tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57298065769830545512024-03-24T10:28:21.074+01:00A Nevada Yankee in King Zog's CourtHow does a provincial American end up living in a land steeped in history, conflict, and hospitality? Our story begins in ancient Illyria ...Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-59238726137718541872016-01-15T09:14:00.000+01:002016-01-15T09:14:35.658+01:00New Year, New Ideas<br />
The north of Albania is rapidly developing into "the next hot thing" on the European trekking scene. And rightfully so. This <a href="http://uncorneredmarket.com/peaks-of-the-balkans-trekking-highlights-day-by-day/">article</a> has piqued my interest in fleeing to the mountains again. I'll risk a little copyright violation to give you a taste of the stunning landscape that awaits you in a new year and a new place. <br />
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Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-28742718523781772532014-12-29T12:16:00.000+01:002014-12-29T12:16:01.047+01:00How Will You Keep Them Down On The Farm...?Modern Farmer magazine has turned its gaze on Albania and the result is an article full of gorgeous photography and praise for the gastronomic products of Albania's agricultural enterprises. I highly recommend you take the time to read <a href="http://modernfarmer.com/2014/12/albania-mania/">Albania Mania</a>. There's a little something for every taste there. Be warned, though, that a young farmer lured into Albania may never be able to return to the ordinary life he left behind.Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-60906936611540561482014-10-26T18:20:00.001+01:002014-10-26T18:20:38.149+01:00Ian and Cordy Go For It!The only thing better than being able to give advice is to have people take it... and not regret it. Read through t<a href="http://ianandcordygoforit.blogspot.com/2014/10/trip-to-albania-2014.html">his account </a>and start planning your own Albanian Adventure. I'll draw you a map!Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-43895624636144058342014-10-03T21:23:00.000+02:002014-10-03T21:23:00.585+02:00Kindred SpiritsIf you've read any of my previous posts on wandering the rugged roads of Albania, you will know why <a href="http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/2/152a3d40-43f1-11e4-baa7-00144feabdc0.html#axzz3F6wFpq8R">this article</a> struck a chord with me. Not only does it describe and area I have yet to pass through, but it has characters I identify strongly with. I'm just not sure if I'm the adventurous Brit or the foul-mouthed German. Maybe a bit of both. It's a good read from either perspective.Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-46046119280864977182014-09-25T09:15:00.000+02:002014-09-25T09:15:26.353+02:00Tangerine DreamsFollowing the forced collectivization of agricultural lands during communism and the agrarian reforms of the early 1990's, Albania' fertile land was cut up into tiny privately owned parcels. The new owners had an understandable aversion to "cooperative" farming of any sort having just been freed from the virtual slavery that communist cooperatives employed. Efforts by various international organizations to encourage landowners to collectivize their farmland to take advantage of economies of scale have not taken root quickly. Italian tomato growers, Israeli wheat farmers, and other entrepreneurs tried to coax villagers to combine their plots and use collective assets to produce more only to be stymied by the warren of cinder-block walls and barbed wire fences erected around newly privatized plots. Depressing.<br />
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<a href="http://www.balkaninsight.com/en/article/capitalist-collective-farm-bears-fruit-in-albania">This article</a> shows there is light at the end of the tunnel. The combined strength of Albanians' green thumbs, ideal climate, and desire to succeed has brought the village of Xarre full circle in a successful "capitalist cooperative." We can only hope the owners of the vast fertile fields near Fier, Lushnje, Kavaja, Lac, and Lezhe are paying attention and join this trend. Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-67840973508193801502014-05-14T20:58:00.003+02:002014-05-14T20:58:29.901+02:00Welcome to Paradise (of a sort)Don't just take my word for it. <a href="http://www.outsideonline.com/adventure-travel/europe/Post-Communist-Paradise-in-Albania.html?258968251&utm_campaign=googlenews&utm_source=googlenews&utm_medium=xmlfeed">Outside</a> says so too!Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-20914812912228192072014-03-26T18:05:00.001+01:002014-03-26T18:05:46.472+01:00Where Do Hawaiians Vacation?<a href="http://www.hawaiireporter.com/traveling-with-history-albania/123">This article</a> provides some insight into where residents of tropical paradise go for vacations. Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-45843363531174205902013-05-08T16:31:00.002+02:002013-05-08T16:31:27.824+02:00We Remain A "Hidden Corner"Travel agencies continue to tout Albania as a hidden corner of Europe. Off the beaten path is a cliche often used and somewhat deserved. Check out <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/travel/article-2320892/Albania-holidays-Beaches-bargains-Europes-hidden-secret.html">this article</a> and see if you may be drawn to a "hidden corner" before the lights come fully on and the there's no place left to hide.<br />
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<br />Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-535999283377300622013-01-31T11:07:00.002+01:002013-01-31T11:07:34.432+01:00A Must Read<a href="http://matthewepointon.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/albanian-excursions-part-1.html">Here</a> is a great series of blog posts on Albania. Check it out!Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-88174881295737644172012-12-28T10:13:00.000+01:002012-12-28T14:34:53.117+01:00The Roles We Play<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We all play roles in our lives to some extent or another. How many of us have the conviction to play the role as fully as the Albanian women who have chosen to live their lives as men? A fascinating <a href="http://www.jillpetersphotography.com/swornvirginsofalbania">photo essay</a> by Jill Peters highlighting these sworn virgins caught my attention. These women were evidently the model used by Glenn Close <a href="http://www.imdb.com/news/ni21699350/">as she studied</a> for her role in the film <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1602098/">Albert Nobbs</a>. <br />
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The Nation website in Pakistan has also picked up on <a href="http://www.nation.com.pk/pakistan-news-newspaper-daily-english-online/entertainment/28-Dec-2012/women-living-as-men">this story</a> and has more detail. Enjoy!<br />
<br />Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-57088024804606473392012-12-27T14:33:00.000+01:002012-12-27T14:33:27.899+01:00It's Time!While you are in the middle of winter's icy grip, contemplate your next vacation. I've been telling you to come to Albania for several years. If you won't take my word for it, check out this photo essay in the <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/leyla-giray/albania-tourism-2013_b_2352931.html">Huffington Post</a>. I agree with Leyla Giray. This year, it's time!Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-80203202776990515732012-09-10T10:29:00.001+02:002012-09-10T10:29:43.212+02:00A Good ReviewEdward Reeves of the Telegraph has been doing what I long to - travelling all over Albania and writing about it. And write he does. Here's a taste.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.71666717529297px;">This is odd. I'm sitting in a bar in Tirana, Albania, and there's not a gangster in sight. What there is is a 20ft-long counter packed with an array of enticing meats, a friendly man who grills them on request, and beer at 70p a glass. Everyone speaks English, and everyone is unfailingly nice. Could it be that there's a mismatch between Albania's reputation for – how to put this politely? – unconventional economic activity, and the modern-day reality? After a week travelling the country with my mother, without so much of a whiff of trouble or a gangster's cheap cologne, I'd say the answer is a resounding yes.</span></blockquote>
