Hi guys. In Sofia - there's been a very sudden change of plan. Because me and Simon are now going to appear in a Bulgarian magazine which comes out on Monday, we're not going to Istanbul tomorrow, but Romania on an overnight train tonight, then return to our lovely hostel in Sofia to pick up this magazine featuring us. THEN we go to Istanbul, almost a week late.
More later, I was just in checking on the visa situation for Romania as all our plans have changed in the last 2 hours. In Romania we may get a chance to write properly, and I promise I'll reply to some emails.
And mum - excellent. You're a lifesaver.
Wednesday, October 31, 2001
Monday, October 29, 2001
So... it's... Skopje, everyone's favourite city in Macedonia. The city that a couple of weeks ago we were warned not to go to by someone in Dubrovnik because they'd met people who'd arrived there and found themselves in the middle of a gunfight. So we had to check it out then, obviously. Nah, apparently these people turned up at 1am in Skopje and we planned it a little wiser and made it for just after 1pm.
Skopje was certainly not planned though. But unexpectedly I met the girl I'm going to marry in Prishtina, and so we're now travelling together. Simon's gone to Sofia, I believe.
No, no, just joking. No, the damn guy who told us that there was an 11am bus from Prishtina to Sofia turned out to be a filthy, ugly, stinking, fat liar. He can suck my cock, the retarded prick. Nah, I don't hold him any big grudges, but I hope his family are killed in a mortar attack. It meant that our supposed bus to Sofia didn't exist, so we took the next best thing, an 11.30am to Skopje, the capital of Macedonia.
First of all, our time in Prishtina. Pretty unexciting actually, but after our chaotic Albania experience that was just what we wanted. We decided to stay over the weekend, not due to any great desire to stay in the city for three days but because we were out of money and needed to wait till Monday for the bank to open. And as it happened anyway, Kosovo isn't yet geared for international money withdrawals so we ended up having to change all our remaining dollars and Simon's pounds to just scrape paying for the hotel and subsequent bus.
So, our second day in Prishtina was spent wandering, and me buying some pirate CDs. Oh man, if only I'd more money and space, I'd have bought hundreds. One pound a CD. We lounged about rather a lot, and in the evening bought a dirt cheap bottle of wine and dirt cheap litre bottle of whisky. The wine lasted seconds, and we valiantly made our way through the whisky. All this was done by candlelight because the electricity supply in Prishtina was highly erractic and cut out for the entire night. So we drowned our sorrows with revolting whisky (but for 4 pounds for a litre, I'm not complaining) and I believe I fell asleep on the floor. Because I certainly woke up on the floor. I suppose Simon might have rolled me off the bed during the night.
What a horrible thought.
Talking of thoughts, in the bus today I suddenly forgot how to think. Seriously, it was really off-putting. I think I was at that point just before dozing, and for some reason I was thinking about a prince (I really don't know why) and suddenly the concept of "orange" burst into my head and got entirely confused with the concept of a "prince" and I found myself utterly baffled, and unable to think properly for at least 2 minutes. I'm ok now though, don't worry.
Ok, that was a bit of a tanget. Our final full day in Prishtina was absolutely uneventful. Really, aside from the electricity going on and off, there is absolutely nothing of any interest that happened that day. I just lazed. EXCEPT...
...I've been the victim of crime. No joking. Admittedly I could be worse off, such as decapitated or have my face burned in an acid attack, but nonetheless I've suffered from a crime. It's a bit of an odd one, I'm still trying to figure it out. But that day I decided to casually flick through my photos. I got them all developed in Kotor and each set came with it's own free little photo album that I put each photo carefully into. So, I went to look at my photos and... a whole set of photos were loose. Packed together neatly, in order, but out of their album. And the album had gone. Eight remained, but the ninth... had vanished. Someone had taken all my photos out an album and taken the album. I'm completely confused. The only possible perpatrator of this crime can be the cleaner at the hotel, because she tidied all our stuff away. And stole my photo album?
Anyway, I think that just about shows you the great excitement that's been had recently. Sop, we're in Skopje now, which has turned out to be really rather pleasant. A cynic might describe it as anonymous but I think I had image of Macedonia being another primal Albania type of territory, but Skopje is pretty and modern and not backwards at all. It even has a MacDonalds which though hardly a commendation, is something that all the countries I've been to recently have lacked. Not that I've gone to it, of course. I've been sampling the local food... a pizza slice from the large shopping mall. Travelling is such a cultural experience.
The hostel is extrmely pleasant too, if a little anti-septic. But I'll take anti-septic when that means clean, warm water, proper toilets, comfortable and not infested with evil.
Is that everything then? Yup. Sofia tomorrow, for a couple of days. I hear there's a very high rate of violent assaults on tourists there.
Just joking mum.
Skopje was certainly not planned though. But unexpectedly I met the girl I'm going to marry in Prishtina, and so we're now travelling together. Simon's gone to Sofia, I believe.
No, no, just joking. No, the damn guy who told us that there was an 11am bus from Prishtina to Sofia turned out to be a filthy, ugly, stinking, fat liar. He can suck my cock, the retarded prick. Nah, I don't hold him any big grudges, but I hope his family are killed in a mortar attack. It meant that our supposed bus to Sofia didn't exist, so we took the next best thing, an 11.30am to Skopje, the capital of Macedonia.
First of all, our time in Prishtina. Pretty unexciting actually, but after our chaotic Albania experience that was just what we wanted. We decided to stay over the weekend, not due to any great desire to stay in the city for three days but because we were out of money and needed to wait till Monday for the bank to open. And as it happened anyway, Kosovo isn't yet geared for international money withdrawals so we ended up having to change all our remaining dollars and Simon's pounds to just scrape paying for the hotel and subsequent bus.
So, our second day in Prishtina was spent wandering, and me buying some pirate CDs. Oh man, if only I'd more money and space, I'd have bought hundreds. One pound a CD. We lounged about rather a lot, and in the evening bought a dirt cheap bottle of wine and dirt cheap litre bottle of whisky. The wine lasted seconds, and we valiantly made our way through the whisky. All this was done by candlelight because the electricity supply in Prishtina was highly erractic and cut out for the entire night. So we drowned our sorrows with revolting whisky (but for 4 pounds for a litre, I'm not complaining) and I believe I fell asleep on the floor. Because I certainly woke up on the floor. I suppose Simon might have rolled me off the bed during the night.
What a horrible thought.
Talking of thoughts, in the bus today I suddenly forgot how to think. Seriously, it was really off-putting. I think I was at that point just before dozing, and for some reason I was thinking about a prince (I really don't know why) and suddenly the concept of "orange" burst into my head and got entirely confused with the concept of a "prince" and I found myself utterly baffled, and unable to think properly for at least 2 minutes. I'm ok now though, don't worry.
Ok, that was a bit of a tanget. Our final full day in Prishtina was absolutely uneventful. Really, aside from the electricity going on and off, there is absolutely nothing of any interest that happened that day. I just lazed. EXCEPT...
...I've been the victim of crime. No joking. Admittedly I could be worse off, such as decapitated or have my face burned in an acid attack, but nonetheless I've suffered from a crime. It's a bit of an odd one, I'm still trying to figure it out. But that day I decided to casually flick through my photos. I got them all developed in Kotor and each set came with it's own free little photo album that I put each photo carefully into. So, I went to look at my photos and... a whole set of photos were loose. Packed together neatly, in order, but out of their album. And the album had gone. Eight remained, but the ninth... had vanished. Someone had taken all my photos out an album and taken the album. I'm completely confused. The only possible perpatrator of this crime can be the cleaner at the hotel, because she tidied all our stuff away. And stole my photo album?
