Merry Christmas :)

"Merry Christmas"

Updated Website

I have just updated my website..

www.partypilgrims.com

And unfortunately, due to Syrian restrictions on some websites I can't actually view my blog. I figure it is because it has Jerusalem in the title but who knows...

This means that I can't respond to any comments so if you wish to share something with me please do so via email...

ben@partypilgrims.com

Damascus 13/12/07

It’s been a great few weeks since my last post…

After watching the election process night after night through Albania, I headed from Macedonia up to Kosovo to see for myself what was going. I was amazed at how happy and optimistic the general populace was. Everyone is sure that the government will shortly declare independence, and that soon after foreign investments will start flooding in. I am not sure if it was pure optimism or just naivety but very few people even gave a hint that they thought independence might have negative consequences. The strong NATO presence and good US relations has left most Kosovans with, what I feel, is a false sense of security. You don’t have to look too far back in history to realize the West can be a fickle ally.

Political issues aside, Kosovo is an amazing country. I was surprised there are not more tourists coming for a look. When people asked me why I was here, no-one believed that I just sightseeing. If you are in Kosovo you either work for an NGO, work as a journalist, or work for K-For (the NATO peace keepers). If you say you are doing anything else, people just look at you like you are telling a big fat lie…it was very amusing :)

From there it was up to Serbia so I could get a different point of view on the whole situation, and also to cast my vote in my own election. I do not normally bother to vote when overseas but if Johnny got reelected and I didn’t vote, I would never have forgiven myself (and luckily my vote wasn’t even needed, before it had landed on Australian shores, Johnny had already been given the boot :) ).

When asking the Serbians about Kosovo, I was also surprised with their responses. Obviously most thought Serbia had a right to hold on to Kosovo, but very few people believed the government would, or wanted the government to, use military might to enforce this. After having the crap bombed out of them a decade ago it appears most Serbians would prefer a diplomatic solution…the problem being that this doesn’t look like it will happen…

I don’t really know where this leaves everyone but quoting one of the NATO generals from the Balkan war, “If Kosovo is to be the last piece of the Balkan jig-saw to fall into place, it will take an enormous amount of generosity, consideration and restraint from all parties”. Let’s hope they are all up to the challenge…

From Serbia I caught the train to Sofia, stopped for a couple of nights before once again meeting up with Steph in Istanbul.

After five nights in Istanbul we hired a car and decided to do a whirlwind tour 0f Turkey. It was straight over to Gallipoli, down to Ephesis, over to the mineral baths in Pamukkale, across to Konya and Capadicia before finally making our way towards Adana.

Turkey is a magical country!

Everything had been wonderful, but then 200kms from our destination, and 2 hours before the car was due back, we got stuck in a blizzard! And this wasn’t just any blizzard; it was a monster :) From 8am till 6pm we moved 70kms!!! I was sure we were stuck for the night, but then suddenly a convoy of flashing lights appeared and started up the wrong side of the road. Other cars started joining in and there was no way I was getting left behind. It worked; an hour and a half later Adana was in our sights :)

The following morning we thought we were catching a train to Damascus. Arriving at the Syrian border, we all hop off for customs and immigration. Steph and I look at each other in slight confusion when our train leaves, but do not think too much about it.

The border guard asked where we were staying…
“Damascus”
“How are you getting there”?
“By train”
Laughs “There are no trains to Damascus”
Hmmm “How about a bus”?
“no…no bus”
“Where are we, and how do we get to Damascus”?
They all look a bit confused…
This wasn’t looking good :)

Here we were, God only knows where, without any Syrian Pounds, being told there was no way to get to our destination. It was starting to get a bit comical.

After an hour of not getting anywhere, one of the guards found a shop that will change some money, then phoned one of his friends to drive us to Aleppo. It all worked out, and after a five hour bus ride we finally made it to Damascus.

And now the Party Pilgrim is in hibernation for the winter. I have found a school and an apartment and am excited about staying still for the next the next 3-4 months. So far I’m loving Damascus!

I will keep you all up to date on my plans…

Partypilgrims Go Into Hibernation

Yep...it's all over for the winter....

I was sick of being cold and wet and will now spend my time studying Arabic and Turkish. I hope to walking again by late March/early April.

Thanks again for all the support. It’s been great to have you all along for the ride!

Take care and I will continue to post updates on the blog…

See you in the spring :)

Struga 17/11/07

Looking out the window from my 30°C hotel room, the rain is still falling and the temperature gauge out the front shows it’s 3°. Feeling slightly dismayed I go for breakfast…

The omelet is wonderful but does little to raise my spirits. I talk with the receptionist and find out the next major town is 15kms and then another 35kms to Bitola. I think that’s as far as I will make it.

I pack up, prolonging the inevitable by catching up on my blogs, then set off into the rain.

Five hundred meters down the road I spot an internet café…I can’t resist. This is where I end up spending the next three hours :) occasionally glancing out the window, the rain isn’t easing.

Steph comes online and we have a good chat. She tells me I should just take the day off and I think “fuck it, why not?”. Thinking about it logically, if I am going to stop in Bitola anyway, there is no point in torturing myself to get there. I decide to find a hotel and see if the weather clears up tomorrow. If it does, good. And if it doesn’t, then that’s probably it for this little black duck…until spring anyway ;)

Walking around in the rain, trying to find a hotel so I didn’t have to walk around in the rain seems a bit ironic but 20 minutes later I have success. I get a great little apartment for €10. Bargain!

The rain keeps falling and it feels more and more like the pilgrimage has ended. Heading back to the internet I look at my options…

In every bar I have passed for the last week all the news has been about Kosovo. They are holding elections right now and whoever wins is likely to declare independence on the 10th December. This next fortnight might be the last chance to see it in relative peace for a time. I think this will be my first stop before meeting back up with Steph in Istanbul.

It’s Saturday night so I figure I better go out for a drink ;) I ask around and find a club celebrating its first birthday. I have a great night and as I walk home at 5am theres a light snow falling….

I feel this is the end for now…

STEPH Istanbul 15-17/11/07

I am surrounded by pink women, scrubbed clean and shiny as the marble walls around us. I close my eyes and lie back against the warm rock. The voices of the women swirl around the chamber, like a great wheel spinning so fast it is impossible to pin your eyes on any one point. They rise and spill into the cavern of the ceiling dome above us. If these voices were a picture they would be a meringue.

I am in the Cagaloglu Hamimi. Don't try to pronounce it because I don't have the necessary Turkish squiggles to sit on the g and give it its legs; if I did, phonetically it would become something like Ca-a-lo-lu. And yes, give it rhythm.

Famous Turkish baths. It's beautiful watching women allow the soft animal of their bodies love what they love.*

I chose these particular ones for their historical value. Forked out the full €40 for the whole shebang. This meant I got two 'massages', which really are rough body scrubs, and my hair washed (meaning head slapped around).

It was okay. The baths were filled with blonde women - a first for me since arriving in Rome in September with my shorn blonde locks. Americans and Germans. And me. Tourist baths. Which is fine. As with the Hagia Sophia, we were all watchers. I try to imagine the baths in their own time and place. It was easier at Sophia. It's like dancing with a beautiful woman and treading on her toes. She's tired. We keep demanding she dance when she seeks only to sit down and read a good book.

So too the palace, Topkapi palace with its famed Harem and treasury. I am Australian, daughter of a new world. Even though I knew these worlds existed - I didn't know they existed. The first thing I spy in the palace, in the darkness behind dirty glass, are Cinderella carriages. Cinderella carriages! I thought the pictures in fairy tales were pictures in fairy tales.

I experienced the same sensation atop the city walls at Dubrovnik, fairy tale castles with pointy caps and flags. In the Topkapi palace treasury I see Open Sesame treasures, replete with jewelled daggers and giant ruby pendants. I giggle to myself as the Sultan and his lissom guards spring to life.

I wander around empty tiled rooms, doing my level best to birth images of this apparently wondrous world as it was. I am a little embarrassed, because it's all a bit tired and tacky. And I am surprised at the smallness of the rooms.