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I suggest you see the <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/destinations/europe/9512507/Albanias-surprising-side.html">whole article</a>. Well worth reading.<br />
<br />Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-68275552929946338002012-01-25T11:31:00.000+01:002012-01-25T11:31:58.272+01:00An Ozzy in AlbaniaDespite a double-barreled last name and the alarmist tone of this article that overstates the danger and the absurdity in Albania, I have to tip my hat to this gentleman who is currently relating tales of travel. A witty style, keen observations, and a sly, backhanded manner of compliments make for good reading. He had me hooked when he described a fellow<i> furgon</i> traveler a<span style="font-family: inherit;">s <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_106009371">"</a><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://blogs.crikey.com.au/back-in-a-bit/2012/01/25/welcome-to-albania-where-ice-on-the-road-gets-the-bus-driver-dancing/">an old man who looks exactly like Dobby from Harry Potter</a>.</span></span><br />
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"... place for aircraft to land."<br />
"... destination for travelers with a choice."<br />
"... amalgamation of decay, sloth, and corruption masquerading as a transportation hub."<br />
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Yeah, it was that bad. The runway had been recently repaved to handle the heavy aircraft involved in NATO's mission to support the war in Kosova, but once the SwissAir plane trundled off the main landing strip, it was back to the sixties. The surface was composed of six-sided slabs of concrete place in reasonable proximity to one another. Taxiing at any speed above a slow dog-trot produced percussive rhythm that can only be replicated by a bad impression of some good scat-singing: "Takita, tak, tak, pap, pap, chunk, chunk, kechop, kechop, kechow!"<br />
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And that was the good part.<br />
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Once off the plane, the ramshackle bus delivered me to a terminal building that, to put it politely, had seen better days. Surrounded by packs of stray bitches with pendulous teats, the arrival terminal reeked of neglect. One door led to an arrival hall which made a phone booth seem spacious. I shouldered my way past the clog of arriving passengers to see if I could identify the best way out of a bad situation. There were two booths for immigration and customs clearance. Once was for Albanian citizens, the other for foreigners. I pushed toward the foreigners line, hoping to make some progress among the surging mass of humanity that pressed in all around.<br />
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I'd be less than honest if I didn't admit to traveling with a diplomatic passport at the time. A swarthy gent with a safari vest which barely concealed the Beretta in his waistband shouted at me, <i>"Amerikan?'</i> I waved my passport in response and he physically dragged me through the scrum at the immigration booth. On the other side was a concrete cell block where were a ragged hole in the wall substituted for the baggage conveyor belt we spoiled Westerners are used to. As my suitcases were unceremoniously chucked through the hole, I pointed them out. My minder shouted at a local porter who snatched them up. Once all the bags arrived, my newly appointed guardian bundled me and my bags into a waiting armored SUV, turned to me, and loudly proclaimed, "Welcome to Albania!"<br />
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It's not like that anymore. Hasn't been for years. Now, arrivals in Tirana number in the millions and pass through a thoroughly modern terminal. A slick glass and steel facade greets travelers as they are deposited by kneeling buses at the gate. A spacious immigration area awaits inside with booths clearly marked and manned by professional border police officers equipped with the most modern of electronics. You enter a queue, by itself a huge advancement for Albania, and when you arrive at the booth are quickly processed.. Passport scanned in a flash. Unbeknown to you, your details are flashed to the Albanian Police and Interpol for a check against the most current wanted persons databases.<br />
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Once through, the baggage claim area is clean, efficient, and open. Exit customs and you are greeted by olive trees and masonry that reflects traditional Albanian construction techniques. A thoroughly enjoyable airport experience.<br />
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That could explain the phenomenal growth of air traffic in Tirana. Year after year the number of airlines serving the city has increased. Passenger numbers have mushroomed. Less than three years after the new terminal was opened, it was expanded by 5,000 square meters to accommodate traffic volumes. Where once there were four intrepid airlines that dared make the inbound flight, there were now more than 15 battling for supremacy. The winner so far has been Belle Air, the cut rate Italian operation that serves the needs of all the Albanian immigrants in Italy.<br />
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That said, I was quite surprised to learn the airport was due for another expansion this year. The volume of passengers has reached the capacity of the terminal to handle and another extension was needed to keep up with traffic. Which leads to a headline that answers the question originally posed: Complete this sentence: <a href="http://www.centreforaviation.com/analysis/tirana-airport--an-unlikely-east-european-success-story-66019">"Tirana Airport - an unlikely East European success story."</a> And it is!Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-61548439991451875672011-11-09T08:17:00.000+01:002011-11-09T08:17:31.659+01:00A Beautiful StrangerIs it a sign of something special when a <a href="http://www.nzherald.co.nz/travel/news/article.cfm?c_id=7&objectid=10764555">New Zealander finds your country fascinating</a>? I'd say if you have people from the country where "The Lord of the Rings" was filmed impressed, you must be doing something right.Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-4173546300994705032011-11-04T09:12:00.000+01:002011-11-04T09:12:20.691+01:00Gearing Up for Next YearDaytime temperatures have yet to dip below 20 degrees as summer continues to cling to Albania and the tourist press is already touting the country as "the best bargain vacation destination." Check out<a href="http://eastofcenter.tol.org/2011/11/travels-in-the-albanian-riviera/"> this gentleman's take</a> on <a href="http://www.frommers.com/micro/2011/top-destinations-2012/top-value-destination-albanian-riviera.html">Frommer's recent rating</a>. He starts out with:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6a5e4c; font-family: Verdana, Arial, 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">“… I had never been there before and I knew nothing about it, and neither did anyone else,” Paul Theroux wrote of Albania in 1995 in </span><em style="color: #6a5e4c; font-family: Verdana, Arial, 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">The Pillars of Hercules</em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6a5e4c; font-family: Verdana, Arial, 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">. “… here on the most heavily beaten path in the world, the shore of the Mediterranean, it was still possible to travel into the unknown.”</span><em style="color: #6a5e4c; font-family: Verdana, Arial, 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"> </em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6a5e4c; font-family: Verdana, Arial, 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">Still remote, Albania – for 40 years the most isolated country in communist Europe – is blooming. </span></blockquote>To me, Theroux's blank slate is the best way to approach your first trip to Albania. You'll never be disappointed if you don't build your expectations. You'll also be directly observing the country rather than looking to confirm the things you've "learned" before you arrive. <br />
.Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-14988015920843299352011-08-18T16:25:00.000+02:002011-08-18T16:25:39.370+02:00Parrullat (Slogans)<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">A catch phrase. An advertising jingle. A right-wing talking point. The rote recitation of prayers over worn rosary beads. All serve the same function of constantly reminding us of what the dominant forces in our societies want us to retain. To internalize. To accept without question. It's a frighteningly effective technique that touches us all. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Don't agree? What comes to mind when I say, "You can take Salem out of the country, ...?" If you are an American of a certain age you most certainly finished the phrase with, "... BUT, you can't take the country out of Salem!" And you probably put a lot of stress on the "but" part of the jingle, just as it was originally sung back when it was still legal to advertise tobacco on American TV. Granted, these light-hearted rhymes used to encourage us to buy smokes, or cereal, or B-O-L-O-G-N-A don't seem all that important, and certainly not sinister. Move to the realm of political or governmental sloganeering and the power of these phrases begins to emerge. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jGqvdGszsbtB0r-YyVcikNypJVNUohyphenhyphensuZYQvg6Jsup5dJviwpQdOeCrEgypUNMPoO5r0NEdPqoP_X7rFvgQ9hyH2s1QyHLh4G3bTE0GAHtqC7K3U4Wcs8DI9Y8JLHA4x0Ecy7IY6ow/s1600/Apr+2011+%252895%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jGqvdGszsbtB0r-YyVcikNypJVNUohyphenhyphensuZYQvg6Jsup5dJviwpQdOeCrEgypUNMPoO5r0NEdPqoP_X7rFvgQ9hyH2s1QyHLh4G3bTE0GAHtqC7K3U4Wcs8DI9Y8JLHA4x0Ecy7IY6ow/s400/Apr+2011+%252895%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These Guy's Slogan Must Have Been: "Get Your Sh*t Straight!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">"Uncle Sam Wants YOU!" "Loose Lips Sink Ships!" Powerful phrases which stir deep emotions even in those of us who weren't alive during WWII. Governments know the power of slogans and, when they really have nothing else to offer their citizens, they excel in the art. Albania was a classical example of that under communism. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There is a great film entitled <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0287708/"><em>"Parrullat"</em> (Slogans),</a> made by Gjergj Xhuvani which illustrates the extent to which this obsession with slogans extended to under Hoxha's regime. A commenter on the IMDB website summed up the movie very well: </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><blockquote><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"> Slogans' is a wry and entertaining commentary on the excesses of Communist Albania in the early 1970s. Andre, a new biology teacher posted to a school in a remote mountain village, soon finds the staff and students there to be far more concerned about the upkeep of the Communist slogans they have depicted on the surrounding hillsides in large white stones than the Three Rs. Failure to devote one's full time to this endeavour will supposedly earn the wrath of district party officials, although as the film progresses, it quickly becomes clear that the village itself seems far more obsessed with the task than the rarely seen bureaucratic overlords themselves, and failure to uphold the zeal for rearranging the stones becomes ammunition for the true believers to engage in witch hunts against anyone they have personal grievances. Andre and those of the village not fully enraptured with the community's purposeless raison d'etre find themselves forever treading through a minefield of contradictions, paranoia and party dogma that could explode around them at any moment.</div><br />
The film is an excellent study in farce, and claiming to be based on real events, it is a very welcome and healthy progression for Albanian society to be able to laugh at the absurd, almost Orwellian blind alley they once stumbled down. Indeed, 'Slogans' takes many delighted pot shots at the futility of the locals' single-minded determination to pepper the hills with important-sounding slogans - the meanings of which they are unable to actually explain, such as the declarative 'American Imperialism Is Only A Paper Tiger' and 'Finish Successfully The Campaigns Of Our Harvests And Sowings'. The loss of a generation of children, so tired from spending their days building giant letters for phrases they cannot hope to understand that they have no energy left for actual studies is all the more tragic because of their excited determination and uncomprehending devotion to the task, reminiscent of the first generation of the children who grew up in Mao's China, becoming the most devout party members of all, yet the most ignorant.<br />
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'Slogans' also shows the way in which the real world continually steps in to foil the Party's designs and is punished for doing so. The giant letters are continually unearthed by fauna, romances evolve, and children play, all resulting in stiff penalties for the unwitting transgressors. One of the most touching scenes for me features Andre and a dirt-poor, illiterate herdsman, who implores the teacher to help him convince the local government to provide him with better housing. The poor peasant, whose lack of education precludes him from understanding anything of the local politics, is ultimately destined to be condemned for his ignorance, his plight an excellent metaphor for the absurdity and failure of the Communist ideologies, which have been stripped away of every last scrap of meaning and do nothing for the people who actually matter. Ultimately, any such efforts at normality are quashed, and the final message of the film is clearly that the people are slaves to the system they themselves willingly perpetuate, which is ultimately too powerful to resist. Thankfully, history has proved this not to be the case.</blockquote><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The slogans now are mostly gone. You catch a glimpse of one now and then on a dilapidated factory wall or under the peeling paint of a rural school building. In fact the farther you get from Tirana, the more likely you are to find slogans that have not been erased or painted over too well. And you can't get much farther from Tirana than Shistavec. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">South of Kukes, snuggled up against the Kosova border at almost 1,500 meters above sea level, time passes un-noticed in Shistavec. Life is controlled by the passing of the seasons, the coming of the snow, planting, harvesting. Things change slowly. The old building still bear their <em>parrullat.</em></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CD_mue7Ji62f1xfEq5CBGlaOVl928hMDQmH6c5fypXOAeO-7ZIdXGPE6susaiU2PoQIphGu_h_IhD8DFzgTilZLE7EdfztKB9pBG3c-5cYVNTWfumbgzza4u4_FW2acCJncbQAzuHlM/s1600/Apr+2011+%252896%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CD_mue7Ji62f1xfEq5CBGlaOVl928hMDQmH6c5fypXOAeO-7ZIdXGPE6susaiU2PoQIphGu_h_IhD8DFzgTilZLE7EdfztKB9pBG3c-5cYVNTWfumbgzza4u4_FW2acCJncbQAzuHlM/s400/Apr+2011+%252896%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Socialist Albania Marches On" and "Glory to Marxism and Leninism!"