Anyway, I think that just about shows you the great excitement that's been had recently. Sop, we're in Skopje now, which has turned out to be really rather pleasant. A cynic might describe it as anonymous but I think I had image of Macedonia being another primal Albania type of territory, but Skopje is pretty and modern and not backwards at all. It even has a MacDonalds which though hardly a commendation, is something that all the countries I've been to recently have lacked. Not that I've gone to it, of course. I've been sampling the local food... a pizza slice from the large shopping mall. Travelling is such a cultural experience.
The hostel is extrmely pleasant too, if a little anti-septic. But I'll take anti-septic when that means clean, warm water, proper toilets, comfortable and not infested with evil.
Is that everything then? Yup. Sofia tomorrow, for a couple of days. I hear there's a very high rate of violent assaults on tourists there.
Just joking mum.
Saturday, October 27, 2001
I've just read Simon's diary and see that he has made his "hilarious" acryllic joke about the Cyrillic alphabet. He seems disproportionately amused by the joke. The first time he told it, it was passable in an instantly forgettable way. But some jokes are like radiation and have a half-life, getting less funny each time you hear them. I'd venture that Simon's jokes have a quarter-life - that's if they were every funny in the first place.
His Cyrillic alphabet joke has long ceased to amuse.
His Cyrillic alphabet joke has long ceased to amuse.
Ok, and time for the all new and updated Top 10 Mullets of each place I've been. The only true way to judge a place.
10. Zagreb - specialising in skullets (ie, bald with mullet) which existed in plenitude. Also, heaps and heaos of guys with chinbeards, which obviously don't count here, but I thought it was worth mentioning.
9. Trencin
8. Pula
7. Brno
6. Koper
5. Kosice
4. Tirana - the Albanians went big style on mullets
3. Piran - mullet singers, mullet guitarists, mullet referees. A small town with high profile mullets.
2. Prague - finally, knocked from the number one spot. Mullets everywhere, benchfuls of them. A magnificent mullet city, with only one better so far...
1. Shkodra - oh my Lord. How can it be possible for so many mullets to exist in a town of 80000. EVERYWHERE. An audacious land of mullets of every kind - kid mullets, skullets, femme mulle's, a dwarf femme mulle (!) and just mullets coming at you from every direction. It is the first time in my life I have ever been mulletted out.
10. Zagreb - specialising in skullets (ie, bald with mullet) which existed in plenitude. Also, heaps and heaos of guys with chinbeards, which obviously don't count here, but I thought it was worth mentioning.
9. Trencin
8. Pula
7. Brno
6. Koper
5. Kosice
4. Tirana - the Albanians went big style on mullets
3. Piran - mullet singers, mullet guitarists, mullet referees. A small town with high profile mullets.
2. Prague - finally, knocked from the number one spot. Mullets everywhere, benchfuls of them. A magnificent mullet city, with only one better so far...
1. Shkodra - oh my Lord. How can it be possible for so many mullets to exist in a town of 80000. EVERYWHERE. An audacious land of mullets of every kind - kid mullets, skullets, femme mulle's, a dwarf femme mulle (!) and just mullets coming at you from every direction. It is the first time in my life I have ever been mulletted out.
Good morning everybody. How are you all? Wonderful. I'm in the exceptionally cold city of Prishtina right now. I think the best to way to proceed is to actually go to the handwritten travel diary I'm keeping and write, word for word, what I wrote at 2pm yesterday, in the depths of despair. It says everything that needed to be said then:
************(2pm yesterday)********
"I think we're getting quite a lot of stares right now," Simon says to me.
"Backpackers probably aren't terribly common in Prishtina," I reply.
"Then we're pioneers!" Simon says, determinedly.
"Or idiots."
So this is the Prishtina Fiasco.
I'm sitting in the bus station. Again. It's damn freezing. Still. There's a bus to Sofia. Hurray! It's 9am tomorrow. Odjebi. Prishtina has nowhere even remotely budget to stay. We have nowhere to go, nowhere sensible and cost effective. Except here. At the bus station, with our backpacks.
We have one vague hope. Simon knows some guy in some place called "Jgakova". He's checking his email now. If this guy has got back to him with even vaguely positive news, we're off there today. And we'll be alright. Somewhere to sleep. Somewhere with water. Somewhere warm.
Otherwise it's the night in the utterly bleak and cold bus station. Miserable and freezing cold. Unable to go anywhere because there's no left luggage. What a way to die.
Blame all of this on Simon. I don't care if that's harsh. He's the only reason we're here. To hand in some letter to the student union and then "hope" they'd give us somewhere to stay. Perhaps informing them of our arrival would have been helpful. Instead, after a trek to the old student union (now some UN building) and finally, after a search, locating the new one, we waited two damn freezing damn hours until hearing the president wasn't around (strangely, not anticipating the arrival to two Scottish backpackers, he was elsewhere doing stuff) so Simon just handed in the letter and we headed back to the bus station - via an overcomplicated route - to find there's nothing going anywhere remotely useful until tomorrow morning.
This is on top of a whole night without sleep anyway. After returning to our filthy, water-less, scabby hotel yesterday, getting soaked, we went to the bus to Prishtina. 6pm to 5am. Mostly on Albanian roads. The damn backwards Albanians are unable to have roads that do anything but crumble utterly, so the journey was - and I don't exaggerate - one continuous aeroplane landing simulator, crashing about violently. It didn't help that the driver had loud Arabic-Indian music blasting loudly the entire journey which became most irritating after the first half hour.
There was a Kosovan Albanian called something like Fahil on the bus who spoke tto us - or Simon - in German. He seemed ok. We thought he'd proved useful by informing us that approaching a KFOR British guy would likely get us a room for about 4DM, but this turned out to be bollocks.
Indeed, upon getting off the bus at the icy cold bus station at 5am, we could do nothing but sit and wait. Freezing. A cafe opened at 6am, which gave us an hour drinking two coffees, then I paid 50 pfennings not to have a crap at a filthy bus station toilet. Or hole in the ground rather. Dammit ass. Crap. I haven't done so properly in days and sometimes I feel like a desperately need to but obviously the horror of such hellhole toilets scare my body rigid.
We took a freezing cold 7.30am walk into town and I waited by a building while Simon did some futile searching for accommodation. In fact, other than the fact that Albanian exit customs didn't seem to bother with us thus saving us $10 each on exit, this turned out to be the saving grace as an American 50-something policeman/military guy at the adjacent cafe bought me a coffee and I was able to sit in relative warmth. He'd been in Kosovo for a year and a half, with 7 months left, and seemed totally terrified of Albania, especially the north with he regarded as highly dangerous.
Then the fruitless trek on this letter delivery mission. What a waste of time. All I've eaten today is some chocolate roll type things and a bag of sour cream and onion crisps. In quick succession which I'm sure my digestion won't like.
I need a piss now. Hurry up Simon. Hurry up. Man, another 18 hours of this. There is no God.
I'm in a bad mood, yes. Oh yes. I'm tired, hungry, filthy and freezing cold. Thank God for Alice and the gay Norweigan fisherman jumper. Without itt I cannot see how I'd have survived. Really. It's ultra-warm and even now I'm chilled.
