Zeuphoria

Our entrance into Greece was another rather interesting border crossing; getting in late due to our bumpy ride through Albania, we slid back into the EU and back on to high-speed motorways. The result was that in half an hour we had covered almost as much ground as we had in an afternoon of driving - not quite in time for us to reach Kalpaki, where we had aimed to be for the night, before around 11 o'clock. Ringing fruitlessly at the door of a guesthouse we found, we spent an enjoyable several hours being directed round in circles by very friendly (but not so helpful) locals until we ended being pointed back to the very same house we had stopped at; this time however they answered and we ended up with a room for the night.

In the morning we headed into the hills of the Zagoria region - commencing with what had to be the most memorable meal of the trip; a simple and extraordinarily tasty Greek breakfast: freshly-made marmalade, crusty bread and delicious local cheese all washed down with thick greek coffee as we looked out over the stone villages clinging to the side of the hills and canyons.

Soundly reinforced, we wandered our way to and through the beautifully quiet villages, until we found ourselves overlooking the Vikos gorge, arguably the largest in Europe.Whether it is or not, I don't think I'm misusing the term when I say it is breathtaking; I'd challenge anyone to stand at its edge and not hold theirs involuntarily for at least a few seconds.

Gawping and gasping done with (and it took some time), it was time for further fortification; a restaurant on the town square duly presented itself, with a terrace under vine leaves. It had only taken half a day of being in Greece again to remind me just how amazing the place is; the people, history, food and stark natural beauty of the place all combine to make it an absolute pleasure every step of the way. In this case, lunch in the Zagori village of Mikro Papingo, all of those attributes were amply on demonstration; a delicious greek salad the highlight, with delicious (and cheap!) local wine, beautifully barbequeued meat and some delicious accompanying sides. Heaven would be shadowed by this, particularly with all the plunky harp music (and probably crap wine).

The afternoon saw us winding our way eastwards through the countryside, with a few stops to admire some of the beautiful old stone bridges in the region, and to walk the more irresistible paths we came across. The topic of discussion: how soon we could come back with allies to continue our pleasurable campaign across the hills of northern Greece.

Potholes and pit-traps

Often when you cross from one country to another, it feels as if you've changed worlds entirely. This seems usually to come down to simple things; the fact that you are a lot of different architecture, or the people dress or appear significantly different. In the case of crossing into Albania from Montenegro, it was something more significant. We appeared to have driven into the set of Lord of the Rings - albeit with more rural nightclubs, one of which is feature not only in the foreground of the above shot, on a hill overlooking the river, but also in the very near foreground, as I took this from the carpark of a club-under-construction. I can't explain it, as we were in the middle of nowhere from all appearances; but as we were to find out, Albania isn't like other places...

The drive southwards through Albania revealed a few interesting aspects of this seldom-visited country. First was that they like their cars clean. Very clean. We couldn't have counted how many times we saw the word "Lavazh" on the side of a building, even if we had wanted to, with men waiting poised with pressure hose and sponge. I have no idea how these industrious scrubbers make a living, as there was one every hundred meters even on the open highway, and even more when we reached a town. Perhaps their strategy was to try to ensure the potholes on their particular stretch of road were even more craterous than their neighbour's; no mean feat, as driving in Albania was like trying to drive a moon buggy after a meteor shower.

Secondly, it became apparent that if you did manage to successfully negotiate the roads and desperate car washers at any kind of speed, you would soon be halted by the local rozzers. It would appear that in order to ensure the carwashing industry wasn't in any danger due to motorists going past too quickly, every policeman in the country was stationed by the road with a speed gun. The local drivers seemed to have a sixth sense (or a clever iPhone app) which told them when a speed trap was ahead. They would slow, and even stop weaving all over the road to attempt to overtake each other while avoiding a fiery crash into the magma at the bottom of one of the mid-road calderas, leaving the tourist, at the same speed as the traffic had been a moment ago, to be pulled over and issued a friendly wave. Yes, despite being signalled to pull over no less than 5 times due to minor speed transgressions, I wasn't given a ticket, but simply a friendly smile, and on occasion a "welcome to Albania!" before being sent on my way.

Due to the fac that we were aiming to be in Greece by the end of the day, our one stop in Albania (not counting Tirana, which doesn't count, despite our net movement over around an hour being zero due to the complete lack of signage) was Berat. A beautiful old town complete with original Ottoman architecture cascading down the hillside under a stunning medieval acropolis, it was definitely worth the stop, and the tour by a local guide (which, as seems often the case, appeared, enjoyably, to be speckled with as much fantasy as fact). It also gave us a chance to interact a little with the locals beyond traffic transgressions, which showed just how generous the people here are; on our way out of Berat, which was slightly confusing due to the recent changes in the road setup, we received possibly the most enthusiastically delivered (to the point of almost being competitive) directions I've ever been lucky enough to have. They did the trick, too, and we were soon on track to the southern border.

The fishy business of crossing borders

In a trip of interesting border crossings, this one had to be the most challenging, and spectacular. After a day of driving the length of the Montenegran coast (itself not unchallenging, and certainly not unspectacular), we arrived eventually in the extreme south-west corner of the country, where the Tara river spills out over a broad marshland into the Med.