</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9qifnqa0u-lroEst67MOJON7c_9l6Ae2UsgsiC_Pu391LlTJAez3mEMGDPdNti2D5hcz8jCWsjvj4zeM4d56QMCwPgsVp7ViqREX8O-3wNaVGIaEopW8tdoAenSaRl3WFGzqDkqY9U90/s1600/Apr+2011+%252899%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9qifnqa0u-lroEst67MOJON7c_9l6Ae2UsgsiC_Pu391LlTJAez3mEMGDPdNti2D5hcz8jCWsjvj4zeM4d56QMCwPgsVp7ViqREX8O-3wNaVGIaEopW8tdoAenSaRl3WFGzqDkqY9U90/s400/Apr+2011+%252899%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This one says, " The Seventh Five-Year Plan Is A Work Of The Masses." Evidently the people were so overwhelmed by this work they were too worn out to re-do the whole slogan every five years. You can make out under the word "Seventh" the outlines of the word "Sixth." </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The film had a wonderful scene where the district party official was inspecting the route Enver Hoxha was expected to travel through a village and he stops at a one-shack village and demands to meet the "keeper of the slogan" which is prominent on the hillside above the road. It says "<em>Vietnami do te fitoje</em>", or "Vietnam will be victorious!" The local leader points out that Vietnam has already won the war against the Americans and the village will be assigned a new slogan which must be ready before Hoxha's visit. The new slogan is very, very long. The old man protests that he is the only male left in the village and can't possibly finish the task in time. The official relents and tells the old man to put up a slogan of his choosing. During Hoxha's drive-by we see the new slogan "<em>Mbahu Vietnam"</em> created from the old slogan with minimal work. "Hold On Vietnam!"</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiu_wYnvJLNZGsATI4gSORw2mH7_YE0W8iOotV_DE3-f1D-3SI4H-F3YPmWWo_texf090tF2RHp_wTGNQlqGWU05D48UcmzTEpztPB_i3rVcQq-TjPW9xrBGHhSAZ4iZUZGNyTQEvXPA8/s1600/Apr+2011+%252898%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiu_wYnvJLNZGsATI4gSORw2mH7_YE0W8iOotV_DE3-f1D-3SI4H-F3YPmWWo_texf090tF2RHp_wTGNQlqGWU05D48UcmzTEpztPB_i3rVcQq-TjPW9xrBGHhSAZ4iZUZGNyTQEvXPA8/s400/Apr+2011+%252898%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">These little guys won't have to live through the tyranny of slogans their parents and grandparents did. With luck, Shishtavec will be spared from the invasion of modern <em>parrullat</em> for some time yet. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">.</div>Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-58443716800720543342011-08-17T09:32:00.003+02:002011-08-17T15:33:54.632+02:00It's Not Albania, But You Can See It From Here<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Kosova is not technically in Albania, but its population is predominantly Albanian and figures large in the history of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/League_of_Prizren">preserving ethnic Albanian identity</a>. It's also a beautiful city within a few hours drive of Tirana thanks to the recently completed <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albania-Kosovo_Highway">1-billion Euro road/tunnel project</a>. A sunny day, a quick hop across the border, and here we are! The pictures give a small taste of the city.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A River Runs Through It</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Striking Ottoman Architecture</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuZjknFPXDGqtmuQ-6mVrKSbqbg6cU34PUtNO69TdLubom6Q6sYJ0bchoKnTKfFqOqktLRIwP0zAk3Vs27WEFnSrQzL-lXB0bvm72FcSS_taMgrnmXyQCIfSPPYGoxJtuzrYlAL1CnaY0/s1600/Apr+2011+%252872%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuZjknFPXDGqtmuQ-6mVrKSbqbg6cU34PUtNO69TdLubom6Q6sYJ0bchoKnTKfFqOqktLRIwP0zAk3Vs27WEFnSrQzL-lXB0bvm72FcSS_taMgrnmXyQCIfSPPYGoxJtuzrYlAL1CnaY0/s400/Apr+2011+%252872%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In The Old Hamam, Looking Up</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Offered Without Comment</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">League Of Prizren Museum</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YyZU0U0liI0YaDaQxMe9Nc4sIHgR14QR5bsasGhSjds26y92eH-IrKKKfZ4KSOT6UqxYAGY4Dt4wfNIvHt-FNDtURCTzFd0ZTTEQPiohOgEW77_UY67pVrLjDNBbBuu0-nOrD1xtefw/s1600/Apr+2011+%252881%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YyZU0U0liI0YaDaQxMe9Nc4sIHgR14QR5bsasGhSjds26y92eH-IrKKKfZ4KSOT6UqxYAGY4Dt4wfNIvHt-FNDtURCTzFd0ZTTEQPiohOgEW77_UY67pVrLjDNBbBuu0-nOrD1xtefw/s400/Apr+2011+%252881%2529.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow-Covered Albania In The Distance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-26776099966909585782011-08-17T08:09:00.001+02:002011-08-17T09:16:33.037+02:00Albania In The SpotlightSeems this country continues to capture attention in a variety of ways. Athletically, Albania will soon host the <a href="http://www.wmra.ch/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=702&Itemid=2">World Mountain Running Association Championships</a> for 2011. Evidently there are people who have no aversion to running up and down some of the most rugged territory in the world. Different strokes for different folks, I guess.<br />
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On a less sweaty (I hope) front, <a href="http://www.contactmusic.com/news.nsf/story/eliza-dushku-made-albanian-citizen_1238952">Eliza Dushku</a> continues her whirlwind tour of Albania, The petite starlet is of Albanian descent on her father's side and has for several years taken an interest in her dad's native land. She joins the distinguished list of, well, basically her and Jim Belushi who have received the prodigal son's welcome upon return to Albania. She one-upped Belushi by getting a two-headed eagle tattooed on the back of her neck a few years back and now has done it again. She was officially made a ctizen of Albania and presented a passport and identity card by the President of the Republic. She says she is making a documentary to highlight the history and tourist potential of her adopted country. It remains to be seen if she will go "full Belushi" and make a cheesy commercial for a cell phone company to cash in on her regional fame.<br />
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Best of all, from the perspective of showing an authentic face of Albania, we turn to Sundance. Josh Marston, director of the Academy Award-winning indie film "Maria, Full of Grace," has had his most recent production picked up by Sundance Selects for distribution in the U.S. This means we may get a chance to see it soon. The film, <a href="http://www.indiewire.com/article/sundance_selects_takes_marstons_forgiveness_of_blood/">"The Forgiveness of Blood,"</a> is set in modern-day Northern Albania and tells the story of a family afflicted by an ancient curse: the blood feud. <br />
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Like all things Albanian, I managed to be separated by two degrees from the making of this movie. I got an e-mail from a production assistant who was looking for a hairdresser for one of the actors or somebody. She found me via the intertubes and gave me a brief rundown on the production schedule and general theme of the flick. She mentioned Mr. Marston's name but it did not click at the time who he was and I remember thinking, "Good luck getting your film made." Over two years later Albania has the good luck to have its story told by a true artist. I can't wait until we can get a pirated copy of it here in the <em>videoteka</em>!<br />
.Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-85899007093182744982011-08-16T19:31:00.009+02:002011-08-17T07:45:01.921+02:00Fool Me Once ...<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">A few years ago I took a quick trip in August to Theth and have been meaning to get back again to further explore the area. Alpine scenery, dirt roads winding over high mountain passes, authentic Albanian culture preserved by the remoteness of the valley. What's not to like? This year I chose the May Day holiday weekend to make the journey. I reasoned the valley would be even less busy with tourists as schools had not let out and the locals would be even more welcoming of paying visitors after a long winter's isolation. Heedless of relatives warnings, I packed up the family, convinced some co-workers what a glorious spring outing it would be, and headed north for adventure.<br />
.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The first clue things might not go my way was when I got lost on the paved portion of the road up from Koplik to Boga. Usually I have a keen sense of direction and good memory for roads I've traveled before, but something went wrong and we ended up at a dead-end in a village I think might have been Rec but I can't be sure. The road was newly paved and seemed to be "the way" rather than a little side road. At least we got to see some cool old military storage tunnels.<br />
.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Back on the right road I felt a little unnerved by my unplanned detour and this feeling of unease wasn't helped when the road ended in Boga. I mean, it just ended. I remembered the end of the paved road from the last trip. The gravel road into the village seemed like the right one. Then...... pffft, nothing. Road dead ends in a creekbed. Map consulted. Head scratched. Alternatives considered. Against my best instincts, which now seemed to be sorely lacking, I took advice and drove up what looked like a driveway paved with boulders from hell. After 200 meters we were back on familiar terrain with the road heading up the valley like I remembered. Either the road had been recently re-routed or I had "sleep-driven" that section last time around.<br />
.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Once the ascent started up the steep Qafe Thore road I started to regain confidence. From here to Thethi there's only one road and it was looking mighty familiar. The emerald fields of grass before the switchbacks start; check. Broad views down onto Boga as we crisscrossed the face of the pass; check. Amusing, yet tragic, roadside monument to a truck driver who lost his life on this perilous road and left one word for his epitaph engraved on a roadside marble slab: "Accidentally"; check. I was on familiar ground now..... Oh, wait... make that "snow." Near the top of the pass there was still snow on the ground. By the time we crested the pass, drifts up to two feet high lined the road. "It's May, for crying out loud. This is not supposed to happen!"<br />
.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The kids loved it, but the prudent adults in our party were starting to doubt my rosy depiction of flower-strewn meadows and sunny afternoons spent basking under the pines. The lowering grey clouds did little to ease their doubts. Then it started to rain. Just a little. At first.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dropping into the valley, we began to pass the first of many guesthouses which operate in Thethi. I knew of four from first-hand experience and had read of many more. They all had one thing in common: closed, closed, closed. Evidently the road had been cleared on snowdrifts only the week before and the owners of some of these places had not yet returned to gear up for tourist season. I kept my hopes up as we finally entered the village of Thethi proper and began to see signs of life. Some people working on the roof of their house. A truck rumbling down the riverbed, loaded with construction material. The one sign of life we didn't see was electric light.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Four false starts later we settled on our accomodation for the next two nights. The other places we visited that were inhabited were just not ready for guests. They would have accepted us but it would have meant we lived with cement dust everywhere and climbed over piles of stone and wood to get to the bathrooms. Our default home ended up being the guest house of Ndoc Gjecaj, smack in the "center" of Thethi. They were eager hosts and soon arranged for our families to occupy two rooms on the second floor with a recently upgraded bathroom right next door. They even moved a Dutch gentleman to a smaller downstairs room to make room for us. I don't know which suprised me more; their willingness to accomodate us or the fact that we were not the only guests!<br />
.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">By now it was dark, the rain had started in earnest, and we were hungry. Our hostess explained that the small hydropower station was out of service so there was no electricity. Thethi is not connected to the national power grid so when the aging Soviet-built turbine conks out, it's back to the 14th century. She assured us the village "specialist" was working on it and light was expected soon. We were joined for a candlelight dinner by the Dutch tourist who was returning for his third trip to Thethi. His guide, the 10-year old son of the guesthouse owner, spoke good English and helped relieve the kids boredom from being trapped in a dark, cold, wet vacation by their overly-optimistic father. We rewarded Ronaldo with uniquely American treat of marshmallows roasted over a woodfire.<br />
.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The lights did eventually come back on but with only enough voltage to push 5 watts of light from a 100 watt bulb. Depressing. Better to light a candle than to curse the Russians... or something like that. As we tucked ourselves under a large pile of blankets and drifted off to sleep my wife snuggled close and whispered in my ear, "We are SO leaving tomorrow morning!" I agreed but crossed my fingers, hoping for a bright sunny day to lift the gloom and change her mind.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not so much. Morning came in exactly as night fell. A pale dawn and persistent rain. Quick showers, stuff packed back in the car, and down to breakfast. The fresh bread, yogurt, and jam warmed us up a little but was not enough to counter the negative effects of the rain and overcast clouds. We paid our hosts and promised to return when the weather was better.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">So, what is the proper reaction when your optimistic forecast for pastoral bliss turns into a nightmare ordeal of disappointment, discomfort, and gloom? Apologize? Lick your wounds and retreat tail between legs? Hell, no! Double down on the crazy!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"> .</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">"You see," I explained, "the road leading south out of the valley is shorter and stays open all winter. It's only 40 kilometers and couldn't possibly be worse than the one we came in on. Plus we'll get to see the storied Shala river valley, the canyons of the Kir river, and the famous bridge at Mesi." I truly believed these statements (or had talked myself into believing them) and did my best to convince my companions in misery that this route would redeem what was until now a sub-par outing. You know the old saying, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me?" We've now replaced that with "I will never travel with you again, idiot!"