What a way to die. Goodbye cruel world. Hope the Arabs extinguish the lot of you.
**************************
So yeah, not at top form there, but things changed upon Simon's (eventual) return. He went from sinner to saint. Well, perhaps not quite saint, but the hell I'd comdemned him to changed back into a limbo sort of state, where he'll likely remain for a while, until further judgement. He'd checked his email, but the guy in Jgakova hadn't come through, so he'd done some searching and after ages, by asking numerous military personel, he'd finally located rooms for 70DM. Working out at about 12 pounds each, which is just within our very upper limits we're willing to spend on accommodation, occasionally.
It's turned out to be excellent accommodation too. Private rooms with a hot shower, proper clean toilets, a TV, and comfortable beds. It would be warm and heated too, but (like Albania) the electricity supply is notoriously unreliable and so the power keeps cutting out and so the TV, heaters, and bathroom lights have proved useless. Fortunately the main room lights are on some sort of emergency supply.
So what have we done since get there? Well, I've done a Simon, you could say, and from 7pm to 7am I slept. More or less soundly. Simon managed 6pm to 7am. And then we ate breakfast, and now we're here.
Prishtina is bitterly cold right now, although it may warm a little as the day goes on. The American guy who bought me coffee reckoned it was winter, coming early. Because just a couple of days ago we were enjoying wonderful sunshine, and suddenly now I'm wearing a T-shirt, a gay Norweigan fisherman jumper and my crappy "cag in a bag" jacket, and I'm still cold.
We're going to spend the day in Prishtina, then piss off to Sofa for a couple of days, and then Istanbul. Head south from the coldness basically. Prishtina, for all it's ugly communist buildings and lack of obvious sights, does seem rather intriguing. It might be the very high military and police presence, and as a result, the vast ethnic diversity. I've seen the first black faces in almost two months, with American troops (and other countries too I believe). It feels completely safe as a result, and the lunatic driving of Albania isn't present. Likewise the horn-happy drivers. I do wonder how the place will cope when the military eventually pull out, as the economy seems prettyt dependent on the huge number of wealthy foreigners, and while the place is currently abound with pleasant new shops and buildings, somebody and some time is going to have to make sure the place doesn't crumble into the mess that is Albania once it loses all the troops.
So, from what looked to be disaster, we've managed to just get by. We've been winging it for quite a while now, and I think we were very lucky not to have had to spend that night at the bus station. Caution is going to have to observed for a while now, because I don't know long our luck can really hold out for. Nevila and Izet in Shkodra was a gigantic piece of fortune as they not only set us up for Shkodran accommodation, but also in Tirana, and Tirana appears to have nothing else obviously budget (and we'd never have found our filthy hotel without their help). Our luck failed in Prishtina, but hard work by Simon saved us. But I don't want to have to be in yesterday's situation again. Sofia looks to have good budget accommodation, and Istanbul is awash with hostels, so we should be alright.
But my advice to any travellers wanting to go to Albania or Kosovo is - don't. Not unless you're sure you can find somewhere to stay. Or you don't mind freezing cold damn bus stations.
************(2pm yesterday)********
"I think we're getting quite a lot of stares right now," Simon says to me.
"Backpackers probably aren't terribly common in Prishtina," I reply.
"Then we're pioneers!" Simon says, determinedly.
"Or idiots."
So this is the Prishtina Fiasco.
I'm sitting in the bus station. Again. It's damn freezing. Still. There's a bus to Sofia. Hurray! It's 9am tomorrow. Odjebi. Prishtina has nowhere even remotely budget to stay. We have nowhere to go, nowhere sensible and cost effective. Except here. At the bus station, with our backpacks.
We have one vague hope. Simon knows some guy in some place called "Jgakova". He's checking his email now. If this guy has got back to him with even vaguely positive news, we're off there today. And we'll be alright. Somewhere to sleep. Somewhere with water. Somewhere warm.
Otherwise it's the night in the utterly bleak and cold bus station. Miserable and freezing cold. Unable to go anywhere because there's no left luggage. What a way to die.
Blame all of this on Simon. I don't care if that's harsh. He's the only reason we're here. To hand in some letter to the student union and then "hope" they'd give us somewhere to stay. Perhaps informing them of our arrival would have been helpful. Instead, after a trek to the old student union (now some UN building) and finally, after a search, locating the new one, we waited two damn freezing damn hours until hearing the president wasn't around (strangely, not anticipating the arrival to two Scottish backpackers, he was elsewhere doing stuff) so Simon just handed in the letter and we headed back to the bus station - via an overcomplicated route - to find there's nothing going anywhere remotely useful until tomorrow morning.
This is on top of a whole night without sleep anyway. After returning to our filthy, water-less, scabby hotel yesterday, getting soaked, we went to the bus to Prishtina. 6pm to 5am. Mostly on Albanian roads. The damn backwards Albanians are unable to have roads that do anything but crumble utterly, so the journey was - and I don't exaggerate - one continuous aeroplane landing simulator, crashing about violently. It didn't help that the driver had loud Arabic-Indian music blasting loudly the entire journey which became most irritating after the first half hour.
There was a Kosovan Albanian called something like Fahil on the bus who spoke tto us - or Simon - in German. He seemed ok. We thought he'd proved useful by informing us that approaching a KFOR British guy would likely get us a room for about 4DM, but this turned out to be bollocks.
Indeed, upon getting off the bus at the icy cold bus station at 5am, we could do nothing but sit and wait. Freezing. A cafe opened at 6am, which gave us an hour drinking two coffees, then I paid 50 pfennings not to have a crap at a filthy bus station toilet. Or hole in the ground rather. Dammit ass. Crap. I haven't done so properly in days and sometimes I feel like a desperately need to but obviously the horror of such hellhole toilets scare my body rigid.
We took a freezing cold 7.30am walk into town and I waited by a building while Simon did some futile searching for accommodation. In fact, other than the fact that Albanian exit customs didn't seem to bother with us thus saving us $10 each on exit, this turned out to be the saving grace as an American 50-something policeman/military guy at the adjacent cafe bought me a coffee and I was able to sit in relative warmth. He'd been in Kosovo for a year and a half, with 7 months left, and seemed totally terrified of Albania, especially the north with he regarded as highly dangerous.
Then the fruitless trek on this letter delivery mission. What a waste of time. All I've eaten today is some chocolate roll type things and a bag of sour cream and onion crisps. In quick succession which I'm sure my digestion won't like.
I need a piss now. Hurry up Simon. Hurry up. Man, another 18 hours of this. There is no God.
I'm in a bad mood, yes. Oh yes. I'm tired, hungry, filthy and freezing cold. Thank God for Alice and the gay Norweigan fisherman jumper. Without itt I cannot see how I'd have survived. Really. It's ultra-warm and even now I'm chilled.
What a way to die. Goodbye cruel world. Hope the Arabs extinguish the lot of you.
**************************
So yeah, not at top form there, but things changed upon Simon's (eventual) return. He went from sinner to saint. Well, perhaps not quite saint, but the hell I'd comdemned him to changed back into a limbo sort of state, where he'll likely remain for a while, until further judgement. He'd checked his email, but the guy in Jgakova hadn't come through, so he'd done some searching and after ages, by asking numerous military personel, he'd finally located rooms for 70DM. Working out at about 12 pounds each, which is just within our very upper limits we're willing to spend on accommodation, occasionally.