The harem contains its own little hum, perhaps because of the raised level of interest in the watchers, which in turn lends it to an additional entry fee. I wonder what it is about an enclave of captive women in knife-edge luxury that excites us.

Phew, I think, lucky that doesn't happen any more.

A friend of my husband's drives me to the carpark of his old apartment. From there, by night, we look across the Bosphorous at the old city. The Ayasofya, the Blue Mosque, many mosques - they are surreal, as if they have just arrived from another world and hover low to the ground, unsure about whether or not to land.

Five times a day the call to Allah rides the wind over the city, shooting arrow straight from loudspeakers on the minarets. It's beautiful. And it reminds me of my children's father when he is trying to make a decision.

I wonder about the Turkish flag, with its crescent moon. Why a dying moon, I wonder? Why not a new moon? In the Topkapi palace, inscribed into an intricate book cover, the crescent is a new moon . . .

Istanbul the Magnificent.

I have the strong sense that, from humanity's perspective, Istanbul is our whole. All other empires, no matter how full and rich and contained in themselves, are pieces of our puzzle. Istanbul is the picture complete, the point where we make sense of ourselves in relation to each other.

Istanbul is the mystery proclaimed.

*Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Pilgrimage from Qukes to Struga 16/11/07

Macedonia here I come!!!

I wake, roll over, glance out the window…my spirits are raised immensely; there is nothing but blue sky! Suddenly my head doesn’t feel so blocked up :) It’s going to be a great day!

Ziux switches on the TV and I chuckle to myself as the weather report shows that it is still raining everywhere. It’s good to know that some things are the same everywhere in the world…weathermen almost always get it wrong ;)

I’m happy again as I wonder off down the road. It’s around 20kms to the border and I’m content to just stroll along enjoying the scenery.

I arrive in Perrenjas, the last major town before the border, and before long have a swarm of kids following me around. They are well impressed with my video camera, but unfortunately like most Albanians, when I turn it on they freeze like statues. It is a shame because they are real characters.

Finding a nice little restaurant I seat myself for my last Albanian meal. A woman appears and seats herself across from me. She speaks perfect English and was obviously happy to have a chance to practice. The waiter turns up to take my order and I’m told “there isn’t a menu, but what would you like”?

I’ve had this conversation a couple of times before and it never seems to go anywhere, I ask the woman across from me to order anything. Her smile broadens and explains that she’s just ordered me an Albanian specialty…a dish with hot yoghurt, cheese and meat. Mmmm mmmm, hot yoghurt and meat, sounds delicious! :(

Sure enough I’m presented with a bowl full of bright white soup and a big chunk of meat in the middle. But funnily enough it tastes great!

The last 8kms to the border are all uphill. I struggle to reach the top and finally clear the summit to get my first look at Macedonia. It’s beautiful! I’m staring down at a big lake surrounded by snow-capped mountains…

I start to feel a bit sad that I’m leaving Albania. From my short stay I would rate them as the most generous people in Europe. My time spent here has been great. A big “thanks” to all of you :)

The border post comes into sight and I get a little buzz of excitement from knowing that I’m about to walk into another unknown country. Then suddenly I feel a light “tap tap” on my head. No way!!! I glance up and sure enough the whole sky is once again covered in dark ominous clouds. Where the fuck did they come from!??

The rain manages to hold off till I’m about 3kms in to Macedonia, and then it lets me have it :(

Spotting a little shed on the side of the road I run for cover. I sit there cold and wet, looking at my map wondering where I’m going to be able to find a hotel. The nearest big town, Struga, is less than 10kms so worst case scenario I have another two hours walking.

I wait, silently hoping the rain will ease off. As darkness descends I realize I will have to make a move, it’s not getting any better :(

Packing my bag I notice the rosary beads I was given at Medugorje, which had been tied to my bag, had fallen off. Is this a sign that Mary has abandoned me??? I’m hoping not…

I don all my rain gear and head off, spirits dampened greatly. The road is narrow and if the puddle next to me is too big and I can’t step aside, the cars come awfully close. All of a sudden a horn blears violently from behind. Instinct tells me it’s not the usual “toot toot” of someone saying “gday” and I jump off the road. I was just in time! A car was overtaking a truck and there wasn’t enough room for the three of us!

I walk and walk, thinking that I had been spoilt in Albania as a pilgrim. It was rare to go a kilometer along a main road without finding a hotel or restaurant and now there was absolutely nothing!

Then to top off a perfect evening, a big German Shepherd starts barking wildly from across the road. I can see its eyes gleaming back at me in the torchlight as it runs back and forth along the ditch separating us. Looking ahead I spot the driveway, there is no gate!!! I’m in trouble! The monopod I normally use to fend off wild dogs safely hidden away from the rain with my camera. Looking at my empty hands I start to feel a bit helpless…

Frantically I look around for a weapon. Eyeing a small stick, I grab it figuring it would have to do. I’m out of time; my adversary, growling menacingly, has started to cross the road. Turning my headlamp on high beam in the hope of blinding it, I charge forward. The ploy works and the dog runs for cover. I breathe a sigh of relief…

This pilgrim lives to walk another day :)

A couple of hundred meters down the road another wild dog appears. It gives a couple of half-hearted barks then ignores me. Even so, if there are a lot of roaming dogs around I need to arm myself a bit better. I find a big stick for one hand, a rock for the other and carry on.

I must look a sight; the poncho over my pack makes me look like a hunchback, it is dark, I am dripping wet, armed to the teeth and wondering aimlessly along the side of the road. The good news though, with the stick in my hand the cars are now giving me a wide berth ;)

Finally, Strugra appears and I see the welcoming lights of a hotel sign. The four stars underneath the name are a bit daunting but I go for a look anyway.

The doorman opens the door with a big smile and the receptionist rushes over as well. They are obviously not very busy. The price is only €30, a great deal in anyone’s language for a four star hotel, but being the cheapskate I am I ask if there is a cheaper hotel nearby. After quickly conferring with each other they say I can stay for €25. How could I resist! It even comes with breakfast :)

I crank the A/C to 30° and take a shower. I’m now in heaven!

I have a wonderful meal at the restaurant downstairs and being a Friday night, wonder if I should go out for a drink. I head back to my room and as I lie on my bed to consider my options I drift off to sleep…

Pilgrimage from Labrazhd to Qukes 15/11/07

Waking early I’m dismayed by the rain still pouring down outside. My cold has moved down to my chest and I am not keen on getting out there.

The guy at the internet place told me that he opens at 8am, so I head off down there. Sitting in the café next door waiting and waiting he finally turns up at 09:30.

I talk to Steph, my sister, Tobe (who will produce my film), and express that I’m thinking of calling it quits for the winter. Walking in this weather is just ridiculous :) I feel that if I go and study Arabic, Turkish or best of all both over the winter months it will change my pilgrimage greatly. They are all really positive and as the rain keeps falling outside I start to plan my escape route…

If the rain stops I will still walk to Greece, but if it keeps on the way it is I will be lucky to make it into Macedonia! I’m just going to plan it day by day.

It’s lunchtime by the time I get back to my hotel and after a quick meal I’m ready to leave. The rain has finally stopped, so even though it is now 1pm, it was worth the wait.

By 15:00 it’s pouring again. I want to make it 20kms more to Perrenjas so with head-torch on I keep marching.

Passing a bar I hear a guy yell out “Hey, do you speak English? Come in for a drink”. I look up and can’t quite make out who is talking through the rain but then I see a smiling face waving me in. And really, any excuse to stop is a good one ;)

I find out the guys name is Ziux and just to prove that the world is a tiny place, it ends up he used to live about 200m from me in Oslo…and on the same road as some friends I use to work with!

Spotting my cameras, his friends ask if I have any photos of Albania. I pull out my computer and soon have the whole bar crowded round for a look.