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO53nFlDvrMR2Jef-WjrVTwAMhZohiW4clKtzYfoiNWToUiRT-CoQka1unTbcMewe3G9-SBvI8R-H8FyXuWuinUSs0i7dUfuTJqTFwSZ_wEReedo8qyY9SuXWD5N-9zx70ozLRcP5lAMo/s1600/Apr+2011+%252820%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO53nFlDvrMR2Jef-WjrVTwAMhZohiW4clKtzYfoiNWToUiRT-CoQka1unTbcMewe3G9-SBvI8R-H8FyXuWuinUSs0i7dUfuTJqTFwSZ_wEReedo8qyY9SuXWD5N-9zx70ozLRcP5lAMo/s400/Apr+2011+%252820%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thethi - Not So Bad When It Doesn't Rain</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I must say things started out OK. The rain let up as we visited the church in Theth. We had nice views of the tower of refuge, one of the finest examples of the defensive architecture used to harbor men who were at risk of revenge killings. Th road out of town followed the river and was better than the one we arrived on. The narrow gorge of Grunas was dramatic with the Shala river roaring below and the waterfall of Grunas putting on quite a display due to last night's downpour. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">.</div> We continued without incident down the valley, green fields on each side set against rocky hillsides which rose to meet the still-snowcovered peaks which disappeared into the clouds. As we passed the turn-off for Nderlysa, I mentioned there was a guesthouse there which might be a nice place to spend our second night..... aaaand so we continued. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnaBTuUpiuy0oPKpl30Za7D3-LIk6Y4qMg-wwMWaX5ZNe0u3N89rhYVMSfwRffqX5gUA1s6GVpGtk1_QTnU0O0NSqRBEkW2lfKLvN-8Z2Hu4CPF1qu6k9CbDJlY4kLRrLYUU319aLVeGg/s1600/Apr+2011+%252837%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnaBTuUpiuy0oPKpl30Za7D3-LIk6Y4qMg-wwMWaX5ZNe0u3N89rhYVMSfwRffqX5gUA1s6GVpGtk1_QTnU0O0NSqRBEkW2lfKLvN-8Z2Hu4CPF1qu6k9CbDJlY4kLRrLYUU319aLVeGg/s400/Apr+2011+%252837%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nderlysa - Maybe Next Time</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The Shala river valley is a gem. Isolated, clean, green, dotted with occasional small farmsteads. We continued along and spirits rose as we began to enjoy the pleasant drive through this majestic scenery. OK, it would have been better if we could have seen the tops of the mountains instead of just clouds, but so far, so good. </div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGv-FRpYLvvLS1_9jonWJfvhlmnrFmS5egUBq_CiLRfYTn3jyAL62ru2hIfLY7iY-SPzBBEUQo5p3KO9h4LY1EDQR43JHwRF8EJe01QDlAoE4Mnom8oMgvfQ9CUkUSD6f8Zx7T9lWu2tQ/s1600/Apr+2011+%252842%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGv-FRpYLvvLS1_9jonWJfvhlmnrFmS5egUBq_CiLRfYTn3jyAL62ru2hIfLY7iY-SPzBBEUQo5p3KO9h4LY1EDQR43JHwRF8EJe01QDlAoE4Mnom8oMgvfQ9CUkUSD6f8Zx7T9lWu2tQ/s400/Apr+2011+%252842%2529.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shala River In Spate</td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Just as our spirits began to rise, so did the road. We crossed the river for the last time and started to climb. It was as if they countryside had heard my interior dialogue about not seeing the tops of the peaks and decided to remedy the situation. Evidently, you can see the tops of the peaks, you just have to get above the clouds. We did that by scrambling up one of the most rugged roads I've crossed since... well since my last trip to Qafe Shtama. Endless rocky switchbacks led to more switchbacks which led us into the clouds. At times the views of the cloud draped mountains were fantastic with valleys below shrouded in mist.</div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggYmM11wk07qrMXY6Y4zD4660w1ne9ribcl9zVblw8Wk9I_fEvlJxMvcnk0ZzDaoqZy9ne1p7g0qxX1d20fTlpCOIpFoYYRvpxYPbBj33npQ1dHdCRIVlIVusvfDwdf66qIvk96iID48o/s1600/Apr+2011+%252845%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggYmM11wk07qrMXY6Y4zD4660w1ne9ribcl9zVblw8Wk9I_fEvlJxMvcnk0ZzDaoqZy9ne1p7g0qxX1d20fTlpCOIpFoYYRvpxYPbBj33npQ1dHdCRIVlIVusvfDwdf66qIvk96iID48o/s400/Apr+2011+%252845%2529.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This Is One Of Those Times</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0fJ0PK-mnK6El5Fb7EnuDqJc4jxzELsZ5k3DDaonBdv4WXmjaKu25f1U0sQvD314Af3p8r5YX-ixDuOlEHWzaoEk_BER142_3U58B8dHShXOjmZIs1RJUSKYBn1OtqtceaY8dZLPPlsk/s1600/Apr+2011+%252841%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0fJ0PK-mnK6El5Fb7EnuDqJc4jxzELsZ5k3DDaonBdv4WXmjaKu25f1U0sQvD314Af3p8r5YX-ixDuOlEHWzaoEk_BER142_3U58B8dHShXOjmZIs1RJUSKYBn1OtqtceaY8dZLPPlsk/s400/Apr+2011+%252841%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So Is This</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">At other times, the fog wrapped our vehicles in a shroud of thick cotton, limiting visibility to a few feet. This may have been a good thing as on the few occasions when the cloud parted, the view of the road and the sheer drop to the left was terrifying. When we crossed a bridge over a waterfall as the road clung to the cliffside, I quietly chanted, "Bring back the cloud. Bring back the cloud!" Eventually we dragged the bottom of the car over enough boulders to satisfy the road's bloodlust and it brought us down to the Kir river valley where we passed a small group of neatly attired children walking along the road. We stared at them wondering what they could be doing all dressed up in this place while they stared at us wondering who could be so clueless as to take this road from Thethi to the outside world. "That would be me."</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenM-k0Vcvo-oK5bk0pSIpjHzH2MCD1NSYQk_MMc6KVJjTTpfkf8jBr1zVf9TNmmSj1fX-kFq3FRkdf87HYoRp6TwI8vzoBxLVVtEDhpoapHX3ZfX1QMwBtc4R5tPx4-JD8p0dY-c3Jdc/s1600/Apr+2011+%252851%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenM-k0Vcvo-oK5bk0pSIpjHzH2MCD1NSYQk_MMc6KVJjTTpfkf8jBr1zVf9TNmmSj1fX-kFq3FRkdf87HYoRp6TwI8vzoBxLVVtEDhpoapHX3ZfX1QMwBtc4R5tPx4-JD8p0dY-c3Jdc/s400/Apr+2011+%252851%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kir River In Grykemadhe</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We continued punishing our vehicles and kidneys as the road wound through the big gorge known as <em>Grykemadhe</em>. It means 'Big Gorge" in Albanian. By now my fellow travellers were seriously doubting this trip would end. A <em>lapidari</em> on the side of the road graphically demonstrated this gorge had seen the end of many journeys, but not in the good way. The large slab of polished marble was inscribed with the names of 19 unfortunates whose journey ended prematurely in the 1950's when their vehicle plunged into the river. We kept our speed down and our attention up to avoid a similar fate. <br />
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Finally the rocky road gave way to new asphalt as we reached Prekal. What relief to be back in civilization! The village center was playing host to a political rally of sorts with a huge speaker blasting out the Democratic Party's theme song "<em>Shqiperia Po Ndryshon</em>" or Albania Is Changing. We smiled and were glad of the change which included asphalted roads..... until it ended at the other side of the village. Seems the pavement only lasted as long as the population density of registered voters! Back to the non-stop vehicular shiatsu massage. <br />
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I have vague memories of the rest of the trip as the road paralleled the river which cut a narrow canyon through the white rocks around Ura e Shtrejnte. I think I tried to comment on the unusal nature of these little slot canyons and their resemblance to similar features of southern Utah. The response? Let's just say it can only be described in polite company as "One finger, two words." The bridge at Mesi was as beautiful as the tourist brochures described, but seeing it from the upriver side was a letdown as you could also see the modern bridge just downstream. Or maybe it was a result of having all my motivation beaten from my skull by the road and the oppressive glares of my passengers who just wanted to go home. Still, it's a cool bridge worth seeing.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh668nFEWWPVLvGiTs_EydC0R42fM0SwhlR13gwdBdxDbQ5pMf0uxdlk4HCswl7EjXcj4zRehbTXGRP-XahyphenhyphenI9XaUILkn2GdFE9scGrXBnu1NhyphenhyphendZih9WW4KR32mvqm9Tdk_2aY3yzq4f0/s1600/Apr+2011+%252850%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh668nFEWWPVLvGiTs_EydC0R42fM0SwhlR13gwdBdxDbQ5pMf0uxdlk4HCswl7EjXcj4zRehbTXGRP-XahyphenhyphenI9XaUILkn2GdFE9scGrXBnu1NhyphenhyphendZih9WW4KR32mvqm9Tdk_2aY3yzq4f0/s400/Apr+2011+%252850%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please? That's My Bad Side!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Forty kilometers in six hours! Would I do it again? Of course, but we've already established I'm a glutton for punishment. The real question you should be asking is, "Should I go?" And I think you already know <strong>my </strong>answer!</div>.Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-2860656433029612242011-07-10T21:49:00.001+02:002011-07-10T21:49:51.355+02:00Frugal TravelFrugal travel? Albania? <a href="http://frugaltraveler.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/06/29/more-riviera-but-this-time-in-albani/">Enough said</a>.<br />
