Month: August 2017

The fires that caused so much lung-gasping discomfort on the Albanian side of Lake Shkroda were also creating uncomfortable conditions on the Montenegrin side. So we decided to make a bee line for those mountains that that country was so famous for. The name Montenegro does, after all, mean Black Mountains.

For ages we followed alongside a clear flowing river and through a series of dramatic gorges, stopping wherever we could to take photos and marvel at the fantastic views. The traffic was quite busy with many of the number plates revealing they were from Serbia. We saw very few tourists like us in campers or caravans.

As we progressively climbed higher the air cleared and the vegetation appeared much greener, which was very pleasing as the smokey haze of the lower regions had become quite unpleasant. Obviously they had been blessed with rain more recently up in those higher altitudes. The high mountain views were outstandingly beautiful, with deep gorges, thick forests and craggy rocks. Georgie commented that she thought Montenegro was her new favourite place…

We decided to take the opportunity to cross over into Serbia for a bit and check that out for a day or so, given that we were so close to the border. We were cheerfully waved over the Montenegran border with only a cursory passport check, wound through another stunning gorge and eventually arrived at the Serbian border gates. After waiting nearly an hour in the long queue that snaked up the road for almost a kilometre we eventually managed to get across with a new stamp in our passports. Yay!

We found a nice little farm away up high in the dramatic mountains that allowed us to park Ebenezer, supplied us with electricity and fed us dinner that they had just recently harvested from their own backyard. Fresh buckwheat ground into flour and turned into pancakes with a type of home made cheese added, big mugs of home fermented yoghurt, and more pancakes with home made plum jam. Yum. The clear spirit distilled from plums was pretty good too, but boy did it have a kick!

Next was a journey to a local lake, organised by our lovely hosts, which they told us held some ice caves (at that time of year for goodness’ sake!) that we were able to visit. We had declined visiting ice grottos in Austria because of the busloads of hundreds of other tourists, but in Serbia we thought we might be able to have it all to ourselves! All very exciting!

The lake, it turned out, was a very big dam, and the ice caves were limestone caves that were open to the public. Very pretty but not the ice grotto we were expecting. Also we didn’t have it all to our selves. Granted there were not the busloads of hundreds of other tourists, but the little boat we were on had eleven other people, and there were a few other little boats puttering back and forth. But it was all very beautiful, and we even got to see one of the few remaining nesting places of the very rare griffin vultures. Heaps of them circling and roosting on cliff edges.

One thing that is worth mentioning is that prior to our trip we were led to believe that Eastern Europe was dangerous, and we were expected to only camp in van parks with an armed guard and boom gate. What a load of twaddle. Everyone has been lovely and welcoming, and very excited to meet Australians. We haven’t see a single armed guard anywhere, even the police aren’t carrying rifles and machine guns like the Italians do. We were told stories how during the war that gypsies were common, but we didn’t see any in modern Albania, Montenegro or in Serbia.

Afterwards we moved on back over the Serbian / Montenegrin border on the mountain road, which joy oh joy, held no queues, and found an alpine van park to spend the night in, listening to much needed rain falling on our almost tin roof.

Before leaving Albania we underwent the ordeal of driving back up the Seriously Bad road out of Theth. The two hour 12 kilometre track became a three hour journey because the traffic was just incredible. We became involved in a traffic jam with six vehicles behind us and more than that in front, on a rough and rocky two wheel perilous track that plummeted away into the abyss on one side and had sharp rocks projecting out from the rock face on the other. Mirrors had to be folded in to allow the other vehicles to past within millimetres, and that was only after some vehicles were forced to back up to slightly wider spots.

There were a number of times that Rod glanced over at Georgie to see her hiding her face deep in her hands. At several points there were numerous Albanians wandering up and down the gridlocked vehicles, all giving advice, gesticulating and directing everyone in Albanian and Italian. Chaos is a pretty good word to describe the situation.

Then some dignitary in a shiny mercedes came down the trail accompanied by half of the Albanian politzia force. Things got even crazier.

With white knuckles gripping the steering wheel and pained grimaces every time a branch scratched the side of the van, Rod did manage to laugh off the total ridiculousness of the situation, although that tight knot in the back of his neck grew steadily more painful.