It's turned out to be excellent accommodation too. Private rooms with a hot shower, proper clean toilets, a TV, and comfortable beds. It would be warm and heated too, but (like Albania) the electricity supply is notoriously unreliable and so the power keeps cutting out and so the TV, heaters, and bathroom lights have proved useless. Fortunately the main room lights are on some sort of emergency supply.
So what have we done since get there? Well, I've done a Simon, you could say, and from 7pm to 7am I slept. More or less soundly. Simon managed 6pm to 7am. And then we ate breakfast, and now we're here.
Prishtina is bitterly cold right now, although it may warm a little as the day goes on. The American guy who bought me coffee reckoned it was winter, coming early. Because just a couple of days ago we were enjoying wonderful sunshine, and suddenly now I'm wearing a T-shirt, a gay Norweigan fisherman jumper and my crappy "cag in a bag" jacket, and I'm still cold.
We're going to spend the day in Prishtina, then piss off to Sofa for a couple of days, and then Istanbul. Head south from the coldness basically. Prishtina, for all it's ugly communist buildings and lack of obvious sights, does seem rather intriguing. It might be the very high military and police presence, and as a result, the vast ethnic diversity. I've seen the first black faces in almost two months, with American troops (and other countries too I believe). It feels completely safe as a result, and the lunatic driving of Albania isn't present. Likewise the horn-happy drivers. I do wonder how the place will cope when the military eventually pull out, as the economy seems prettyt dependent on the huge number of wealthy foreigners, and while the place is currently abound with pleasant new shops and buildings, somebody and some time is going to have to make sure the place doesn't crumble into the mess that is Albania once it loses all the troops.
So, from what looked to be disaster, we've managed to just get by. We've been winging it for quite a while now, and I think we were very lucky not to have had to spend that night at the bus station. Caution is going to have to observed for a while now, because I don't know long our luck can really hold out for. Nevila and Izet in Shkodra was a gigantic piece of fortune as they not only set us up for Shkodran accommodation, but also in Tirana, and Tirana appears to have nothing else obviously budget (and we'd never have found our filthy hotel without their help). Our luck failed in Prishtina, but hard work by Simon saved us. But I don't want to have to be in yesterday's situation again. Sofia looks to have good budget accommodation, and Istanbul is awash with hostels, so we should be alright.
But my advice to any travellers wanting to go to Albania or Kosovo is - don't. Not unless you're sure you can find somewhere to stay. Or you don't mind freezing cold damn bus stations.
Wednesday, October 24, 2001
Oh man. We're in Albania now. A different country and, oh boy, an entirely different world.
We arrived in Albania a couple of days ago - Monday. Our final night in Montenegro was spent in the company of Vekac, drinking. Me and Vakec on pissy lager and Simon on the hard stuff - mineral water. Simon's off alcohol right now, the big gay poof, because he's paranoid that it's giving him "problems". The only thing giving me problems in the last few days is the godawful toilet situation. Foreigners, come on. Toilets are not sophisticated inventions - they've been around for 100 years. At the very least, given that we've got to turd into a damn hole and bring our own toilet paper, at least give us a damn door to the toilet. Do you really think I'm going to go in public? Sort this foreigners - now.
Monday morning then and only suffering mildly from the effects of pissy lager, we were up for 7am and got the 9am bus, after a farewell to our Serbian metalworker hosts. We'd stayed the night in the supplies building, which was infested with insects and I'm still itching from the various insect attacks to my arms. That damn divebombing fly was about too. He was in Miskolc, Koper and Kotor too, bizzing around before divebombing loudly into your ear. I'm sure it's the same one. I've seen him a few times and each time he's looked identical.
To Podgorica then, the unremarkable capital of Montenegro. Our plan was to go to Albania so we checked out the bus times. Hmm... no buses to Albania. We checked out the train times. Hmm... no trains to Albania. In fact, Montenegro really didn't want anybody to go to Albania. A bus to Istanbul, no problem, but not one to the country just 30km away. Further checking revealed a single bus to Prishtina (Kosovan capital) at 7am. Meaning we'd have to hang around for a day in nondescript Podgorica, with no apparant cheap accomodation.
Thank God for taxi drivers - and that's something I never expected to say. Seeing us sit at the bus station with our backpacks, one approached us, and he spoke good functional English. He said he'd take us to the Albanian border for 40DM in total - about 13 pounds. Less than 7 pounds each, and after consideration we reckoned this to be a pretty good deal. Nema problema, we told him, and off we set.
t didn't take us long to realise why there was no bus service to Albania. The road, winding through the mountains, was single-track and in fast decay. Even our friend the taxi driver wasn't able to drive fast. He did however warn us a number of times as to the barbaric nature of all Albanians, and that it was very dangerous over there. His concern was touching, obviously, but didn't extend so far as to not drive us there and not get his money, and so we duly arrived at the remote and dusty border controls between Montenegro and Albania. Bleak hills all around with just a reedy lake to interrupt them.
Getting across was no big hassle. The Montenegran border police were rather fun actually, seemingly impressed by our small knowledge of Serbian (aka Croatian, Bosnian), and laughed and joked with us. The Albanians were a little more sour, and we had to pay $30 for the privilege of entering their country. You damn swines.
Our options once across into Albania were limited. Walk for many hours, or get another taxi. Fortunately, the Albanian speaking taxi driver who approached us only wanted 20DM to take us to Shkodra, a town in the very far north of Albania. This seemed a fair deal, and our only option anyway, so we said "Po!" (yes in Albanian, we weren't just gabbling) and off we went.
Albania is just one big farming community, as we soon discovered upon driving along the bumpy, narrow road to Shkodra. With dark mountains silhouetted in ther background, all around was a steady stream of small farming crofts. Not unlike how I imagine Britain might have been many years ago. Just heaps of small farms scattered up until the foot of the mountains. The only thing suggesting the 21st century being this dusty road cutting the land in two, with Mercedes taxis motoring along and beeping at every possible occasion. Oh yes, the Albanians sure do love their car horns.
We arrived in Shkodra, but it took us a while to realise we'd actually arrived in this town of 80,000, as it really just appeared to be a slightly more concentrated area of farming houses, until arriving in what I presume was the town centre, a noisy, beeping, filthy mess of cars, mud, dust, horses and carts, people, bicycles, stalls and anything else the Albanians cared to throw in. We were dropped off by the "bus station" (a dirty road with some transit vans, I kid you not) and almost immediately were dragged into a travel ageny by a man and woman.
Here is what the foriegn office website says about north Albania - "There is still the possibility of threats from armed criminal gangs in the far north..."
Here is what the Lonely Planet book says about it - "Once in Albania, general caution can be observed by never travelling at night and avoiding the northern part of the country, where banditry is particularly widespread"
Here is what all Serbians told us about Albania - "ALL ABANIANS ARE DANGEROUS BANDITS"
And here is what, basically, this man and woman in the Shkodra travel agency told us about Shkodra - "Never go out at dark","Never go out at dark, especially down this certain, main, street","Lock your hotel doors" and, what they concentrated on mostly, "Two months ago, two Czech brothers and a Czech girl came backpacking in Shkodra. They haven't been seen since, no trace of them exists."
I was beginning to feel a little unsafe.