The fabulous generosity of the Albanians continues and it isn’t long before Ziux invites me to stay for the night. Champions!!!
His farther prepares a delicious meal of fish, chips, bean soup and salad served with home-made wine…

Sure beats walking in the rain!!! :)

Pilgrimage from Gur I Zi to Librazhd 14/11/07

I woke in the night to the soft “tap tap tap” of snow falling on my tent. Excitement rushes through me as I wait for the dawn to break, this is my first time camping in snow…slowly the “tap tap tap” gets harder and harder till my hopes of a pleasant morning were soon washed away, it started pissing down :(

My head is feeling all blocked up and my whole body is starting to ache. Secretly I am hoping for the rain to continue all day. I am happy snuggled up in my sleeping bag…

But alas, it wasn’t to be. Realizing the rain has stopped I break camp. Walking is the last thing I feel like doing at the moment, but without any food it needs to be done. At least the rain is being nice and staying away.

Farmhouses start appearing more and more frequently, there must be a restaurant around here somewhere!

I hear hurried footsteps behind me, someone calls out. I must have dropped something…

Turning around, I see an old guy rushing up the road. I wait and realize when he reaches me he just wants to walk with me and chat. He doesn’t speak a word of English but I’m happy for the company. Reaching his house, or half a house as it was, he invites me in for something to eat. What luck :)

Looking around I wonder if this is where he lives. It’s obviously still under construction, there are no doors, no windows, no lights…just a pile of straw in one corner, a pile pf rags in another and some cat food spread out on the floor…

Breakfast is hanging in a plastic bag attached to a hook in the wall, and turns out to be yesterdays half eaten lunch :)

Congo is acting the perfect host though and doing his best to make me feel comfortable. He motions to the rags on the floor, I take it this is the lounge sweet and take a seat.

I look uneasily at the meal presented to me in the plastic bag. Some grapes, a green pepper, a big block of butter, the end of a loaf of bread with all the middle eaten out leaving just the crust, and a half eaten block of white cheese that’s smeared over everything.

But…I’ve eaten worse so I dig in. It actually tastes great! Congo just watches, nodding encouragement as I go. If I pause too long without taking a bite I get a loud “Komplet, komplet”! I find out that this isn’t actually where he lives. He owns all the land around and he is trying to finish this house but has run out of money. A great guy, thanks mate!

Feeling much better after eating I head down the valley. The walk takes a lot longer than I expect but finally I hit the main road…I survived the mountains!!!

Just after emerging from lunch the rain starts. My goal is to reach Librazhd but it is still 12kms away. An hour later, cold, wet and miserable I stop for a cup of tea. I notice they serve spitted animal and can’t resist…anything to delay getting back out there ;) And it was delicious!

Donning my wet raingear, I think to myself “if only they had a hotel here as well”, I’m really not looking forward to getting back out there. But, once I get going it’s all good, I always find the thought of walking in the rain worse than actually doing it.

The road takes me up a river valley that would be stunning in the daytime…steep hills, narrow gorges and a raging torrent due to all the rain.

I walk and walk and walk but Librazhd just never appears. Thinking “where are the abandoned buildings when you need them?”, one suddenly appears. It must be a sign so I go to check it out.

I walk into a three-story mansion still under construction. The first floor looks perfect for me, but just before I set up camp a little voice calls out “go and check the other floors”…

The top floor is completely empty, I head for the basement. I find more empty rooms but then spot a bed! It could be my lucky day…should I or shouldn’t I? If it was any colder outside, or any later in the evening, but I think the person who’s bed it is would be in for a surprise if they came home tonight ;)

I don’t want to tempt fate so I was back to walking in the rain. It’s not long before Librazhd coming into view raises my spirits.

Walking into town a young guy starts walking next to me and invites me for a drink. This turns out to be a real blessing, he finds me a cheap hotel, takes me to an internet café, introduces me to a group of traditional Albanian folk dancers (who even give me a demonstration) and then we all go out for drinks :)

I get back to the hotel after a fun night exhausted, it’s time for bed…

Pilgrimage from Ure to Gur I Zi 13/11/07

My wet socks yesterday mustn’t have done me any good, I woke this morning with a sore throat and runny nose…but the good news is that it has stopped raining. The weather is perfect!!!

After a quick breakfast I was back to it. Alexandria walked with me a couple of hundred meters up the road to show me a little goat track as a short cut. He pointed to the track, then drew a line with his finger across to a ridge a couple of kilometers away. I understood that this was where I had to end up. I felt in great spirits as I said a big “thank you” and headed off.

All started well but then these little goat tracks started appearing everywhere. Thinking back, taking shortcuts is all good and well if you have grown up in these hills, but it probably wasn’t the best idea for me. Sure enough my goat track ended abruptly. I could still see the ridge Alexandria had pointed out so I figured I could make my own way there. Once on the ridge hopefully I would be able to see my road on the other side.

Struggling up the hill, I reached the top exhausted. But the good news was my road was right there. Or “a” road anyway. Looking at my map I wasn’t sure whether to go left or right. If it was my road I should go right, but if it was a different road I felt my road would be up to the left. My instincts told me I should go left, but after matching all the landmarks I could see to the map, I reasoned I should go right. The problem was the road was definitely going in the wrong direction. If it didn’t turn sharply within a few hundred meters I was in trouble.

It didn’t, so to put my mind at rest I headed back the other way a couple of hundred meters to see if I hit a new road. Once again I didn’t! Where were the shepherds when I needed them?

So once again after half an hour of walking back and forwards I had to decide. I almost went to flip a coin, but then reason prevailed. I am pretty good at navigation (even though you probably wouldn’t think so with the amount of times I get lost ;) ), and if after studying the map I felt I should go right then right it would have to be…

About 300m past where I turned around the first time the road did turn sharply, and just to put my mind at ease, 15 minutes later a truck drove past to ask. Sure enough everything was OK :)

I had a great walk for the next 20kms alone with the mountains. It was wonderful!

By the time I had spotted Gur I Zi the sun was setting and I was almost out of food. Let’s hope they have a restaurant or it would be a hungry night…

The road took the loooooong way around and it was well dark by the time the turnoff appeared. Not knowing how far down the road the town was, or if it had a restaurant, I was erring on the “just find a camp spot and get a big breakfast in the morning” side. Then a man appeared…

“How far is it to Gur I Zi?” He holds up two fingers on one hand and one on the other… “21???” I say copying his actions. He smiles and nods, but then seeing the confusion on my face goes and writes it on the road…“21m”
“Hmmmm, 21m” I think to myself. I could see 200m down the road and there definitely wasn’t a town so I just smiled and nodded back and decided not to ask about the restaurant :)

I took this as a sign and started looking for a place to camp. I was lucky to find such a great spot in the dark. I was perched on a little clearing, out of sight of the road, with a great view off the edge of the cliff.

Getting another fire going and eating the last of my bread and cheese I headed for bed.

Pilgrimage from Qafemolle to Ure 12/11/07

I woke to the “pitter patter” of rain and curled back up to wait it out. It finished by 8am and I was away by 08:30. Since it looked like it was clearing up, I put my rain pants on and left everything else off, but in a handy place just in case.

Taking the high road it wasn’t long before I was in the clouds. At times I couldn’t see more than a few meters in front of me and I was just hoping that I didn’t miss my turnoff. The suddenly it started to pour! I managed to get all my raingear on without a problem but there was no shelter to put on the plastic sleeves around my shoes…sure enough within 15 minutes my socks were soaked! It was horrible as the temperature was only around 3-4°.

The rain came and went as did the clouds. The occasional glimpses I managed of the mountains and valleys were awesome. It was a shame I couldn’t see more, I’m sure it would be an amazing walk in fine weather.

Coming across another fork in the road I consulted my map. There was absolutely no signage, and I know from previous experience that trying to walk small roads with a 1:380000 map is near impossible. I was cold, wet, and starting to think that Steph was right after all.

I consulted the map again and decided to play the odds. If I took the high road and got it wrong I had a huge walk ahead of me, but if I took the lower road and got it wrong I would just end up walking back towards Tirana. Of course the lower road won out, and even though it wasn’t the road I was aiming for it still got me to the first village I wanted.