There has never been a crazier, scarier and more improbable traffic jam in the history of the universe!

Finally we made it to Montenegro’s border, and after a long wait in the border queue we were on our way into new territory. Suddenly the drivers changed into polite law abiding citizens who drove at the speed limit and gave way(!!!!) at the roundabouts. There was a totally different atmosphere.

More to come…

Just before leaving Italy we stayed with a farming family who told us that they hadn’t had rain for four months. That explained the enormous fields of perished sunflowers we had seen that had withered before maturing. Southern Italy was as dry as chips!

We then departed that old country for another one. Crossing the Adriatic Sea on a ferry was exciting, we were on our way to a part of Europe that held an air of mystery to both of us.

Albania, it turns out, reminded us a lot of Africa, except with white people. There were donkeys pulling carts, people on bicycles and little motorbikes, old folk pushing wheel barrows, chooks and goats, roadside produce stalls, lots of backyard vege gardens and rubbish strewn all along the road. There seemed to be a dichotomy of mercedes benzes and beat up old bombs swerving around the multiple potholes in the roads.

Everyone was smiley and waved back to us as we drove past. Albania had a friendly atmosphere and all those things we had read about how they were so welcoming to travellers seemed to ring very true.

We followed rough tracks to high hills overlooking rather dry coastlines, and then a lovely smooth sealed road through a coastal national park with big trees and healthy undergrowth. Albania in general appeared to be nearly as crunchy dry as southern Italy but everyone had plenty of water for irrigating their gardens which they were getting from somewhere, possibly the mountains. So we intended to eventually make it a mission to investigate those aforementioned mountains to find out.

We found that Albania does have some peculiarities, roundabouts for one. No give way rules apply, even the politzia just barged in front of us without looking. Scary. Big houses is another. Nearly everyone looks as if they are just scraping by, but there are large houses with flamboyant outside spiral staircases almost everywhere. Mind you, many of those houses are only half finished with families living on one level and the other floor consisting of just half made concrete and steel reinforcing.

Most of the architecture shows a heavy influence of the Russian communist style of concrete block boringness. Rod pondered out loud how everything was made of cement and not a single wooden structure was to be seen, so Georgie pointed out that they would have a hard time finding any timber anywhere, but limestone is really abundant. That made sense.

But everything is so cheap! We decided that after spending only about $7 Australian on a good meal that included two cups of coffee and a bottle of water we would probably eat out most days. And our first night in a beach side van park was half the price of the rest of Europe. Albania has a good feel to it.

When we first arrived we were a little taken aback by signs advertising ‘Shitet Apartments’ and ‘Shitet Food’ and even blocks of land that were ‘Shitet’. After a period of wariness we realised that it just meant ‘For Sale’! Heh heh. Then there are the ‘Kastrati’ petrol stations. You kinda expect a high voiced fella to come out to serve you.

On our second day we drove down the coast towards Greece (the opposite of what we had originally intended) because the road was so good and the views were spectacular. The roads in Albania can be categorised as Good, Bad or Seriously Bad. Even the Good roads are only good between towns, through the towns they deteriorate into one of the lower categories.

The southern coast road weaves its way through awesomely rugged, dry and enormous mountains that reach right down to the water’s edge. Ancient olive trees tend to be the dominant vegetation in many places, some of which must be hundreds of years old they are so twisted and gnarled. Goats and cows wander across the road at random, taking their time and are totally unconcerned by the traffic.

The music that people play here has a real Turkish sound to it, it’s kinda difficult to follow the tune. But I’m sure that would just take a little getting used to.

Eventually we found the road to Theth, a winding mountain road that wove its way up into the Albanian Alps. Before that we had been choking on smokey pollution and were a little disappointed in our wonderful Albania for having such yucky air, but when we drove up into the alps we found out why. The extremely dry conditions had sparked forest fires that were smouldering and causing choking conditions on the lowlands. But as we climbed up up up into the mountains things got clearer and cleaner. Gotta love those mountains.We followed a road that began as a Good road which rapidly deteriorated into a Seriously Bad road. It took us hours to travel about 10 kilometres, but it was worth it.

We have driven over amazing mountains, through deep gorges, followed gushing rivers and crossed over starkly dry plains. Albania is a land of contrasts. Have we found our new favourite place on the planet?