With the map indicating that there was a border crossing (albeit another one on a route marked in white in our wonderful Europe-wide road atlas - something we were beginning to understand meant different things depending on which country you were in), we persevered south despite the route becoming more and more circuitous. Eventually, after a few guessed turns, we arrived - in front of us, appearing in a neon glow out of nowhere at the end of a twisting road, was what appeared to be the local equivalent of the Sunset Strip. The only difference being it was composed entirely of fish restaurants. As it was now dark, we opted for sitting down to try out the local (and obviously VERY freshly caught) fare, and seeing what we could divine from our hosts regarding accommodation, and getting across the border.

As always seems to happen when you are in where you feel truly out of place, we were surprised by how helpful the restaurant staff were - after a delicious dinner we were on our way to stay at a local guesthouse. While not 5-star, there were pillows on which to lay weary heads and some rather bewildered attempts to explain the way to the border. In the morning we got up early, as we were aiming to traverse Albania the next day from north to south, and wanted to get the first obstacle of checking passports out of the way. This yielded something of a bonus; the fishing area we were in was simply stunning in the dawn light:

Having snapped the rising sun to heart's content, we attempted to head south. Dead end - although there was the helpfully labelled toilet block featured above. We wound our way back and attempted another road, this time at least finding landmarks which were indicated on the map. Unfortunately, on arriving at what looked like a border post sitting alongside a dirt road, we were told by the sleepy guard that we awoke that the post was no longer operating. This was fairly apparent by virtue of the complete lack of road on the other side of the post - who knows what superior our guard had annoyed to get that posting.

He helpfully explained where the closest crossing was - back up the road we had come, and then doubling back again to our east, a good hour away. But we finally made it, and by breakfast time were in Albania.

Bosnian beauty

Here are a few snaps from the ride down to Dubrovnik from Mostar - the brilliant combination of medieval christian and muslim architecture providing plenty of inspiration.

Re-unabridged

Here it is - the first time a location has featured twice (bar places I've lived). But it's not surprising it's somewhere like Mostar. Think I wrote plenty about it last time - but it's no less arresting the second. As per the name (Mostar comes from the word "Most" for bridge), there's little doubting what the focal point of the town is, so this time I gave it due attention.

Going to the bridge museum provided further insight into what it meant to the town, and the history of it and it's symbolic role in the conflict(s) which reached flashpoint here.

On this visit, we decided to stay in the town overnight, a decision we didn't regret - staying in a hotel overlooking one of the tributary streams running through the town, and exploring the backstreets, was a great experience. Just in case anyone needed it, here's proof that places worth going to, are worth going to again!

Monasteries and meanderings

The pilgrim destination of Ostrog was an early taste of some of the incredible religious architecture we were to see on this trip. Tucked up against the cliffs, and almost seeming part of them, this monastery is still very much in use, and when we arrived had a large queue of visitors - none of whom were there to sight-see, but rather to pay their respects to the inhabitants and seek their aid in matters spiritual.

After marveling at the skill and, frankly, stubbornness of the builders, we were off to the national parks in the north-east of the country, and back into an alpine environment.

Possibly one of the most interesting adventures of the trip there was finding the border to Bosnia & Herzegovina, as our intention had been to find our way over through the quieter b-roads and work our way back to the coast.

What we didn't expect was that the road that was clearly marked on our map was little more than a logging track. Having got little more than incredulous looks from the villagers we stopped to ask, we eventually found a security guard at a logging camp who seemed to agree with our map that there was a crossing we could make. So, pointing our little fiat down the unpaved road in the direction he indicated, we eventually came to a tiny hut, from which emerged two rather surprised-looking border guards.

Given the tentative situation of much of the region still, I wasn't surprised that they gave our passports and the car a thorough going over before shaking their heads at one-another, lifting the boom gate and sending us on our way. To be welcomed on the Bosnian side by more confused guards, an even more deteriorate road (on which we had to negotiate around logging trucks on a single, muddy track with cliffs on one side and precipitous drops on the other). Next time a villager laughs when I ask directions, I may take it as a less than positive sign!

The High Way

Time to discover why there's the "Monte" in Montenegro. Driving inland takes you through an amazing parade of geography - starting with the incredible switchback roads through the coastal mountains, we reached the beautiful town of Cetinje, once the capital of the country. You feel the difference the difference, with the locals having traded in a relaxed, coastal insouciance for a relaxed, alpine insouciance.

A wander around town to soak in the old-world feel of the old embassies and palaces, some brilliant pizza tucked down one of the cobbled streets, and we were off again, making our way through the countryside.

We made a few stops that day, in beautiful countryside. As is the case in Bosnia & Herzegovina, Montenegro is a collision of the Mediterranean and Slavic cultures, and bears the scars of conflict not far below the surface.

Once across to the other side of the highlands, we descended to the valley floor, with the great Lake Skadar stretching out in front of us - having left the gloden beaches and azure waters of the coast only half a day earlier, it felt like we'd had something of a geography lesson - and certainly it had kept my camera occupied!

Montenegrin Landscape Part 1...

...The Coast.

The first in a series of shots which will beg the question "why wasn't Lord of the Rings shot here??". The answer is probably that it's too idyllic. And not enough orcs.

The drive around the Kotor fjord is amazing - the road winds only a metre or so above the level of the water all the way around, with brightly painted little fishing boats moored in tiny stone quays, and much of the time it feels like you are driving right on top of the water - which is what would appear sometimes actually happens...

A couple of days spent on the coast was a balm - here's Jo and I presenting the fjord from the amazing switchback road to the old capital, Cetinje, and below is the island town (now resort) of Sveti Stefan - one of the most recognisable sights of Montenegro (even though every time I've seen it before I had no idea it was part of this amzing, tucked away place).