I staggered into the only bar in town dripping wet and was greeted by two old drunks arguing on one table and three younger, slightly less drunks sitting at another. The three young guys invited me to sit at their table and I was more than happy to oblige.

They obviously don’t get many tourists through these parts, within five minutes of sitting down the word had gone out and the bar filled up with every kid in town crowding round to have a look at me. I found it very amusing, but the owner soon got sick of them and chased them away. Not being perturbed, I could still see their small heads poking up over the windowsills.

The two older drunks had now taken to arguing with me instead of each other :) This didn’t bother me at all as they couldn’t speak any English and seamed happy to rant away by themselves. I obviously wasn’t paying them enough attention and soon one of them got a bit excited and stood over me waving his hands around. I just smiled and nodded and then went back to trying to converse with the guys at my table. He didn’t stop and must have been getting a bit carried away with what he was saying because soon enough the owner came over and kicked him out as well :)

The guys at my table weren’t much better, I was starting to feel like I was in a movie of the “wild west”. When I fist sat down one of them took a liking to my shirt and wanted to swap me for his sweater. I thought this was a great deal as an extra layer of wool might be the difference between freezing to death tonight or living! They wanted me to start drinking with them but the combination of the weird feel in the bar and the temperature outside was enough to make me want to keep my wits about me. No-one in the bar could speak any English so I gave them all one of my business cards trying to explain what I was doing. I then watched in amusement as the guy next to me absentmindedly ate it over the next couple of minutes. The whole thing disappeared bar a little blue bit still stuck in his teeth. It was time to leave :)

The guy who ate my card decided that it was too wet outside and offered me a place to stay. I was tempted as it was still pissing down, but as was still early I politely refused.

As I went to pay for my meal the owner wouldn’t have any of it, just saying “tourist, tourist”. I thought this was great! But was sadly wondering how long it could last where a tourist would still be treated as a novelty…

As I started to move the kids all reappeared in force to see me off. I still can’t believe that it is possible to get treated like this in Europe!

A miserable walk lay ahead of me as the rain didn’t look like easing off. The only consolation was the colours of the trees I was passing. Stunning!

Around 15:30 I was heading through the last village for the next 30kms, wondering if I should find a bar until the rain eased off then try to find a place to camp, or just keep heading on in the hope that shelter will appear.

I chose to head on and the Gods were smiling on me. I passed an old woman in her front yard and said “hello” in passing. She must have thought I was either lost, or mentally ill, and went to get her son. I was about 50m down the road at this stage but I heard someone yelling behind me. I stopped and waited as this young guy came up to introduce himself. Alexandria was his name and after finding out where I was heading he invited me in for a drink. This was just in time as no sooner had I sat down, the drizzle outside turned into a downpour!

Looking out the window Alexandria shook his head and told me I shouldn’t walk any farther today and I was more than welcome to stay the night. WOW! Talk about luck!

Thirty minutes after entering I had a huge meal in front of me. No-one in the whole family could speak a word of English so we were all communicating with hand signals and grunts…I’m continuously amazed how much information can pass between people in this way :)

I had a pleasant evening and was surprised at 19:00, three hours after I had been fed one big meal, I was called down for another…and this one was even bigger! It was a struggle but I managed to survive, and no doubt all those calories will be good for me ;)

At 20:30 Alexandria said he was going to bed and I was happy to follow suit. Another early night would do me good!

STEPH Istanbul 12-14/11/07

Much as I loved my first night at the Pierre Loti Hotel, where my backpack and pilgrim's purpose were welcomed with open smiles and a bright orange cocktail, I have moved to a sunnier (sunshine!) less expensive and fabulously blue room at the Side Hotel, still in the heart of the Sultanahmet district.

Istanbul is magnificent.

On my first day, three times I walked in a big ranging circle, making my way blindly between the same two points - only to discover late in the afternoon that the two destinations were about 300m apart in a straight line! The beauty of this is that all of my immediate world is contained within the circle, now unhesitatingly familiar.

Since leaving Rome on September 22, only twice have I researched those places we rolled through on our pilgrimage - once in Pescara, when I was drawn to look online to understand the blandness of the city's architecture; and then again in Albania, when I quizzed the American scholars about the unrelenting poverty of this European nation.

There was a reason for this: I wanted to meet my own ignorance.

I needed to see for myself the stories I tell, the prejudices I hold in my heart and the tensions that hide in my bones.

Not so in Istanbul.

Here I have read all I can, playing catch-up with a bland and ordinary modern education (yes, yes thank you for the privilege). How I admired the learning of the Americans, their minds alive with languages, history and literature! And how I am dazzled by the city we call Istanbul, a city that bridges two continents!

(It's amazing how many Australians don't know this - just like we don't know that green and black olives come from the same tree. True story - we'll deny it, but every Australian has this particular moment of awakening.)

As I roam around Istanbul I am daunted by the carpet hawkers that stand on the street. Yet I am comfortable wandering past them too, familiarising myself the culture of commerce, knowing that I have all the time in the world to sink slowly into the hum of the city.

I am helped along by new-found friends I meet at the hotel, with whom I explore the Spice Bazaar on a rainy yesterday. Today I find the Grand Bazaar, which is like every other commercial tourist market on Earth, booth after booth full of the same stuff, some of it lovely, most of it . . . not.

I am seeking the backgammon board that, mantra of my life: 'when I go to Istanbul, I will buy . . .' and here I am! Fancy that! It wasn't an empty promise after all.

I stroll through the Ayasofya - the Hagia Sofia, 1500 years of magnificence, circling her great inner chamber. There is a dip in the steps where I - like thousands the world over before me - place my foot on the stone, worn from the ages. That dip is engraved in my mind. It is the point where, quite naturally, I and much of humanity have merged to take the same step. And I wonder, daughter of a new world, in whose footsteps am I treading?

There are many people in the stone chamber, though it is not crowded. And even if it were, I cannot imagine, with her great height, that Sophia could be crowded; perhaps by a coronation crowd . . . or a riot and ensuing massacre. A crowd in another age, certainly not ours.

For ours are the crowds of the observers, not the witnesses; tourists peering into time rather than those belonging to their time and, lucky them, place.

I feel the emptiness of grandeur, the disconnection of the building from her purpose. I wonder if there are those whose vision includes reclaiming her for this or that religion, the obvious ones for whom she was created, and stolen, and the invisible ones we cannot remember, the ones for whom the land itself was temple enough.

Pilgrimage from Dajt to Qafemolle 11/11/07

I woke up to my alarm at 7am and was away by 8. I was still feeling a bit lost, making it a slow walk up the hill. It is always hard getting going again after a couple of days rest and I was also still getting my head around walking alone.

Then Steph calls…

She is also feeling a bit lost and is lightly entertaining the idea of coming again. But reason prevailed and she stuck with her better judgment. Let’s hope that’s not an omen ;)

It was a nice walk, slowly climbing. I had a great view of Tirana but this soon became annoying…it never went away! I can’t stand walking half the day and still being able to see where I started…

Finally I cleared the ridge and received a stunning view with deep valleys and snow-capped mountains, all bathed in autumn colours.. It was awesome!

The whole side of the valley appeared to be a military base and there were signs everywhere saying not to take any pictures or video. I couldn’t resist taking one picture of the signs just to be funny, and luckily that was all…

The temperature had dropped this side of the ridge and the Bora wind had reappeared, but luckily not as strong as in Croatia. I spotted a little shack that looked like perfect shelter for a rest but alas, it was full of water. Dumping my pack next to it, I went to go for a piss. As I was walking towards the forest suddenly it came alive and started walking towards me! A soldier appeared in full cams with his head wrapped I a cam scarf. He made me jump but when I made pissing motions he just waved me on. Luckily I had dumped my camera as well or I might have been in trouble :)

I could see the road I was meant to be taking across the valley and it was just on the snowline. This meant I would have a decision to make. I could camp in the valley, giving me an extra couple of degrees for the night, but meaning I would set up camp by 3pm. Or I could risk going over the ridge and hope that it didn’t continue upwards on the other side, leaving me camping in the snow.