We talked to this man and woman for ages. Well sort of. The woman was called Nevila (yes, a female Nev, I was most delighted) and the older man, Izet. Nevila seemed to speak multiple languages, including English, but preferred to communicate with Simon in German, and occasionally French, so my understanding of matters was sometimes limited. More than poor Izet though, who was limited to Albanian, and perhaps Italian. They appeared hugely concerned for our safety, and we must have stayed in that travel agency for about an hour, with this mostly German conversation taking place. Eventually, they said they'd find us accommodation, although I must stress for any future backpackers hoping to use them for such a purpose - they are a travel agency, not an accommodation agency. However, they do tours of Albania for groups, and so if any groups reading this are interested in tours of Albania, which I believe would actually be rather more interesting than your bollocky tours of France, get in touch with me or Simon and we'll set you up with them, ok?
The accommodation, conveniently, was in a hotel just across the road, the short distance perhaps minimising the risk of us getting slaughtered by bandits. It cost $10 altogether, which was a very decent price. They took us across and sorted all the details out with the receptionist, and told us to check back at their travel agency at 11.30am the next day, where they'd sort us out for a bus (ie tranist van) to Tirana. They also gave us an emergency phonenumber to call in case we looked like going the same way as these poor Czech backpackers.
So once in our pokey little hotel room, hiding under the bed for the night suddenly seemed a good option. But the sun was still shining and so with a deep breath, we hit the town.
It wasn't so dangerous, except for the highly erractic driving, and proliferation of big holes in the pavement, and soon we were speaking English to each other in more than a terrified whisper. The streets were filled with stalls selling local farm produce - fruit and vegetables mainly - and heaps of other stuff like clothes, tobacco, fish and wooden stuff. It was very clear that the people on the many farms in the badlands outlying Shkodra simply came into town each day to sell whatever they had. There were a few shops in town, but all small local things. No big chains, although coke and pepsi were, as ever, present. The streets were filthy, wrecked affairs, covered in mud and litter and horse crap, with broken and uneven paving stones. The whole scene was of a messy chaos as cars and vans chugged by, overtaking horses, and beeping their horns continually.
We spent a while just wandering, until light started to dim. Perhaps unwisely then, we actually wandered down this very street we'd been told not to go to at dark. It wasn't a conscious decision, we just happened to wander down it looking for a cafe, as it was a big street, and it was as we reached the end we suddenly thought "Oh, hang on..." By a junction in the road stood several police and several more balaclava-clad men holding what appeared to be semi-automatic weapons. Standing around, checking cars as they drove by. Tempted though we were to take photos, we decided to retreat to safety and found a pleasant cafe and had one beer before hiding for the night in our hotel room.
One toilet, by the way, served the entire corridor of our hotel level. It had a light, which worked only with the erractic electricity supply, no toilet seat, wouldn't flush, and the door had no lock and you couldn't close it anyway because if you did you'd be standing in complete darkness. There were no showers anywhere to be seen, as you might expect.
AND - the big news about Shkodra is - MULLET PARADISE! Oh My Lord. The quantity of mullets in this place was simply breath-taking. I have never ever ever seen so many mullets concentrated into one place. It was as if a conference was taking place. Everywhere, absolutely everywhere. And not just quanitity, but quality. A magnificent kid mullet of epic proportions, long and short male mullets, both straight and fluffy, but the jewel in the crown (and this is no joke)... a dwarf femme mulle. Yes, a female dwarf mullet. How many of these can there be on one world? When I update the mullet league table, expect some big changes.
Anyway, up early the next day, and we took a wander about again, and back down the big street we'd attempted to go by the night before, because at the end of it, on a hill, was a big ruined castle and it looked pretty cool. Unfortunately, our time was limited and we couldn't go and check it out, but we did notice that all the buildings in this area (outwith the police and balaclavad men controls) had high stone walls with barbed wire or broken bottles stuck on top. With the barren hills around, and dusty and neglected roads, it was a scene straight out of Mad Max. That's definitely what North Albania reminded me of - Mad Max-style badlands, with their supposedly terrorising badlands.
At 11.30am then we met up again with Nevila and Izet, and after a bit of talking, they offered to show us the castle, as it's pretty much the key (well, after the mullet magnitude) attraction of Shkodra. Hopping on a quick bus, which was free because Izet knew the conductor, we got to the foot of the hill and trekked the short distance up, as Nevila explained the hostory of the castle. There's some beautiful story behind it apparently, and which I do intend to check up on properly one day, but as far as I could make out that day, it involved three brothers working all day and their wives bringing them food, and then one wife getting walled into the castle so it wouldn't collaps,e but leaving two holes in the wall so her baby could feed.
The castle was great though. A great view over all the badland territories around it, and the ruins of the castle itself were great. It was free to get in, and you could just go wherever you wanted, including up the big tower which, at the top, was completely exposed and one wrong step would have sent you plunging.
Ok, ok, I'm writing way too much here as there's simply way too much to write, and I don't have time. But basically, after all that, we went back with Nevila and Izet to the travel agency, and they fixed us up with transport (just 1pound50 each) to Tirana and so after a big "Falaminderit" to them, we went to Tirana.
Arriving there just before dark, but thankfully Nevila had told us where some good cheap accomodation was, otherwise we'd never have found anything decent (all Tirana hotels are way too expensive, and there's no tourist info, or obvious private rooms). It was indeed cheap - 2pounds50 a night each, and yes, you get what you pay for. No showers and toilets that are just holes in the ground - no paper, no electricity, no water.
So while I've been cleaner, I've almost been a bit of a filthy whore, so I've just a little grime on me right now. I don't smell or anything. But Simon... oh man. His feet, oh Lord, please spare my misery. Seriously, Mr Bin Laden, if you read this, please kidnap Simon as use his feet as a chemical weapon against the Western World. They'd bring the US to its knees in seconds. I had to hold my breath the entire night last night. This boy has some serious health issues with his feet. They are dangerous.
Ok, Tirana's quite interesting - just a bigger version of Shkodra. Chaotic, loud, filthy, buildings falling apart. We'd stay longer, but without showers or decent toilets, and with time pressures on us anyway, we're leaving tomorrow. To Kosovo. We leave at 6pm tomorrow, and arrive 5am Friday. Here's what the foreign office says about Kosovo - We advise against all holiday and other non-essential travel to Kosovo.
It's looking good.
We arrived in Albania a couple of days ago - Monday. Our final night in Montenegro was spent in the company of Vekac, drinking. Me and Vakec on pissy lager and Simon on the hard stuff - mineral water. Simon's off alcohol right now, the big gay poof, because he's paranoid that it's giving him "problems". The only thing giving me problems in the last few days is the godawful toilet situation. Foreigners, come on. Toilets are not sophisticated inventions - they've been around for 100 years. At the very least, given that we've got to turd into a damn hole and bring our own toilet paper, at least give us a damn door to the toilet. Do you really think I'm going to go in public? Sort this foreigners - now.
Monday morning then and only suffering mildly from the effects of pissy lager, we were up for 7am and got the 9am bus, after a farewell to our Serbian metalworker hosts. We'd stayed the night in the supplies building, which was infested with insects and I'm still itching from the various insect attacks to my arms. That damn divebombing fly was about too. He was in Miskolc, Koper and Kotor too, bizzing around before divebombing loudly into your ear. I'm sure it's the same one. I've seen him a few times and each time he's looked identical.
