous to jump across while wet and unagile), but it was very scenic and you could usually find a nook or pool somewhere where you could take a dip. There were no change rooms, so changing basically consisted of finding a rock or bush to hide behind and hope no one walks in on you (that’s if you’re modest, that is, I saw a couple of Europeans get naked right out in the open).
Then it’s a mad dash back to the ferry and back to the mainland before 7 pm (otherwise you apparently get stuck on the island and presumably have to sleep under the trees—maybe not so bad).
Unfortunately though my bad luck with cameras continued, as moving my camera into a new pocket (to protect it from thieves) created a new problem. As I was moving my luggage down a series of steps (there’s always a series of steps), one bag hit my pocket, and somehow hit the camera turn on button. The camera turned itself on (and extended its lens) and because it had no where to expand, broke itself.
I stared at my broken camera (only 2 days old!) in disbelief. I’m hoping that I will be able to replace it under warranty (as we speak, I’m heading to Slovenia where apparently my warranty is in effect, because it’s EU, as it wasn’t in effect in Bosnia or Montenegro where I bought the blessed thing). This camera things really starting to get me down.
Anyways, Croatia was too expensive so on to Bosnia!
BOSNIA-HERCEGOVINA
I had originally planned to just stop in Mostar (a mountain town famous for its old bridge) before heading to Split in Croatia to catch a ferry to visit my friend in Italy, but that trip fell through when I couldn’t touch base with my Italian friend, so I decided to go to much cheaper Sarajevo instead (I’ve been to Italy before anyway, and Bosnia seemed more interesting).
First though, I stopped in Mostar, where instead of being greeted by an old person I was met by a stunningly beautiful Bosnian university student, Amina. While usually when beautiful women ask me to purchase something, this turns out to be a disaster, she actually was incredibly honest and very nice (and even helped me try to get my broken camera sorted out in Mostar to no avail). Unfortunately, I don’t think her guesthouse has a name (its basically her family’s apartment, and while you get a room to yourself, she lives with her mother, and two brothers). She was clearly the only one in the family who spoke English (and she spoke it well) and appeared to be the hardest working member of the family (I didn’t see her brothers do too much) as she went to the train station and back trying to recruit more guests as well as her studies and other work and Skype with her boyfriend, a Bosnian soldier in Afghanistan. Definitely speaking with her and her family (mostly her) was a highlight of Mostar as I got an insider’s peek at real Bosnian life.
She explained that while the town was still divided by the river into two ethnic enclaves (Bosnian Muslims and Croatian Catholics I believe), most of the tension today basically just centred around soccer games (while sports are presumably meant to spread world peace, soccer fans appear to have missed that whole thing). The town itself is an interesting mix of old Ottoman shops and cobblestone streets, modern rebuilds, and dilapidated relics from the war years (tragic but fascinating to see). Mostar’s Starimost (Old Bridge), it’s most famous attraction, was destroyed by Croatians during the war (apparently in an attempt to make Mostar part of Croatia) but has been reconstructed… now with steps.
While Dubrovnik was close enough that the bridge was covered in tourists in the day time, the town and bridge were basically empty at night. The bridge was so empty in fact at night that as I was climbing it I felt an ominous crunch beneath my feet.
I was shocked to discover that I had apparently stepped on a dead cat (apparently had been dead for some time) that was inexplicably lying on the bridge. It had crumpled under me like a mummy might if you stepped on its face. Sent a chill down my spine for the rest of the evening.
After Mostar, I headed to Sarajevo (only a couple of hours away). Sarajevo is a city with a reputation, but the war’s been over for a number of years now, so there’s no problem going to it; in fact its emerging status makes it more authentic and definitely adds to the charm.
It’s not like Bosnians have forgotten the war (it only ended in the 1990s). Indeed, the hostel I stayed at (which actually was chosen by accident as I got it mixed up with my intended hostel across the street), happened to be run by this elderly couple who apparently were Bosnian political big whigs during the war (or at least make convincing claims that they were). The husband apparently worked for the Bosnian war ministry and had to dodge sniper fire every day as he walked to and from work (he also apparently participated in the negotiation of the Dayton Accords in 1995 that finally brought the war to an end). The wife was also in the diplomatic service and apparently welcomed foreign dignitaries visiting Sarajevo during the war years, including the French president, the British prime minister, and various Hollywood celebrities. They took us on a driving tour of the Sarajevo Tunnel (which was used to smuggle weapons, supplies, and people in and out of the city during the 3.5 year siege by the Serbian military) and gave us a history of why the tunnel was built and how desperate the besieged city was.
Basically between 1992 and 1995, Sarajevo was almost completely surrounded by the Serbian military, who were attempting to subdue the city by siege to fulfill Slobodan Milosevic’s ominous dream of a “Greater Serbia.” The town, mostly Bosnian Muslims, outnumbered the Serbs, but the Serbs had stronger weapons so what followed was a standoff where Serbian snipers and artillery would pound the city from the surrounding hills and the Bosnians would try to link up with their friendly forces through the tunnel under the International airport (which was controlled by UN forces). You can still see places like the Holiday Inn (where journalists were trapped for months) and bombed out relics of the 1984 winter Olympics (which were held in Sarajevo while Yugoslavia was together and still relatively peaceful).
Of course, Sarajevo has a history before the war, being an important post in the Ottoman empire, the Austro-Hungarian empire, and Yugoslavia, and all three have left their mark on the city (you can definitely tell the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian districts apart, as well as the more modern sectors), but it has long been a city associated with tragedy. This was the place where the Bosnian Serb assassin Gavrilo Princip shot Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand, thus setting off the chain reaction that began the First World War (and set the stage for humanity’s bloodiest century). Still though, the Bosnians are very friendly (they have yet to be jaded by tourists coming to visit their city) and Sarajevo is magically place, bullet-holes and all.
I met a Canadian girl, Kat, and an Australian girl, Renee, (they had been roommates in London for the past three years where they had worked as nurses) who were really friendly and great to hang out with (the tunnel tour was their idea). The Canadian girl, like me, was about to head back to Canada and having some misgivings about attempting the “real life” again, something we shared sorrows over. Hopefully see them again, but for now I’m on a train to Slovenia (and its perennially unspellable capital Ljubljana).