After leaving the busy East coast of Italy we found – by chance – an ancient walled city with cheap parking for campervans. A morning stroll up the narrow lanes was something we both enjoyed the next day, taking photos and stopping to chat with local ladies and nonnas, all sorts of gesticulations helping a lot there because we didn’t share much language.

After driving past so many amazing walled cities perched atop high hillsides and surrounded by olive plantations, we finally headed back into the mountains to wend our way up vertical precipices to get those bloody amazing views again. The winding roads were narrow and pot holed with really tight hairpin bends – just how we like ‘em. And the views, the views…

We ended up sitting quietly in a leafy forest on the side of an Umbrian mountain. Whilst almost all else of central Italy was baking under a scorching Sun, that place was green and shady. The breeze above us rustled the canopy as the trees chattered quietly amongst themselves. The ground cover was a blend of moss and leaf litter with the occasional outcrop of white limestone or marble. Someone had built wooden chairs and tables, plus a water tap, so we happily spent the afternoon and evening there, quietly by ourselves.

We spent time poring over maps, planning how to ensure that we do get to the Dalmatian Coast, making sure we didn’t dither toooo much around the Italian countryside. It is so easy to get distracted. Plus poor old Rod has to have his nonno nap every few hours, which slows things down a bit.

It’s hard work, this holidaying gig. But it’s worth it.

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Driving through the crispy dry Tuscan country side we espied what looked like a huge castle perched atop a large hill. Luckily the random road that we were on took us in that general direction, with, of course, lots of zigs and zags along the way.

The surrounding rural landscape was very warm and incredibly dry, everything had a silvery grey sheen to it. This was the ‘Mediterranean Climate’ in action with its hot dry summers and cold wet winters, and we were experiencing temperatures in the low 40s in a place that had obviously not seen rain for some time. Still though, its very Tuscan flavour was beautiful to behold.

The closer we got to the castle the more we could see that it was actually a whole walled city whose occupation dated way back to ancient Roman times and beyond. Huge stone walls and narrow lanes, arches and a Duomo plus lots of grandiose churches were everywhere.

After staying the night nearby we spent the next morning wandering about the narrow stone alleys, admiring that something so ancient (we saw plaques on robust buildings dating back to the 12^th century) could be so well preserved and yet still be part of so many people’s day to day lives.

Every now and then thought we could smell wafts of the difficulties that the locals must encounter with providing modern sewerage to ancient stone cities, particularly when there are so many tourists wanting to use their facilities as well.

After finally tearing ourselves away from that amazing place we tootled off down the road deeper into Tuscany. It was not long before we came across yet another walled city with all those narrow stone alleys and tall stone buildings squished into a tiny area. Once again we spent hours wandering about in that amazing place, it being just that little bit more beautiful because there were practically no other tourists. In fact there were barely any people at all because it was siesta time. The Italians take their quiet time in the middle of the day very seriously. Many businesses close up between 1:00 and 4:00.

Nearing the East coast later that day we decided to stay in a van park on the banks of a freshwater lake. The surrounding country side was all farms, so the options for bush camping were very slim indeed. The park was relatively quiet despite it being peak holiday season with an abundance of small children, but what really was amazing was the abundance of insect life. Great clouds of swirling flying creatures that made us very glad of the mozzie screens on Ebenezer. The mass hatchings of these insects must have come from the muddy banks of the lake as the water receded during the dry spell we were experiencing. Rod enjoyed watching these harmless creatures dancing together in vast swarms of gyrating clouds, but Georgie was not quite so impressed with their tiny corpses littering the ground everywhere the next morning. Ah lives so brief, to dance all night and perish only as the Sun rises to a new day.

We are finding that we have difficulty travelling more than 50 kilometres a day because there are just so many diversions and things to see. Will we ever get to the Dalmatian Coast? Watch this space…

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Yes we made it, finally, to Tuscany. It was a long time in the making, bucket loads of winding detours up perilous and narrow mountain tracks before we managed to eventually pass over the arbitrary border of Liguria and into the legendary province of Tuscany. But we did do it.

The Italian Riviera is quite different to the French version, the ostentatious displays of obscene wealth were not nearly as apparent, in fact quite the opposite.