To Podgorica then, the unremarkable capital of Montenegro. Our plan was to go to Albania so we checked out the bus times. Hmm... no buses to Albania. We checked out the train times. Hmm... no trains to Albania. In fact, Montenegro really didn't want anybody to go to Albania. A bus to Istanbul, no problem, but not one to the country just 30km away. Further checking revealed a single bus to Prishtina (Kosovan capital) at 7am. Meaning we'd have to hang around for a day in nondescript Podgorica, with no apparant cheap accomodation.
Thank God for taxi drivers - and that's something I never expected to say. Seeing us sit at the bus station with our backpacks, one approached us, and he spoke good functional English. He said he'd take us to the Albanian border for 40DM in total - about 13 pounds. Less than 7 pounds each, and after consideration we reckoned this to be a pretty good deal. Nema problema, we told him, and off we set.
t didn't take us long to realise why there was no bus service to Albania. The road, winding through the mountains, was single-track and in fast decay. Even our friend the taxi driver wasn't able to drive fast. He did however warn us a number of times as to the barbaric nature of all Albanians, and that it was very dangerous over there. His concern was touching, obviously, but didn't extend so far as to not drive us there and not get his money, and so we duly arrived at the remote and dusty border controls between Montenegro and Albania. Bleak hills all around with just a reedy lake to interrupt them.
Getting across was no big hassle. The Montenegran border police were rather fun actually, seemingly impressed by our small knowledge of Serbian (aka Croatian, Bosnian), and laughed and joked with us. The Albanians were a little more sour, and we had to pay $30 for the privilege of entering their country. You damn swines.
Our options once across into Albania were limited. Walk for many hours, or get another taxi. Fortunately, the Albanian speaking taxi driver who approached us only wanted 20DM to take us to Shkodra, a town in the very far north of Albania. This seemed a fair deal, and our only option anyway, so we said "Po!" (yes in Albanian, we weren't just gabbling) and off we went.
Albania is just one big farming community, as we soon discovered upon driving along the bumpy, narrow road to Shkodra. With dark mountains silhouetted in ther background, all around was a steady stream of small farming crofts. Not unlike how I imagine Britain might have been many years ago. Just heaps of small farms scattered up until the foot of the mountains. The only thing suggesting the 21st century being this dusty road cutting the land in two, with Mercedes taxis motoring along and beeping at every possible occasion. Oh yes, the Albanians sure do love their car horns.
We arrived in Shkodra, but it took us a while to realise we'd actually arrived in this town of 80,000, as it really just appeared to be a slightly more concentrated area of farming houses, until arriving in what I presume was the town centre, a noisy, beeping, filthy mess of cars, mud, dust, horses and carts, people, bicycles, stalls and anything else the Albanians cared to throw in. We were dropped off by the "bus station" (a dirty road with some transit vans, I kid you not) and almost immediately were dragged into a travel ageny by a man and woman.
Here is what the foriegn office website says about north Albania - "There is still the possibility of threats from armed criminal gangs in the far north..."
Here is what the Lonely Planet book says about it - "Once in Albania, general caution can be observed by never travelling at night and avoiding the northern part of the country, where banditry is particularly widespread"
Here is what all Serbians told us about Albania - "ALL ABANIANS ARE DANGEROUS BANDITS"
And here is what, basically, this man and woman in the Shkodra travel agency told us about Shkodra - "Never go out at dark","Never go out at dark, especially down this certain, main, street","Lock your hotel doors" and, what they concentrated on mostly, "Two months ago, two Czech brothers and a Czech girl came backpacking in Shkodra. They haven't been seen since, no trace of them exists."
I was beginning to feel a little unsafe.
We talked to this man and woman for ages. Well sort of. The woman was called Nevila (yes, a female Nev, I was most delighted) and the older man, Izet. Nevila seemed to speak multiple languages, including English, but preferred to communicate with Simon in German, and occasionally French, so my understanding of matters was sometimes limited. More than poor Izet though, who was limited to Albanian, and perhaps Italian. They appeared hugely concerned for our safety, and we must have stayed in that travel agency for about an hour, with this mostly German conversation taking place. Eventually, they said they'd find us accommodation, although I must stress for any future backpackers hoping to use them for such a purpose - they are a travel agency, not an accommodation agency. However, they do tours of Albania for groups, and so if any groups reading this are interested in tours of Albania, which I believe would actually be rather more interesting than your bollocky tours of France, get in touch with me or Simon and we'll set you up with them, ok?
The accommodation, conveniently, was in a hotel just across the road, the short distance perhaps minimising the risk of us getting slaughtered by bandits. It cost $10 altogether, which was a very decent price. They took us across and sorted all the details out with the receptionist, and told us to check back at their travel agency at 11.30am the next day, where they'd sort us out for a bus (ie tranist van) to Tirana. They also gave us an emergency phonenumber to call in case we looked like going the same way as these poor Czech backpackers.
So once in our pokey little hotel room, hiding under the bed for the night suddenly seemed a good option. But the sun was still shining and so with a deep breath, we hit the town.
It wasn't so dangerous, except for the highly erractic driving, and proliferation of big holes in the pavement, and soon we were speaking English to each other in more than a terrified whisper. The streets were filled with stalls selling local farm produce - fruit and vegetables mainly - and heaps of other stuff like clothes, tobacco, fish and wooden stuff. It was very clear that the people on the many farms in the badlands outlying Shkodra simply came into town each day to sell whatever they had. There were a few shops in town, but all small local things. No big chains, although coke and pepsi were, as ever, present. The streets were filthy, wrecked affairs, covered in mud and litter and horse crap, with broken and uneven paving stones. The whole scene was of a messy chaos as cars and vans chugged by, overtaking horses, and beeping their horns continually.
We spent a while just wandering, until light started to dim. Perhaps unwisely then, we actually wandered down this very street we'd been told not to go to at dark. It wasn't a conscious decision, we just happened to wander down it looking for a cafe, as it was a big street, and it was as we reached the end we suddenly thought "Oh, hang on..." By a junction in the road stood several police and several more balaclava-clad men holding what appeared to be semi-automatic weapons. Standing around, checking cars as they drove by. Tempted though we were to take photos, we decided to retreat to safety and found a pleasant cafe and had one beer before hiding for the night in our hotel room.
One toilet, by the way, served the entire corridor of our hotel level. It had a light, which worked only with the erractic electricity supply, no toilet seat, wouldn't flush, and the door had no lock and you couldn't close it anyway because if you did you'd be standing in complete darkness. There were no showers anywhere to be seen, as you might expect.
AND - the big news about Shkodra is - MULLET PARADISE! Oh My Lord. The quantity of mullets in this place was simply breath-taking. I have never ever ever seen so many mullets concentrated into one place. It was as if a conference was taking place. Everywhere, absolutely everywhere. And not just quanitity, but quality. A magnificent kid mullet of epic proportions, long and short male mullets, both straight and fluffy, but the jewel in the crown (and this is no joke)... a dwarf femme mulle. Yes, a female dwarf mullet. How many of these can there be on one world? When I update the mullet league table, expect some big changes.