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Enjoy!Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-88988212863989279282011-06-17T11:17:00.000+02:002011-06-17T11:17:07.198+02:00The Indians Are Coming ...?No, this won't be a rude "Custer's Last Stand" joke. It's just the first time I've come across an article in the Hindu press extolling the benefits of visiting Albania. Not only does <a href="http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/features/life/article2110046.ece">the article</a> point out some nice aspects of Tirana, it highlights some of the continued economic growth occuring throughout Albania. It also gives us hope that we may get an authentic Irish Pub in the near future. <br />
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After reading the article, I started to wonder: "What is an Indian businessman doing in Tirana in the first place?" Please let his business be the beginning of a wave of Southwest Asian exchange that results in an authentic Indian restaurant opening. That would be progress!<br />
.Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-40771591361186111132011-06-08T14:31:00.000+02:002011-06-08T14:31:08.435+02:00A Teutonic "Tsk, Tsk" With A Little Hope At The EndI like to read Der Spiegel to get a German perspective on the problems plaguing the EU and the rest of the world. Having lived in Germany, and being of German descent, I am acutely aware of their superiority complex and their need to lecture other nations. Granted, they've earned some credibility through fiscal discipline, civic-mindedness, and work ethic. I guess it's natural they would wag their fingers at the lazy French, cringe at the antics of Berlusconi, and threaten to cut off the allowance of the profligate Greeks.<br />
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<a href="http://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/0,1518,767175,00.html">Today was Albania's turn.</a><br />
.Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-82460975025653580192011-05-26T14:30:00.000+02:002011-05-26T14:30:05.795+02:00Sympathy Pains?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've heard it said that Albanian's would like to have their country become the 51st state in the U.S. I've also heard statistics bandied about claiming that nearly 1/3 of the Albanian population has or is on the way to getting U.S. citizenship. True or not, it is a fact that Albanians have an affinity for America and Americans. As the video below shows, maybe it even extends to the weather. While Joplin, Missouri was being ravaged by tornados, the town of Kavaje experienced the meterological equivalent of "sympathy pains." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/d6hWwgBSwx8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div align="left" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div>Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5729806576983054551.post-78872063359229417492011-04-26T20:44:00.000+02:002011-04-26T20:44:49.280+02:00Screw You, Google Earth!There is always one in the crowd. Not the leader, but an enabler. The inconspicuous rabble-rouser who goads you into action, whispering in your ear, "Go, on. Do it! It's easy. How could such a little thing cause any problems?" Then there are those like me who succumb to the siren song and routinely bite off more than we can chew. At some point in every adventure I pause, take stock of my discomfort, and wonder, "How did I convince myself to do this?" I usually end up briefly cursing the enabler before buckling down and getting on with the task at hand. This explains why recently I could be found battering my kidneys as I coaxed my trusty X-Terra up the last hundred meters of cobbled hell that passes for a road over Qafe Shtame muttering, "Screw you, Google Earth!" <br />
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In the air-conditioned comfort of my apartment in Tirana it looked so easy. Gliding effortlessly through the virtual canyons and forests of the wilderness behind Skanderbeg mountain piqued my interest. A quick day-trip to the National Park of Qafe Shtame seemed just the ticket to shake off the winter lethargy and kick off another summer of exploring the nooks and crannies of Albania. Some quick internet research, a perfunctory virtual overflight of the route, and loading up the backpack with survival supplies (water and GORP*) saw me out the door with kids in tow. <br />
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Of course, nothing in Albania goes that smoothly. As news of the trip leaked out, the number of travellers increased and I got requests to bring back some 5-liter jugs of water from the famous Qafe Shtame springs. Political rallies had the center of Tirana plugged up tighter than a Japanese subway at rush hour so I had to take the back road around the lake to avoid the congestion. There is a 400-meter unpaved, bumpy section which I felt was a good warm-up for the conditions we might face later. Forty-five minutes and a lot of well-paved kilometers later, we left the asphalt on the outskirts of Kruje and entered the "Gorge of Death." OK, I don't really know if that's its official name, but I have to call it something. <br />
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One feature of Albanian geography results from the African tectonic plate snuggling under the Eurasian plate, rumpling it like a frisky puppy looking for his chew toy under the hallway carpet. The carpet, in this case Albania, gets messily folded up in a series of parallel ridges. The mountain ranges of Albania run roughly north-south and get progressively higher as you get farther from the coast. As the ridges were lifted up, the rivers coming off the mountains to the east carved canyons that deepened as the ridge rose. The mountain range behind Tirana is cut by several of these impressive gorges on the Erzen and Tirana rivers and the streams which feed the Ishem river including the <em>Perroit i Zallit te Brrares</em>, the <em>Perroit i Zezes</em>, and the one we followed which has no name on my map. Hence, Gorge of Death.<br />