Italy, we have found, is a land of contradictions. It is the home of Ferrari, Ducati, Lamborghini, Leonardo da Vinci and the Roman civilisation for goodness’ sake, but the trains still don’t run on time and nothing really works like it should. The drivers, although not quite as lunatic as the Madagascans, are really quite scary. How is that?

But the landscapes are beautiful. The Mediterranean shores (when not coated in beach umbrellas) are attractive and rugged, and when you head away from the busy coasts the mountains are dramatic and awe inspiring. The ancient villages are fascinating and strangely attractive with their leaning stone walls, colourful window boxes and tiny doorways. The rolling hills are covered in the silver grey of olive trees and the green lines of wine grapes. Tuscany is very much worth the legend it has evoked.

There appears to be a very dry period encompassing the landscapes we have passed through, but it barely diminishes its splendour.

We saw a delightfully rustic old stone farmhouse for sale that was nestled in the wooded hills, usable land around it and a castle across the road. Very tempting…

Is this our new favourite place on the planet? We will get back to you on that.

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We had heard about the famous ‘Five Villages’ along the coast of the Italian Riviera, and although we had been warned that they are VERY popular with tourists we decided to go and see them anyway, mainly because the photos all looked so absolutely gorgeous.

It was recommended that you either catch the train between the five medieval fishing villages or walk the path along the coast, vehicles were not really suitable due to the steep and narrow nature of the treacherous roads. There was a big town, La Spezio, nearby where you could park securely we were told, and then catch the train. We even tossed around the idea of hiring a vespa scooter and doing the mountain trails that way.

La Spezio turned out to be a rather yucky port with absolutely zero parking available for our big vehicle. Even when we found the only open bike hire joint there was nowhere for us to stop, so we exited that place and decided to try and get as close as we could to the first of the villages.

Unfortunately we couldn’t get within cooee so we took a lovely police lady’s advice and went to another town further down the train line to look for a place to stop. Thankfully that turned out to be a successful suggestion as we located a motorhome parking spot right next to the train station, and after paying an arm and a leg in parking fees we gratefully hopped on the train.

The remainder of the day was spent wandering about three of the five villages, taking photos, eating fresh sea food, climbing stairs and very long steep hills and admiring the terrific views. If you ignored the pressing crowds of other holiday makers doing exactly what we were doing you could see the absolutely picturesque nature of these (previously) isolated little medieval fishing villages. They were undoubtedly gorgeous.

The pastel coloured buildings perched precariously on rocky outcrops with the Mediterranean Sea pounding on the weathered rocks below. Old Italian nonnas sitting on their verandahs and chattering to each other as they watched the bikini clad tourists wandering by. The old traditional wooden fishing boats waiting under tarps for the early morning expeditions to reap the harvest from the sea. It was a glimpse of times gone past.

(Click on any of the following pictures to enlarge these undoubtedly gorgeous village shots)

In Italy they love their roundabouts, if there is a small farm track coming in from the side they will build a roundabout on the highway for it. In fact they have actually taken the whole concept up to a much higher level with the creation of what we dubbed as jellybeanabouts and the even more complicated breadcrustabouts abounding in all sorts of country villages. It is a whole new art form.

Another unusual thing we noticed about Italy were the pretty young ladies, all dolled up and perched on plastic chairs in the Sun beside the road, in remote areas right in the middle of the day. When we first noticed this we thought that because they were in skimpy clothing they must have been to a swimming hole and were probably waiting for someone to pick them up. How naive! It was only after driving past so many of them that we began to get suspicious, and eventually came to the conclusion that they were ladies of the night in the day. A quick search on Dr Google confirmed that they are colloquially known as ‘fireflies’.

When in Budapest, Hungary, it became quite obvious that practically all the locals wore what we thought of as ‘solemn’ expressions. Very rarely did we ever experience any sort of a smile from anyone. So we then undertook a competition to try and get as many smiles as possible out of anyone in Budapest, be they strangers on the street or service providers. We tried very hard, grinning maniacally at people and trying to be as ridiculously friendly as possible, but more often than not unsuccessfully. Understandably it was Georgie who managed to score the most melted faces as we wandered about. Probably having an old man toothily grin at them may have been a scary thing for those poor Hungarians.

