We didn't have too many kilometres to do but nonetheless it was a bit of an exaggeration to have stopped three times for photos and coffee before doing 25 km and it was gone eleven. And we had two borders to cross today.
Nice roadside sign for a cafe/restaurant saying 10% off for ' baykers' - presumably 20% for car drivers? Others showing the inherent dangers of wild boar but there was no pork on the menu at any of the restaurants.
Montenegro border was a border in that you actually had to show a passport and the gruff swarthy asked to see the Green Card. Passports were stamped though clearly ink was in short supply, as it hardly makes half a stamp and you can't even read the word Montenegro. Francoise nonetheless got reprimanded for trying to take photos and about a 5km queue in the other direction. Road becomes good again, but the surface has deteriorated and its a bit too bumpy for Francoise and the photos. Beaches are now far more formal with perfectly aligned beach parasols all of the same colour. Wonder whether they had reserved beach towels too?
A nice little baby adventure in that we had to take a ferry and they all looked like retired Woolwich Ferries. Francoise used her extensive Montenegrin to buy a ferry ticket for a motorbike but, honestly, dressed like that would she be in a car?
The day's stress point was entering into Albania which was, in our childhood times, almost impossible. It was as closed off as North Korea is today. It was the land of King Zog and President Hoxha and somebody told us even birds couldn't fly over the border. For some reason it makes Paul think of his early memories of reading Tintin - treasured xmas presents from nearly 50 years ago.
We started wending our way into the hills and the road became single track. One questioned Mr Garmin. But it was the right road and we were waved out of Montenegro, but we were not waved into Albania? Nothing, no passport check, no insurance check, no border point, men in uniform, sign or flag. We thought that there must be a rather long no-mans but it wasn't the case.
We thought that maybe Albania was a figment of our, or Herge 's imagination but then we came across the single horse-powered vehicles, the mothers with children coin collectors and the cows in the roads. And then we were in Shkodar which was our destination and all a bit grim. But our stopover was in a building dating from 1694 sandwiched between grey and orange post war soviet style blocks. We immediately decided we would be eating there that evening but went for a walk outside down the main pedestrianised route. We were wanting to get a drink but there were no women in any of the cafes. All a bit tough but we managed a slightly more forgiving atmosphere at the other end of the street.
We thought that maybe Albania was a figment of our, or Herge 's imagination but then we came across the single horse-powered vehicles, the mothers with children coin collectors and the cows in the roads. And then we were in Shkodar which was our destination and all a bit grim. But our stopover was in a building dating from 1694 sandwiched between grey and orange post war soviet style blocks. We immediately decided we would be eating there that evening but went for a walk outside down the main pedestrianised route. We were wanting to get a drink but there were no women in any of the cafes. All a bit tough but we managed a slightly more forgiving atmosphere at the other end of the street.
Dinner was great. Wild Boar on the menu and they knew how to make sausages with it. Paul always reckons that a country should be judged on its sausages. Albania passed and came with entertainment too!
In the morning we decided to hit the sites and visit the local castle but the cobblestone approach on quite a steep incline proved too much for Paul and it didn't feel safe to leave the unattended bike at the start of the incline. So we read up about the myth of three brothers and one of the wives being half built into the wall as some sort of sacrifice - clearly an old wives tale. So we failed on the castle, but there was still the Balkans biggest lake just next door - but although we could find it nobody had seemed to build a road down to it and it was best viewed from the top of the mountains. So two down and two failed. The ride back through Shkodar on a Saturday morning reminded us of China. Dogs, children, bikes, everything in the street and we would have ridden on the wrong side of the road but it was just as busy that side too.
So we gave up and headed for the beach where we were to meet up with one of Francoise's friends from school and her family. Durres is apparently the Albanian Riviera but the road to it was strewn with dead dogs and cats. The wandering dogs are quite scary - but we have knee high boots beneath our jeans! At least we seem dressed for riding a bike - and hot. There are plenty of Italians on BMW's wearing little more than a NoFear bandana and road burn will make such a mess of their tattoos.
Durres was dead when we arrived. So much for the Riviera. So we meandered, saw the
roman and venetian remains and then rode out to meet Francoise's friend for a family dinner. Fantastic feast and warm welcome. And then there was a 1km traffic jam to get back into Durres - it had woken up!
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