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As the road drove deeper into the chasm, it was carved into the cliffside with a drop of hundreds of meters in places. There were several memorial plaques erected on the spots where unlucky travellers had met their end. These are a common sight along mountain routes throughout the country. At one particularly impressive dropoff there was a large, concrete marker detailing an even more gruesome event. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKSBMEasJnOSEDKI-ZaJvXFpABFV0pa9TnpM_bTdv11oCtHmKmiC2p2zwGTMMig7jdI0PKf2u7A8s0TC0hZEyHsakEh1Gd554jkz7EIrrGlxaok3qqqVIGLocpzq3CMVbK2NyAHslzVg/s1600/Shkembi+i+vajes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKSBMEasJnOSEDKI-ZaJvXFpABFV0pa9TnpM_bTdv11oCtHmKmiC2p2zwGTMMig7jdI0PKf2u7A8s0TC0hZEyHsakEh1Gd554jkz7EIrrGlxaok3qqqVIGLocpzq3CMVbK2NyAHslzVg/s640/Shkembi+i+vajes.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>The spot is known as the "<em>Shkembi i Vajes</em>" (Stone of Mourning) and the inscription reads (I'm paraphrasing here):<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Here ninety women from Kruje bravely threw themselves to their deaths to avoid capture by the invading Turkish forces. They preferred to remain clean, untouched, and free. Their heroism is passed on through their daughters and grand-daughters to the glory of xxxxxxx and the motherland.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was informed the word which had been chiseled off the of this marker was "socialism." Evidently no legendary act of bravery was exempt from Enver Hoxha's desire to tie the communist party to every aspect of Albanian history. Neither is any area of natural beauty is immune to the Albanian desire to get rid of household trash without too much effort. Just a hundred meters from Stone of Mourning was the "Gully of Burning Garbage" whose smoke reduced visibility to zero, making the hazardous road even more thrilling! </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Once through the Gorge, the road climbed south to the saddle above the village of Noje where the landscape spread out in all directions. You could actually see over Bovilla reservoir, past Mount Dajti, to Tirana. The road twisted upwards as we wound our way around the flanks of the 1300-meter peak of <em>Maja i Liqenit </em>to reach the national park of Qafe Shtame. It was about now that I began to wonder if I had been fooled by the deceptive visual display of Google's excellent mapping tool. The road twisted and doubled back on itself turning a 10 kilometer virtual flight into 40 minutes off butt-numbing punishment. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">When we reached the modern water-bottling plant of the Qafe Shtame Company I had two simultaneous thoughts: "We must be almost to the park." and "How do they get truckloads of bottled water down that road?" I was left to ponder the second question as the road got exponentially worse, disproving my first statement. Narrower, steeper, and more rutted by heavily-laden logging trucks, the road continued up through a dense forest of pine and birch. The richer, softer soil was great for the flora, but made for a muddy road when wet. The solution? Cobblestones. More precisely, a bunch of rocks heaved onto the roadbed to provide traction and prevent you getting stuck. Just when I was certain I was about to spit out a filling, we arrived at the fabled spring of Qafe Shtame. The water gushed crystal clear from the pipes set in the wall below the spring. I filled the bottles, drank deep of the clean, cold stream, and started to get hungry. <br />
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The hotel a few meters down the road provided the answer. The owner was cleaning the place up and getting ready for the tourist season when we drove up looking for food. He prepared a basic lunch of grilled beef, fried potatoes, and salad with local feta cheese. Washed down with the local water, it did the trick. Fully fed, we had to decide on a course of action. According to the hotelier, it was equal distance back to Kruje or onward to Burrel and paved roads. His description of "a few hundred meters of really bad road and then it gets better" convinced us to continue on instead of backtracking over roads we knew were pretty brutal. Plus, my time on Google Earth made it clear that it couldn't be<strong> that</strong> bad. <br />
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Screw you, Google Earth.<br />
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Suffice it to say the road did get worse. And worse. The better part didn't come until we hit pavement 25 kilometers later outside of Burrel, shortly after passing the derelict chrome processing factory. The trip down the east side of the pass was notable only for its duration and level of suffering. Snaking down the side of the mountains denuded of trees, the road gave a ride quality which gives new meaning to the word "juddering." There was only one notable sight to relieve the incessant pounding the road dished out to our vital organs and suspension - and it involved death. Another roadside monument, known as <em>lapidari</em>, carried the inscription:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><em>Sul A. Sula</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Ketu pushoi Sula dhe u bej legende</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>jo se e lodhi rruga</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>por nje aksident</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Here Sula stopped and he became legend</div><div style="text-align: center;">not because the road tired him</div><div style="text-align: center;">but an accident</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">In America, you die in a traffic accident and you become a statistic. Here you become a legend. I love it!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Now that we reached paved road, things were more comfortable. The Mati river valley stretched for miles and the road wound through the scenes of pastoral beauty. We moved along at a good clip to make up for the time we spent on the pass and because we had a new goal: the dam at Ulza. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7l8mOdF5ExaQ1myjeqM2syiqoUqJ88UpI110LhC358JJcimsU9TBQfV2luUOgoVV_VDLj-rOE9nQdqYjDOr785gNJ2yjEekBGuc0Ib_HKZuZlFGcAN2tCCjbFdPnBOiM2NCmf6UhHSg/s1600/ulza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7l8mOdF5ExaQ1myjeqM2syiqoUqJ88UpI110LhC358JJcimsU9TBQfV2luUOgoVV_VDLj-rOE9nQdqYjDOr785gNJ2yjEekBGuc0Ib_HKZuZlFGcAN2tCCjbFdPnBOiM2NCmf6UhHSg/s400/ulza.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This dam was the next on my list of hydro-electric facilities to "bag." I may have mentioned earlier that visiting Hoover Dam in my youth left me with a weird fixation with dams and water diversion systems. Anyway, a part of my wanderlust is geared to checking out these facilities in Albania, which has the second greatest hydroelectric potential in Europe behind Norway. Damn those fjords! We had coffee at a roadside locale just below the dam complete with some delicious <em>revani </em>provided compliments of the owner who regaled us with stories of German campers who had recently stayed on the lakeside just below his establishment. Wait. Lake below his place? But we were downstream of the dam....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Turns out we were in for a double play. Below Ulza, the Mati river enters a narrow gorge and, sure enough, it was dammed. The structure at Shkopet was even cooler than Ulza. A concrete plug in a very narrow gorge produced a long lake that stretched upriver for kilometers. Green forests reached down to the lakeside and several promising fish restaurants advertised their prowess at cooking up the bounty of the lake.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">After Shkopet, we quickly reached the new road and were as good as home. I settled into the nearly automatic mode of driving, knowing that reality would be much closer to Google's version than it had previously. I reconsidered my harsh judgement of the enabler. If I hadn't fallen prey to its simplified view of this crinkled country, I may have missed out on a beautiful part of the country and two magnificient engineering feats. Plus, while we were transiting Burrel, I could see to the east the jagged mountains that marked the western boundary of the Lura Lakes National Park. That could be the next adventure. Just let me check it out on Google Earth....!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">(*Good old raisins and peanuts)</div><div style="text-align: left;">.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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</div>Tirana Transplanthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02970062325172364729noreply@blogger.com4