I chose to risk the ridge. I started having second thoughts when just on sunset a fork in the road appeared. There was a shepherd there to ask but he didn’t seem to have a clue about my map, or about any of the towns I was mentioning. I took this as a sign and asked him if I could camp in his paddock. I don’t know whether it was his or not but he seemed happy to let me stay.

This turned out to be a good decision as it let me observe the traffic. I was leaning towards the lower road but all the traffic was taking the higher one…all the traffic being three cars :) But it made my mind up for me. Tomorrow the higher road it would be.

I made myself a little fire, ate dinner and jumped in my tent just in time. Five minutes after I lay down it started pissing with rain. Let’s hope it clears up by tomorrow…

STEPH Tirane to Istanbul 11/11/07

Today I joined the main stream.

Charis kindly - so very wonderfully and generously - invited me to stay another night, rather than seeing me holed up in a hostel. I cannot thank her enough for this. Homes are so much sweeter than hostels when you're a pilgrim.

I wake early, as usual, disoriented as I settle into my first post-pilgrimage morning. I check the weather out the window. Dark clouds. I begin to rationalise my decision to not walk into the mountains with Ben. I claw at my centredness.

It's not that cold!

My feet miss the earth. My spirit longs for the mountains. My skin feels already the absence of the sun and the wind and the rain. My heart calls out for Ben's companionship. I begin to cry.

I am not ready for an inside life!

Ben rings. He offers to wait for me.

I love him for this.

We both know that the joy of such a journey is to be found in the sharing . . . 50 days we have shared on the road together, eating bread and cheese and chocolate and mandarins, playing backgammon in high places - 50 days!

Yet . . . and yet.

The mountains that face us now are his calling, Istanbul is mine.

*****

I fly to Istanbul.

At Tirane airport (surprisingly un-Albanian!) I enter the mainstream, either at the front of the queue (because I have been waiting patiently for hours) or at the end (because everyone else is in such a hurry). I am self-conscious about an orange juice stain I've just noticed on my shirt.

Sitting in the airport lounge I am surprised when a voice in my heart, clear as day, says 'I am going home'.

I fly over the mountains and watch for Ben. There is snow, but not too much. The lake will be beautiful when he gets there.

Just out of Istanbul the voice comes again and my eyes fill with tears.

I get a taxi from the airport to my motel, which I have booked online. Look at the pretty gutters! Where is the rubbish? Quite accidentally I am up the road from the Hagia Sofia, which I had never heard of until recently. As the taxi drives past, I look out the window through the night darkness, as a large white bird circles the dome, as if in slow motion, then lands.

The hotel is wonderful. I fall onto the bed and cry and cry. My journey was for this. The very very longest journey.

I experience a deep and abiding contentment, a no-beginning no-end stillness, as all of me tunes in with the vibration of this city.

I am queen and slave, conqueror and king.
I am the great stone pillars connecting earth and sky.
I am the wind and sea and the wide flat plain.

I am in love with Istanbul.

Pilgrimage from Tirane to Dajt 10/11/07

Steph woke me up around 8am with the news that she isn’t going to walk today! After a lot of thinking and checking the weather, she has come to the conclusion that walking through the Albanian mountains in late autumn isn’t for her.

If we had left it any later I would be of the same mind, but even though we will probably get some snow, I don’t think it will reach extreme temperatures. And this is one part of the walk I have really been looking forward to.

Steph’s news came as a bit of a shock as it would probably mean that this is the end of her pilgrimage! And now I am back to walking by myself…

After just having a couple of days by myself coming into Tirana, I was quite looking forward to having company again. But that’s part of this whole journey, letting go of some of the control of my life and just accepting what comes…

So now I have to say a big THANK YOU to Steph for coming this far! It has been an amazing journey and it was a pleasure to share it with her…90% of the time anyway ;) And the other 10% was probably the most important, as we got to witness some important dynamics in our relationship. It was an honour to walk with someone with so much courage and perseverance, good luck for the next couple of weeks and I will see you in Greece :)

After saying goodbye to Charis, we headed down to the International hotel to finish our blogs and book Steph a ticket to Istanbul.

We took our time and I was happy to drag the chain, I was still getting my head around walking through the mountains alone. It is one thing to put yourself in a stupid situation if there is someone there to laugh with, but doing it by yourself can be plain miserable!

We had one last lunch together, played a few games of backgammon (which I am glad to say I won 3-2, but at least Steph now has some time in Turkey to practice ;) ), then Steph walked with me toward the edge of town.

It was sad saying goodbye, and still felt funny ending so abruptly. But it was good to know that Steph decision was still feeling right to her.

And then I was off towards the mountains…

Since it was already late I figured I would walk to the edge of town, get a hotel, and give myself an early start in the morning. This all worked out well, the edge of town corresponded nicely with the start of the mountains, so I was all set.

I had told one of the Albanian guys last night that if I was still around I would come out drinking with them again tonight. It was only a half an hour bus ride to town, so I headed back in.

Having just had two big nights in a row, I decided not to drink any alcohol and get to bed early. I think it was a good choice…I’m getting old ;)

STEPH Tirane 10/11/07

My pilgrimage is done.

I sit in the Tirane International Hotel, alone, having just walked Ben to the edge of town. In my mind I am walking him to the foot of the mountains.

Our journey will continue, just not in the form it has taken till now.

We're both a bit shell-shocked, unprepared for such a sudden change in our easygoing roll across the eastern Europe landscape. It's sad - and the truth of the moment.

Yesterday, as the rain bucketed down through those big black clouds, a voice in my heart said 'it's done, you are not prepared for those mountains'. And I sat with this into the evening, knowing that no matter which way I turned the dial, the information was the same. My tent pegs have no capacity for hard ground. I can barely keep out the cold here in Tirane. We are too late for me to cross the alps. I will not be walking with Ben into the mountains.

And more.

It is time to go to Istanbul.

The old city calls. The history of the world calls. Something . . . else, calls.

It is time to go to Istanbul.

I fly tomorrow.

I will have six weeks to explore the city, and Turkey, and its corresponding inner plane, before my pilgrimage proper is done and I fly to Holland to join my husband for Christmas.

I will catch the train to Thessoloniki and meet Ben when he emerges from the snow country of Macedonia. We're figuring about two weeks. That's unless he turns up in Istanbul . . . we laugh, even though we know it's a possibility that the snow may yet drive him back to Tirane.

When Ben and I head into town this morning there's snow on the mountains at the city's shoulder. And dark clouds above. As he leaves late in the afternoon, after a farewell round of backgammon over lunch at the Tirane International, the dark clouds gather again, lit in the centre by the prettiest patch of blue.

There's not a cell in my body that's undecided, uncertain or unclear about this decision. Indeed, it is not a decision - to walk with him would have been a decision.

Yet . . . and yet, I already miss being outside in the wilderness, the beauty of the mountains, the warm sunshine, our steady companionship and, yes, even the rain. The romance of pilgrimage has already begun to play with my heart . . .

So Ben - till Thessoloniki!

May beauty and sunshine follow you all the way!

STEPH Tirane 09/11/07

We lay over in Tirane another day, so Ben can do his washing. That’s four days for me without walking . . . I wonder how I’ll go when we fire up again tomorrow.

Last night at the Sky bar a Canadian woman tells Ben that Australians and Canadians are the only two nationalities that need visas for Macedonia. He wakes (late and slowly) and goes online – it’s true! And all because Australia, like Canada, persists in calling Macedonia The Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia. Five day wait for visas. No visas issued at the border.

So Ben, with Charis in tow, heads out into Tirane to find the elusive Macedonian Embassy where . . . the ambassador himself stamps visas into our passports.

I must say, I was quite pleased with the diplomatic stand-off. It meant we would cross the mountains of Albania (four days) and drop straight into Greece – and, though cool, this meant sticking to warmer climes.

Yet the mountains it is. All the way. I tell Ben today, when I am startled by the whiteness of the alps on the Macedonian patch of our map, that I am not here for extreme sport . . .

He said he knows.