Anyway, up early the next day, and we took a wander about again, and back down the big street we'd attempted to go by the night before, because at the end of it, on a hill, was a big ruined castle and it looked pretty cool. Unfortunately, our time was limited and we couldn't go and check it out, but we did notice that all the buildings in this area (outwith the police and balaclavad men controls) had high stone walls with barbed wire or broken bottles stuck on top. With the barren hills around, and dusty and neglected roads, it was a scene straight out of Mad Max. That's definitely what North Albania reminded me of - Mad Max-style badlands, with their supposedly terrorising badlands.
At 11.30am then we met up again with Nevila and Izet, and after a bit of talking, they offered to show us the castle, as it's pretty much the key (well, after the mullet magnitude) attraction of Shkodra. Hopping on a quick bus, which was free because Izet knew the conductor, we got to the foot of the hill and trekked the short distance up, as Nevila explained the hostory of the castle. There's some beautiful story behind it apparently, and which I do intend to check up on properly one day, but as far as I could make out that day, it involved three brothers working all day and their wives bringing them food, and then one wife getting walled into the castle so it wouldn't collaps,e but leaving two holes in the wall so her baby could feed.
The castle was great though. A great view over all the badland territories around it, and the ruins of the castle itself were great. It was free to get in, and you could just go wherever you wanted, including up the big tower which, at the top, was completely exposed and one wrong step would have sent you plunging.
Ok, ok, I'm writing way too much here as there's simply way too much to write, and I don't have time. But basically, after all that, we went back with Nevila and Izet to the travel agency, and they fixed us up with transport (just 1pound50 each) to Tirana and so after a big "Falaminderit" to them, we went to Tirana.
Arriving there just before dark, but thankfully Nevila had told us where some good cheap accomodation was, otherwise we'd never have found anything decent (all Tirana hotels are way too expensive, and there's no tourist info, or obvious private rooms). It was indeed cheap - 2pounds50 a night each, and yes, you get what you pay for. No showers and toilets that are just holes in the ground - no paper, no electricity, no water.
So while I've been cleaner, I've almost been a bit of a filthy whore, so I've just a little grime on me right now. I don't smell or anything. But Simon... oh man. His feet, oh Lord, please spare my misery. Seriously, Mr Bin Laden, if you read this, please kidnap Simon as use his feet as a chemical weapon against the Western World. They'd bring the US to its knees in seconds. I had to hold my breath the entire night last night. This boy has some serious health issues with his feet. They are dangerous.
Ok, Tirana's quite interesting - just a bigger version of Shkodra. Chaotic, loud, filthy, buildings falling apart. We'd stay longer, but without showers or decent toilets, and with time pressures on us anyway, we're leaving tomorrow. To Kosovo. We leave at 6pm tomorrow, and arrive 5am Friday. Here's what the foreign office says about Kosovo - We advise against all holiday and other non-essential travel to Kosovo.
It's looking good.
Sunday, October 21, 2001
Oh yeah - use x@hotmail.com now. Breathe has not worked in almost a month. I have been unable to check any breathe emails in that time, and have effectively given up on it. If you've sent me an email to that address in the last month and want a reply, please please forward it to hotamil and I promise a fairly swift response.
Also, I got all my photos of the last two months developed (delightfully cheaply) the other day. Strangely, my usually epically awful camera skills have disappeared, and I actually have some nice photos. The Bled ones have turned out very well - a really lovely one of Cindy holding a cat, and Peter and Derek on the 3rd night. Some nice ones of Tammy in Piran (even with Vera), the Czech girls in Trencin have proved very photogenic, and to my surprise I even got one of heroin addict Ivan, that I thought hadn't worked. Plus, some curious ones of Dubrovnik. Hmm. Budapest film has gone AWOL though, so hopefully it can be salvaged. If anyone from Budapest reads this, if they have any photos I'd be hugely grateful if they got in touch as it's a big gap in the collection.
I intend, upon returning, to scan the best ones in and post them in this diary, so watch out for that.
Also, I got all my photos of the last two months developed (delightfully cheaply) the other day. Strangely, my usually epically awful camera skills have disappeared, and I actually have some nice photos. The Bled ones have turned out very well - a really lovely one of Cindy holding a cat, and Peter and Derek on the 3rd night. Some nice ones of Tammy in Piran (even with Vera), the Czech girls in Trencin have proved very photogenic, and to my surprise I even got one of heroin addict Ivan, that I thought hadn't worked. Plus, some curious ones of Dubrovnik. Hmm. Budapest film has gone AWOL though, so hopefully it can be salvaged. If anyone from Budapest reads this, if they have any photos I'd be hugely grateful if they got in touch as it's a big gap in the collection.
I intend, upon returning, to scan the best ones in and post them in this diary, so watch out for that.
We haven't camped in almost a month. It hasn't rained in almost a month. We've decided to camp.
Guess the rest.
So, we're in Budva right now, in an internet cafe of all places. Actually, I lie. We're actually in Edinburgh. We missed the flights to Frankfurt and have been so embarrassed we've been sleeping with an elderly gentleman called Ronald, who has kindly let us share his bed. My finances on the supposed trip have actually been spent on scabby prostitutes, and Simon's money on sweets. It's been a hell of a ride, I can tell you. God knows what diseases I've caught.
But anyway, to continue this pretence, yeah we're in Budva in Montenegro, a fairly attractive town by the coast. We arrived yesterday and after a small amount of searching found a campsite, which is closed, but which we're staying in nonetheless. This is due to the Serbian metalworkers from Vojvovdina whi have let us stay there, alongside the entire Earth's population of insects and derelict caravans, for the small price of some chicken and some beer.
Yeah. Let us not pretend - this campsite is hell. Awful, not only with a capital A, but a capital W, F, U and even L. The moment we pitched our tent, a furious hoard of flies immediately commandeered the inside of the outer layer of the tent (we've been extremely careful with the actual innermost layer and only a few hardcore flies have got in) and next to the tent we actually witnessed the terrifying sight (for a lady) of waves of spiders. Yes, quite literally so many spiders moving so fast it became spiderwaves. I'm not kidding.
The hell does not end there. Then there's the toilets. Holes in the ground are bad enough, but these holes are not just utterly, but comprehensively and absolutely filthy. Not even my scatalogical mind can fully describe these toilets, but let's just say the insects are not deterred. Toilet paper is an invention for the future here. I have not yet had to insult by body by "fully" utilising these holes in the ground (thank God for more advanced cafes) because I just know that if I did, I'd have a nest of spiders immediately colonising my bowels.
Poor Simon, alas, has been severely suffering ever since Sarajevo and especially Dubrovnik (aka Fistfest 2001). Tomorrow, I predict, 20000 insects explode from his stomach.
But there is redeeming features. Not with the campsite, but with the fact that we are staying there virtually for free, and we have had the curious company of some Serbian metalworkers from Vojvovdina. We've drank some beer with them, they've made us a huge meal, and they've terrified us with Serbian politics.
We met them yesterday, because they're making a new gate for this godawful campsite. I can only imagine the gate is to keep away all future potential visitors. The owner hasn't been about (except briefly, but he didn't seem to care that we were there) so they've been happy to let us use the "facilities". Our payment has merely been a heap of chicken and some beer, costing us less than 4 pounds each altogether, and for which we got a massive meal. There's three of them, but only one speaks English, called Vekac. He's clad permanently in camoflage gear and has a nose that looks exceedingly broken. He's 31 and has served in the Serbian army. He's been very friendly to us, but thank God for being Scottish. Because he hates Croatians, he hates Muslims, and oh boy, he hates Kosovan Albanians. He fought against them and when we said we planned on going there, it was a bit of a bombshell. He's dead against it, primarily because he genuinely thinks we're going to die. He honestly doesn't believe we'll survive Kosovo, so much so that he's taken our emails so he can email us in December to see if we're alive. He seriously can't believe that we could leave a Muslim country alive.