Italians tend to get a bad rap regarding their driving behaviours, even when we were first being shown over the campervan in the hire place in Germany the bloke there described the horn as the ‘Italian indicator’. Well, really they are not as bad as all that. You see, there are no real ‘road rules’ in Italy, only ‘road suggestions’. If you see a sign saying no parking you will be bound to see lots of cars who decided to ignore that silly suggestion. If a road sign suggests a maximum speed, most people will ignore it, considering it a very poor idea indeed. As long as you understand that, you will get along fine on Italian roads.

The silent forests. When there is no breeze blowing and the trees can’t be heard whispering to each other, there is an incredible calm that exists throughout the European bushland. If a native fly or bee makes its meandering path nearby you can hear it plainly, a loud buzz against the blanket of quiet that otherwise pervades the forest. The sound of your own breath tends to be the dominant noise until a bird sings, be it way over on the next ridge or maybe above your head on a branch, its clear crisp call pierces the silence and covers all other aural sensations. There is so little noise that the trickling of water can be heard from a long way off. Rod followed that magical tinkle one morning to a crystal clear creek where freshwater crays as long as his fingers bustled about amongst the detritus cradled at the bottom of a pool. That was an unexpected treat.

Despite the press of a huge population it is still possible to find nice areas of bushland to enjoy in Europe. You need to be resigned to sharing it with nordic walkers, lycra clad treadlyists, passing cars and other people who also appreciate the wilds, but it is there and it is beautiful.

We had finally arrived at the Mediterranean Sea, so it was imperative that we go to see all those legendary places that Pink Floyd and other famous people have all carried on about. So went to San Tropez.

Rod saw it as a cluttered, traffic jammed ostentatious display of obscene wealth and was not happy to be there.

Georgie drooled extensively over the billionaire’s yachts, but was also displeased with the jamming of traffic.

Rod felt that it was similar, yet also the opposite of, the poverty porn that we were taken through (unwittingly and unwillingly) in South Africa: this instead was rich bastard porn. We joined the throngs of average Joe Blows who wandered along the foreshore gazing at the ridiculously oversized water craft and the flash cars parked in privileged positions.

The traffic jam that we endured to escape San Tropez was the equal of any we’ve endured in any city. Rod, at least, was glad to be rid of the plurry place.

The Riviera coast that we progressed (v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y) over after that was a mixture of attractive coastline, pretty buildings and horrendous traffic and shoulder to shoulder packed beaches. We dribbled along in first gear for ages, checking out the variety of places in that exceptionally famous and popular place. It took us hours to gain a few kilometres due to the weight of traffic.

Some of the less heavily populated stretches of coast were very pleasant to look at, but then we (Rod) had the ‘bright’ idea of popping in to check out Monaco and Monte Carlo. The traffic was what might politely be called horrendous, but eventually when we did manage to trickle our way there it was obvious that the rich bastards that lived in that tiny city on a cliff face did manage to keep it in pretty good nick.

Regarding the whole of the French Riviera that we had seen thus far, possibly if the population was not quite so large, the obscene displays of wealth were not so in-your-face and we had not come at flamin’ peak season it may have been a better experience for both of us. But we are glad we have seen it, and we can now tick off that box on the bucket list.

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We had a couple more photos but the wifi band width collapsed and it took too long to download… Maybe next time.

Embarking upon a one hour journey to the Mediterranean coast this morning our navigatrix extraordinaire quite successfully managed to turn it into a seven hour meandering exploration that resulted in us not really getting much closer to the coast. A little bit closer perhaps.

But we saw some beautiful country and were seduced by boulangeries along the way which meant that – dammit – we had eat fabulous French croissants and other delectable pastries. Ah, the trials of life on the road!

We came across one of those tiny medieval villages perched atop a ridiculously high cliff top and treated ourselves to an early lunch at a tiny restaurant under the trees. The view spread out over limestone cliffs and rugged dry bushland, the food was yummy and the coffee STRONG. After leisurely finishing our meal we wandered off around the cute and very quaint ancient village taking lots of photos.

Continuing our drive over wooded hilltops we tossed around the idea of buying a cute little house and coming to live here in France for a year sometime in the future. A pipe dream? Maybe, maybe not. There is some gorgeous real estate for sale at quite cheap prices.

Is this our new favourite place on the planet?

One lane even was wide enough for cars