It’s been wonderful accessing Tirane through Charis and Shaina’s eyes, like borrowing a pair of glasses to help me see. I headed out today alone to find a set of drinking glasses for Charis, because I broke one at the sink and she’s running low. I returned home unreasonably pleased with myself, having found a kitchenware shop in a city that has few street names and no numbering.

I did the Tirane Shuffle, walking slowly into chaotic traffic and finding my way across the road through the spaces. I passed old men sitting on makeshift stools on a filthy footpath, concentrating hard on a game of square lines marked on cardboard, moving rocks as counters.

I sank a little deeper into myself in relation to this city of . . . of . . . funny how stories generate compassion . . . why not compassion anyway?

I try and imagine a people stripped of their language and traditions, religious or otherwise, for 50 years. Not so long in the scheme of things, though a lifetime if it’s your generation.

I have begun to think of Albanians as ‘the awakeners’. The ones returning to life. I wonder, as with the Croatians, if the fresh air brings with it freedoms they might never have known if not for the annihilation of all that was.

As I return home with my shopping today, glancing into a great big hole in the road filled with rubbish and dirty water (is anybody in there?), I think of death and of the infinite souls who have already died in human history. Every one, dead. Time and place are irrelevant. I am not special. I too will die. Everyone I know will die. This is our story.

And it doesn’t mean anything.

Imagine that.

Nothing. Means. Anything.

Not even the bath that warms my bones.

A bath two days running.

Imagine that!

Tirana 09/11/07

I wasn’t feeling great when I woke up, there was way too much beer drunk last night. And we also have a slight hiccup in our plans. A Canadian girl had informed me that Australians need visas for Macedonia, and that it takes five days to process! This wasn’t good news and when I checked online it was looking correct.

I tried ringing the embassy but they didn’t speak English, so there was nothing left to do other than track them down in person…

The address from the internet turned out to be old, but luckily the new occupants knew where they were. Charis was kind enough to escort me and it turned out that the Gods were smiling on us. The visa section was closed for the day and they asked me to come back on Monday, but when I explained that I wanted to leave tomorrow the opened the doors and did it straight away! It was just meant to be :)

By the time everything was sorted it was 3pm, so it would be another night in Tirane.

I headed into town, met a group of Albanians who all spoke perfect English and once again drank the night away :)

STEPH Tirane 08/11/07

Last night was the worst night’s sleep of the pilgrimage – if not my life!

I tossed and turned on that hard little bed, my hips a riot of agony, waking every five minutes to see if it was morning and I could escape the piped tobacco smoke from the air conditioning.

UGH!

I spent the day taking it easy, still not feeling great, hankering for sunshine to warm the cold in my bones. Ben rang mid-morning to say he was just 15 kms away. I sat awhile on a bench in Tirane’s central park, the only aesthetically pleasing place I’ve found in the city – and even then it looks much better in the photo.

I’m annoyed by Tirane. I don’t like it. I don’t like its lack of purpose. I don’t like its absence of anything interesting. I don’t like the unhelpfulness of its people and their standard shrug as eyes roll slowly to the ceiling. I ask the receptionist in the hotel where I might find a chemist (I need to stock up on blister protection before heading into the mountains) – she shrugs. She doesn’t know. You don’t know???

The woman in the bookshop when I ask for a map – she shrugs. She doesn’t know. The woman in a tourist agency when I ask for hotels – she asks which hotel? I tell her it doesn’t matter, any hotel will do. She shrugs. She doesn’t know.

And so it goes.

I have a greasy pasta at the Tirane International Hotel for lunch, putting myself through another round of rudeness from staff. Ben rings to say he’s 15 kms away. Good maps, like help, are hard to find these days.

The hotel is throbbing with the 2007 Balkan Health Systems conference, whose participants – crowding the verandah around the restaurant puffing like chimneys, women clopping about in 12 inch heels – are going to need a decent health system.

Fascinatingly, in a hallelujah moment, here in a Tirane I have found the only two (two!) smoke free zones in all of eastern Europe – the Rogner Hotel and the Tirane International. I must say, smoking doesn’t usually bother me. I realize now this is because I live in a smoke-free world, where smoking tobacco is so taboo even middle-aged adults shuffle about a little red-faced in an attempt to hide their habit from each other.

I move out again into the grey day. I sit in the middle of a roundabout lorded over by a bronzed national hero on a high horse, waiting for precious sun to shine through.

I am confused by humanity and lost among it today.

I realize that if I were feeling more alive, Tirane would probably appear to be more alive. I resolve to be more helpful in my own world to people who appear to be not feeling well.

And then, joy of joys. Couch surfing comes through in the form of beautiful in every way Charis, and we have a great bed in a wonderful home replete with the company of a gorgeous pocket of young Americans, the entire contingent of Fulbright Scholars to Albania – Charis, Ryan and Michael – and their friends, also on American scholarships, Shaina and Liz, all of whom are in love with Albania.

There’s nothing like a bit of ‘local’ input to change the face of a city. With the flip of a coin, Tirane comes to life. We eat at their favourite Indian restaurant – can you imagine! an Indian restaurant – and suddenly I am feeling much better.

Through Charis and Shaina we received a short tutorial on Albania’s recent history, about its self-imposed ideology of isolation under a merciless Communist dictatorship, about the murder of intellectuals, the torture of poets, the abolition of religion, the burning of books and the reconstruction of the language . . . the beginnings of an explanation for the poverty that is beyond European reason and Sunday’s delight amongst the villagers that we have taken the time to come and visit.

And through Michael I finally receive information about the mountains – yes it will be cold, there will be some snow, there will be very little shelter, there will be basic food supplies and no, what you are doing is not reckless and it’s not dangerous. It’s out there but . . . it’s not reckless.

And while Ben and the Americans head out into Tirane’s night life, I sink into Charis’s bathtub – can you imagine! A bath!

Not even the Rogner Hotel had a bath.

Pilgrimage from Mamurras to Tirane 08/11/07

Normally I don’t like camping within site of houses if I haven’t asked permission to stay, but I was a bit lazy last night. And sure enough at 06:15 I heard voices start to approach. I was already awake having set my alarm for 6am, but being sooooo cold I was enjoying savoring the warmth of my sleeping bag.

Sure enough they stopped outside my tent and I could tell they were trying to talk to me. They were a bit surprised when I popped my head out and were nothing but smiles after finding out what I was doing.

Then I was back on the boring, boring and really boring highway.

Stopping at every café along the way to see if anyone did breakfast, I finally found this great little place that appeared to be run by a nine year old and a 13 year old!

“Do you have food”
“yes! Manjare, manjare!”
“Could I please see the menu?”
“No”
“Well what do you have?”
“What do you want?”
“Do you have spagetthi or pizza?”
“No”
“well what do you have?”
“What do you want?”
“Hahahahah….just get me anything”

Then the nine year old runs into the kitchen and I hear cooking noises start up. I’m thinking to myself that if he has been left in charge of a restaurant he must be able to cook something, but I was still a little apprehensive…

When it came out it was delicious. A big plate of rice and fried meat cooked to perfection! I was impressed :)

The mother turned up just as I was finishing and gave my meal a curious look. Obviously she hadn’t seen the kids cook before either!

After breakfast, the only entertainment I had all day was passing a furniture store and getting called in for a drink. The guy didn’t speak any English but had decided that I obviously shouldn’t be doing all this walking without some rocket fuel to keep my going :)

The whole day I had been asking people how far it was to Tirane and nobody seemed to have a clue. The answers were always between 15kms and 30kms…even after a full days walking it didn’t change!

So I was glad when the edges of Tirane finally appeared, but it was still another 8kms to the International hotel where Steph was waiting patiently.

We did our internetting as we waited for Charis, who we had met on couchsurfing, to come and get us.

She was great! A perfect host :) After showing us a wonderful Indian restaurant, Steph went home to rest while we went out to drink the night away.

STEPH Tirane 07/11/07

Gosh, glad I took the train. Today by mid-morning, I was back in my odorous tobacco room, flat on my back in bed. Everything ached, my bones and joints incredibly painful, gums and skin sore to touch, cold to the quick and feeling sooooo sick.