It's strange. He's a decent guy and he's been very friendly to us, but his beliefs are very obviously warped by growing up in a country that's had some serious turmoil. The Serbians have taken a kicking. It's easy for me, an outsider, to see that Serbia has behaved pretty badly in the last bunch of years (though certainly not the only country to have done so from this area) but obviously from the Serbian perspective, living in Serbia and bombarded by Milosevic press, and especially when you've fought for your country, it's hard to see those other countries as anything but "enemy". When he discovered we were Scottish and not English, it was a massive relief for him, as suddenly we were no longer guilty of trashing his country. When other people passed by an spoke to him, and he mentioned we spoke English, he'd immediately tell them we were actually Scottish. As if to say, "Don't worry, they're ok"
I could write much much more on this, but I really don't have time. This whole area is way too messed up with petty differences. They're killing themselves over nothing. All these peope are pleasant and friendly to me, an outsider. I see no difference in these people, except for the fact the affiliate themselves with a nationality that therefore appears to make them sworn enemies with people just like them, but affiliated with a different nationality. They're just being a bunch of idiots. Like schoolchildren on a bigger and more genocidal scale, but the fundamental remains - grow up.
So tonight, because I don't trust the weather, I've decided to sleep inside a storage type building. It's got a soft spongy mattress type thing but, more importantly, the Serbian's stash of beer. This may put paid to tomorrow's plans to get up early to go to Podgrice and then wherever the easiest bus is.
Yeah, I'm alcoholic now. The last day I didn't drink was in Zagreb, and that was just 1 day from 10. Before then... oh, maybe Buzet or Piran, but we're talking single days here. The last time I didn't drink for two days in a row... I honestly couldn't tell you.
Simon however has gone on the wagon. He's realised that it's all the alcohol that's been upsetting his stomach. Good luck man.
When I return to Aberdeen, when you spot me hiding the whiskies under my bed, I'd appreciate it if you could help me out through this imminent problem of mine. Or failing that, just buy me a pint. Cheers.
Guess the rest.
So, we're in Budva right now, in an internet cafe of all places. Actually, I lie. We're actually in Edinburgh. We missed the flights to Frankfurt and have been so embarrassed we've been sleeping with an elderly gentleman called Ronald, who has kindly let us share his bed. My finances on the supposed trip have actually been spent on scabby prostitutes, and Simon's money on sweets. It's been a hell of a ride, I can tell you. God knows what diseases I've caught.
But anyway, to continue this pretence, yeah we're in Budva in Montenegro, a fairly attractive town by the coast. We arrived yesterday and after a small amount of searching found a campsite, which is closed, but which we're staying in nonetheless. This is due to the Serbian metalworkers from Vojvovdina whi have let us stay there, alongside the entire Earth's population of insects and derelict caravans, for the small price of some chicken and some beer.
Yeah. Let us not pretend - this campsite is hell. Awful, not only with a capital A, but a capital W, F, U and even L. The moment we pitched our tent, a furious hoard of flies immediately commandeered the inside of the outer layer of the tent (we've been extremely careful with the actual innermost layer and only a few hardcore flies have got in) and next to the tent we actually witnessed the terrifying sight (for a lady) of waves of spiders. Yes, quite literally so many spiders moving so fast it became spiderwaves. I'm not kidding.
The hell does not end there. Then there's the toilets. Holes in the ground are bad enough, but these holes are not just utterly, but comprehensively and absolutely filthy. Not even my scatalogical mind can fully describe these toilets, but let's just say the insects are not deterred. Toilet paper is an invention for the future here. I have not yet had to insult by body by "fully" utilising these holes in the ground (thank God for more advanced cafes) because I just know that if I did, I'd have a nest of spiders immediately colonising my bowels.
Poor Simon, alas, has been severely suffering ever since Sarajevo and especially Dubrovnik (aka Fistfest 2001). Tomorrow, I predict, 20000 insects explode from his stomach.
But there is redeeming features. Not with the campsite, but with the fact that we are staying there virtually for free, and we have had the curious company of some Serbian metalworkers from Vojvovdina. We've drank some beer with them, they've made us a huge meal, and they've terrified us with Serbian politics.
We met them yesterday, because they're making a new gate for this godawful campsite. I can only imagine the gate is to keep away all future potential visitors. The owner hasn't been about (except briefly, but he didn't seem to care that we were there) so they've been happy to let us use the "facilities". Our payment has merely been a heap of chicken and some beer, costing us less than 4 pounds each altogether, and for which we got a massive meal. There's three of them, but only one speaks English, called Vekac. He's clad permanently in camoflage gear and has a nose that looks exceedingly broken. He's 31 and has served in the Serbian army. He's been very friendly to us, but thank God for being Scottish. Because he hates Croatians, he hates Muslims, and oh boy, he hates Kosovan Albanians. He fought against them and when we said we planned on going there, it was a bit of a bombshell. He's dead against it, primarily because he genuinely thinks we're going to die. He honestly doesn't believe we'll survive Kosovo, so much so that he's taken our emails so he can email us in December to see if we're alive. He seriously can't believe that we could leave a Muslim country alive.
It's strange. He's a decent guy and he's been very friendly to us, but his beliefs are very obviously warped by growing up in a country that's had some serious turmoil. The Serbians have taken a kicking. It's easy for me, an outsider, to see that Serbia has behaved pretty badly in the last bunch of years (though certainly not the only country to have done so from this area) but obviously from the Serbian perspective, living in Serbia and bombarded by Milosevic press, and especially when you've fought for your country, it's hard to see those other countries as anything but "enemy". When he discovered we were Scottish and not English, it was a massive relief for him, as suddenly we were no longer guilty of trashing his country. When other people passed by an spoke to him, and he mentioned we spoke English, he'd immediately tell them we were actually Scottish. As if to say, "Don't worry, they're ok"
I could write much much more on this, but I really don't have time. This whole area is way too messed up with petty differences. They're killing themselves over nothing. All these peope are pleasant and friendly to me, an outsider. I see no difference in these people, except for the fact the affiliate themselves with a nationality that therefore appears to make them sworn enemies with people just like them, but affiliated with a different nationality. They're just being a bunch of idiots. Like schoolchildren on a bigger and more genocidal scale, but the fundamental remains - grow up.
So tonight, because I don't trust the weather, I've decided to sleep inside a storage type building. It's got a soft spongy mattress type thing but, more importantly, the Serbian's stash of beer. This may put paid to tomorrow's plans to get up early to go to Podgrice and then wherever the easiest bus is.
Yeah, I'm alcoholic now. The last day I didn't drink was in Zagreb, and that was just 1 day from 10. Before then... oh, maybe Buzet or Piran, but we're talking single days here. The last time I didn't drink for two days in a row... I honestly couldn't tell you.
Simon however has gone on the wagon. He's realised that it's all the alcohol that's been upsetting his stomach. Good luck man.
When I return to Aberdeen, when you spot me hiding the whiskies under my bed, I'd appreciate it if you could help me out through this imminent problem of mine. Or failing that, just buy me a pint. Cheers.
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