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ier – that we can get lost somewhere else.
A stopover in Shen-Vasil. This nondescript
little place consists of little more than a
roundabout built around a tree. Most road
users go round it whichever way they feel
like, but no worries – there’s not much traffic
and the roundabout is only there for the
tree. Or maybe for the restaurant that’s right
close by. A lunch break wouldn’t go amiss,
and the proprietor soon fills us in about the
security on the beach. The mafia is trying to
get its hands on the glorious coastal strip,
building illegal hotels and cashing in. But
the villagers don’t want to hand over their
beach and the security guards are there to
try and stop the mafia.
Our host is also in the tourism business.
He has some decent rooms for rent above
the restaurant, and the penthouse on the
roof is intended for lovers. All-round glazing,
a water bed and all kinds of “adult
toys” complete the picture. How does an
Albanian villager know about the exquisite
desires of his prospective guests? The owner
laughs: “I used to be a sailor.”
It must have been a good decision to go
to sea during a time when Albania was isolated
from the outside world for decades
under the despotic rule of Enver Hoxha.
The one-man pillboxes that are still scattered
throughout the country stand as a reinforced
concrete reminder of the dictator’s
paranoia.
Far worse environmental damage was
perpetrated under the old regime, with
many problems persisting today. Because
of the country’s isolation, it had to source
all its raw materials domestically, including
oil. Entire mountain regions are dotted with
rusting oil well towers. Holes in the ground
ooze black sludge into lakes. If an oil tanker
had dumped its cargo here, things
wouldn’t look any different.
Fortunately the joyful moments are usually
not far off after such bizarre sights.
Three hills and four bends further on, and
the scenery looks as though not a blade
of grass has been disturbed. A wilderness
with plumes of dust billowing up off the dirt
roads brings smiles to our faces. On mountain
passes you begin to see why Albania
must have been a nightmare for conquerors
in former times. Mountains everywhere,
valleys everywhere. Many are in prominent
locations but most lie hidden away in
the countless creases and folds of the Albanian
Alps.
Crossing a bridge full of holes that could
easily swallow up a small car, we head for
the Tomorr massif. The dome of the tekke, a
pilgrimage site for Bektashi Dervishes, can
be seen on one of the peaks. There is a
road that goes all the way there, provided
the remaining patches of snow at more
than 2,400 metres above sea level don’t
stop us in our tracks.
The climb is not particularly difficult, except
coarse stones make the front wheels
slip unpleasantly on the bends. An easterly
wind blows more forcefully around our
heads the higher we get, and on some of
the ridges we start to wonder whether coming
up here was such a good idea. Then
the road turns to the right, straight into a
snowdrift. It’s impassable for several hundred
metres. This is definitely as far as our
motorbikes can go. The tekke peeks down
at us, close but unreachable.
On the way down into the valley we’re