And there I stayed put for the day, rising for a quick fish soup across the road at the Tirane International, vulnerable and defenceless against the looks from the waiters and the contemptuous 'you are dining alone!' from a particularly well-heeled young woman . . . actually, I wanted to say, I am dining.

It's not easy being sick in a strange city in a stinky room.

Pilgrimage from Lezhe to Mamurras 07/11/07

The internet café didn’t open till 09:30 so it was a good excuse to sleep in :) And by the time I got everything done it was already noon.

Heading out of town, the idea was to find the railway tracks and head straight for Tirane. It was a simple plan, but went wrong straight away. According to my map I should have crossed the tracks within a few hundred meters, but they were nowhere to be found :(

I was on the highway, it was full of cars and there was nothing to look at…

But the friendliness of the people continued! I hadn’t even walked for an hour before I got invited in for a drink.

I find it extremely strange that the poorer the country, the more the people are willing to give…even to complete strangers. Before getting to Albania we had many people tell us to “be careful down there” and “it is very dangerous”. And yet, I have only been met with smiles and curiosity. People are constantly inviting me in to their houses. For some reason, in “richer” countries I will get looked upon with fear when I walk into a village. Why would they fear strangers? And why in a “dangerous” country do they not?

Strange…

My map is completely useless. Either it is 20 years old or they just got it plain wrong The road I was walking on was the main highway, and wasn’t marked on the map at all!!!

As it was getting dark I spotted a sign telling me I had 39kms to go till Tirane. This was good news so I stopped for a big meal to celebrate :)

After dinner I managed two hours walking in the dark, before finding a paddock and setting up camp.

STEPH Tirane 06/11/07

This morning I wake to delicious stillness and silence, stretching between clean white sheets and sinking into the comfort of knowing I don't have to go anywhere.

It's an illusion, I know. The price of this room is a once in a pilgrimage event and today's mission is to find another motel, so that I might rest with the darkening moon . . . at least until Ben turns up.

Much as I love the material comfort of the Rogner, the staff were incredibly unwelcoming. How ironic that in fabulously hospitable Albania I must pay so much to be treated so rudely by children with impeccable English and a horizon as wide as a 10 leke coin. It shouldn't matter; today it gets to me.

When I blew in with the cold last night, the receptionist inhaled sharply, inquriing with a certain tone about whether I knew what the room rates were. I said no, would she like to inform me. She did and I handed over the Mastercard. If I'd been quicker I would have used that fabulous Dolly Parton line: hey, it's costs a lot of money to look this trashy!

The Rogner is set in parkland in the middle of this chaotic city and it's certainly a beautiful place to park. I had read online about the friendliness of the people of Tirane and, well, compared to the warm hearts out there in the fields and the mountains, Tirane is just another busy grubby city going round in frantic circles filled with expressionless no help at all people.

And an awful lot of men standing around standing around, like pigeons in Trafalgar Square.

It is there, just behind them, that I find the much more affordable though still ridiculously expensive for where we are Miniri Hotel, which is just across the road from the Tirane International - where I spend the evening drinking mineral water and accessing their wireless.

Ben rings in the afternoon. He is walking along a dirt road running parallel with the railway tracks. I envy him his afternoon sunshine and wide blue sky, knowing all the while that this time of rest is right for me.

Later in the evening, lying in my hard and narrow bed in a room that smells of old tobacco smoke, I think of Albania and the conversation I had with Ben in Shkodra yesterday: how on Earth did this country get left so far behind?

Way behind.

Croatia, Montenegro, Bosnia Herzegovina, all in various stages of recovery from war. We get the feeling war is irrelevant to present-day Albania. There might be a little more rubble than usual . . . but the poverty in this country is undateable and beyond reason.


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Pilgrimage from Guri I Zi to Lezhe 06/11/07

Before bed last night Kole had asked if I’d prefer an English or an Albanian breakfast. I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not but I figured that since I didn’t know what an Albanian breakfast looked like it was worth a try.

Luckily all the wine last night hadn’t done too much damage to my stomach because an Albanian breakfast turned out to be a shot of espresso followed by a shot of homemade rocket fuel…what a way to start the day! And funnily enough it made me feel great ;)

Saying goodbye and a big “thank you” to the family, I then scored a lift with Kole back to the main road on his bike. He was off to work, but the tradition here seems to be to meet up at the bar first for another round of “breakfast”…I followed suit ;)

The bar was packed! Another espresso and two shots of cognac later I was ready to hit he road.

The plan for the day was to head down the road to the river, then down the railway tracks to Lezhe. Kole had recommended that I stop for coffee next to the river at a restaurant called “Dea”, explaining that it was a big tourist attraction in these parts…

I spotted it about 7kms down the road and was glad for the tip, I would never have stopped otherwise. From the outside it looked pretty normal but once on the inside it was like walking through a set from Jurassic Park!

After a big pasta and a glass of wine, I was on to the railway tracks. The rumour was that there was only one train in the morning and one in the evening, so it was meant to be pretty safe. But after ten minutes I had to jump off as a train approached, luckily it was coming from the direction I was looking…even though, at the speed it was going I probably could have outrun it anyway :)

I had a great walk through the fields, happily talking to the kids that stopped along the way for a chat. They all seemed rather intrigued by this stranger wandering past.

It was dark by the time I got to Lezhe, but luckily I already had a hotel booked through Edward, the guy we met in Shkoder yesterday. He met me in town and was kind enough to escort me there. It was a great hotel and only cost €13 for a room to myself. Wonderful!

After having a quick look around town it was back to the hotel for an early night…


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STEPH Muriljani to Tirane 05/11/07

Only 1109 kms to Istambul! (sic)

Imagine that! 45 days on the road and only 1109 kms to go. We were mighty happy to see that sign when we crossed the (makeshift!) bridge into Shkodra.

We wake early this morning, having slept on the floor of the kaffe bar in which we spent the evening last night. Funny how things go - when we walked in, having crossed the border a few kms back up the road, I knew I wasn't going out again into that cold night.

Even so, we had our eye on a partly constructed cement house up the road if the bar didn't have rooms. It didn't and we didn't need to. Just as he was closing the bar owner offered us the floor for the night, happily leaving us with the keys on the inside of the door as he went on his way.

Albania, we love you.

We were woken not by the returning bar owner, as expected, but by praises to Allah booming into the pitch dark from the loud speakers in a distant paddock.

This put us on our way by six, walking into the coming daylight for an hour or so before the sun rose. About 20kms shy of the border yesterday, when we were still in Montenegro, the land had started to open out. By the time we were in Albania our world was a broad expanse of flatlands, wide and still.

It's wonderful watching morning come to new places, the light slowly revealing an unknown world and people rising to meet their day. We walked past fields, green and brown; past the church a hundred metres up the road from the mosque; past fields of rubble and rubbish; through villages with new kaffe bars hamming it up with wasted tinny shops where women, too young to look that old, stand behind counters with scales that rightfully belong in a museum.

Men riding donkey carts, rattling with a clutch of silver milk cans, clip-clop by. Men on time-warp bicycles sail by. And everybody waves. The women shyly. The men with a great g'day mate roar. And there are chickens everywhere.

We are in a world neither of us knew existed in current time and space, not in 21st century Europe. As we get closer to Shkodra, the poverty is relentless. I have seen such places on television and I've driven through them on buses once, perhaps twice in my life. Never have I walked the dust and shaken the hands and met the smiles of those who live in the dirt. Until now.

I have walked through Europe many times over the past 10 years. Peasant cultures co-exist with the modern world from one end to the other. Albania is different. For a start, their peasant culture is exceedingly friendly. Wonderful, innocent, everything people said about Thai and Balinese people 40 years ago, before we put them to work and exhausted their domestic and sexual goodwill (oops, there I go getting political and telling stories). The rural and urban fringe Albanians are welcoming and wonderful, no two ways about it.

Nearly every car that passed us yesterday, on both sides of the border into Albania, stopped to offer us a lift. One man even waggled Ben's card out the door at us, determined to give the pilgrim a ride.

The other surprising difference between Albania's peasant culture and the rest of Europe, through my limited first-impression eyes, is that in Albania it is the rural dwellers who have the best of it. It is they who have decent housing, with new ice creamcake palaces popping up over the landscape. Here it is the city folk and the urban fringe who seem to be doing it tough, who are the ones left behind.

As we draw closer to Shkodra the poverty concertinas, tumbling in on itself. We were both extremely thankful we walked the outskirts of Shkodra in the bright light of a Monday morning, rather than weekend darkness . . . it's not for nothing that the city has just been released from a US list of most dangerous cities - that's according to a couch surfing buddy of Ben's.

Shkodra was a trip, no doubt about it. AND we felt safe; we were safe. And very pleased it was Monday morning.

And now it's time for me to take a train. Last night, over backgammon, the need to rest wins out over my need to walk. Also, it will give Ben a chance to roll on into the night as he pleases, walking to his own steady rhythm as the night-cold closes in around him.

In Shkodra, we head for the Grand Europa hotel, figuring it'd be a good place to get our bearings. I do not have my son's talent for asking questions of non-native English speakers. I ask the woman behind the tourism agency counter where the train is. After a FABULOUS lunch in the restaurant we get a taxi to the station - it's locked up, bars on every window and door. We get there and the taxi driver announces 'no train'. Clearly, the question for the woman in the tourism agency was 'are there trains running?'.

I catch a bus. Before I leave I ask the wonderfully helpful women at reception for the name of a hotel in Tirane. They shrug and say 'Rogner'.

I arrive in Tirane just as it is getting dark. A woman on the bus takes my arm and leads me to another bus. We sit together. She is showing me where the hotel is. Another woman gets on. She practices her English. After I agree the Albania is very beautiful, she tells me it was a
Christian country dominated by bad Turks for 500 years. She tells me she is Moslem and adds 'modern Moslem'. She hijacks me from my other guiding angel, who happily relinquishes her charge. We get off the bus into the darkness. She grips my arm and walks me straight across six lanes of traffic saying, to the cars:

you must stop, we have far away traveler visiting, she is our guest, you must stop.

They don't, but they do slow down enough for us to cross.

I find my bed. Warm white sheets. King bed. Fresh food. Bubbleland.


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Pilgrimage from Muriljani to Guri I Zi 05/11/07

Bars in Albania are the first things to open of a day and this one was no exception. At 5:45 we were woken by the owner coming to start business…well, woken for the second time anyway, at 5am we got our first Islamic wake-up call with the wailing of the mosque :)

The walk towards Shkroda was great. Many more friendly faces, offers for lifts and of course, more bunkers.

The sight on getting to the outskirts of Shkoder was wild! Thank God we didn’t attempt this last night, even in broad daylight it was something. Poverty as seen from the window of a taxi or the safety of a hotel room is one thing. Walking through it at eye level is quite something else. And still the people were nothing but smiles…

Before we even reached the center of town a young guy by the name of Edward offered to buy us a drink. Albanians are such incredibly generous people. It is amazing!

There were signs advertising the Grand Europa Hotel the whole way here and since this would be our last meal together for a while Steph and I thought we might as well do it in style. Steph is planning on taking the bus to Tirana for a couple of days rest.

And it was great! Even here in a 5* hotel we only paid €8 for a spaghetti and a greek salad, with a complimentary Champagne and appetizer!!! I’d never seen anything like it!!!

Then after seeing Steph safely away, it was back to the road. I had a great walk around the foothills with the locals stopping to chat constantly.

The sun started to set and it wasn’t long before I received an invite to stay for the night. Kole had lived in England for six years and spoke perfect English. A really entertaining guy.

His wife and daughter cooked up a huge meal of roast pork and Kole pulled out a 1.5L bottle of his homemade wine. What a great night! By midnight we were on to our second 1.5L of wine, his son had pulled out his DJ equipment, and I’m sure much to the distress of the neighbors, started blearing out dance music through a 550W speaker. He had four of them so I suppose they should think themselves lucky he had only hooked up one ;)


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STEPH Dobra Voda to Muriljani 04/11/07

Today was a feast of a day for pilgrims.

We started early, packing tents wet with dew as we looked out over the ocean from the dry and stony paddock that served us well as a bed for the night.

We walked a country lane all day, even when we hit the main road; an autumn country lane, all the way to Albania.

We might have been anywhere on Earth, although not Australia.

We met strangers who waved us on our journey with smiles and pomegranates, old ones living the old ways - daughter of a new world, I cannot presume to know who they are and what they know.

Indeed, I am done with stories.

For they are not mine. And they are not real.

We accepted an invitation to sit awhile from a gorgeous picnic bench beneath a tree at a crossroads, which we took to mean 'time for backgammon'. There's nothing like stopping still for five minutes for life to come to us! In no time we were keeping company with cows drinking from the fountain, an old man herding goats, an old woman with a donkey.

We ate lunch in a village called Vladimir, where roadside hawkers lined up big yellow river fish on the patchy bitumen, so fresh they were still gulping for breath. And there, in a cafe that might have seated 500 (???!), we met Mun Sung Do, a Korean vet with a magnificent smile who is motorcycling to Morocco and then hopping oceans to ride South America from the bottom up.

All day, animals and humans going about their business.

And there in the distance, another unpainted canvas - a misty grey wash we know to be Albania.

Soon after leaving Dobro Voda we saw a green and white rocket that I presumed was a kids' playground and Ben, laughingly, thought was a Soviet rocket and, seriously, thought was maybe a grain silo. A couple of kms on and we saw another. Then another. It wasn't until we passed a graveyard with a model rocket on a tombstone, surrounded by headstones engraved with five pointed stars and sickle moons, that we realised our green and white rocket was a mosque steeple!

Talk about laugh at our ignorance!

No doubt about it, the east has come for us.

The road signs are now bilingual, we presume Albanian. More women are now wearing loose white headscarves. Hay carts loaded to the sky roll on by. Come to think of it, it's been a few days now since we last heard a church bell.

According to my map, Albania to its own is Shqiperia. Imagine that - Hrvatska, Crne Gore, Shqiperia . . . Croatia, Montenegro, Albania by any other names.

An old woman with a headscarf brings the lines on her face to life, meeting my eyes with a wonderful greeting that lights my heart as I pass.

Old men shake our hands.

The closer we get to the border, the more pleased people are to see us.

Albanija? they call. We nod and smile, yes we are going to Albania. They are delighted. We realise these are the people our newspaper might describe as 'ethnic Albanians', the ones whose lives are drawn on the other side of the line in the sand.

Just before the border crossing, a small child runs to the gate when he sees us, his mother and grandmother laughing as they urge him to greet the turtleback strangers. This touches me so deeply I could cry.

This morning, the politics of our times shelters my heart from theirs, the shrouded strangers for whom I will make a stand in my own country . . . but for whom, face to face on their own territory, the politics of fear unsettles me, nonetheless . . . a young man with dark hair, a dark beard and jagged features drives by in a rattly old red car and the reality of where I am startles the blood in my veins . . . my eyes meet those of a robed woman raking leaves and I wonder, who does she see?

Before long I understand - not just academically, but right through to my bones - the terrible, terrible injustice world leaders commit when they use fear to fortify their worldview and justify the unjustifiable.

This pilgrimage is a journey of reckoning for me, reconciling the unnamed tensions I hold in my bones with the staged and somewhat noble realities I hold to be true in my mind (as relevant to my inner, private world as to the manifest world without) . . . who I am, rather than who I want people to see . . . and who I am, rather than who people want me to be . . .

In allowing 'unacceptable' fears to surface, the ones I put on a brave and noble face to conceal, I am able to release the hold others have on my life, socially and politically.

And so I allow deeper truths to bypass the mind and sink into my bones . . . it's not a matter of what he is or who she is, but that collectively, the reality is they are not. We are not.

That.

We. Are. Not. That.

We are the old men with laughing eyes.

We are the old women with smiling hearts.

We are the children who run to greet the strangers.


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