Driving Albania

While wasting some time away at Lake Orchid by crossing over the Albanian border and back (just for kicks it must be said), we were quite stunned to find that the moustachioed Albanian officials didn't have any insurance to sell us for Wickse. This seemed like a bit of a worry for us, and also added to the puzzlement of the Macedonian border guards who were not used to people driving back and forth, out and back into their country all in a matter of 20 minutes. They were certainly not impressed at the lack of organisation of their southern neighbours that's for sure! Exasperated would be a better word for it. We figured that we'd try again the next day at a bigger border crossing further around the Lake, and were chuffed to earn a page full of Macedonian passport stamps in the process, and even more so for our first crack at Albania!

Amusing oneself whilst losing an hour or so at the Albanian border

We didn't want to stay too long in Albania, it just happened to be the shortest route through to Montenegro. We'd heard one too many stolen car stories and also learnt that they've only just had access to cars - and driving licences - in the last 10 years meant that a.) the roads would be basic at best and b.) that their driving skills would leave much to be desired!

How many Germans do you know living in Albania?

Anyway here we go....

First impressions weren't that bad, plenty of police around who didn't seem to need backhanders to pass, nicely sealed roads (ok, this is the one main road here so if any were good this should be it), and the driving wasn't too shocking either. Perhaps we've just been getting used to the driving antics of these parts? I can certainly say that it was much more relaxing that Romania with cars actually waiting for a clear stretch of road before making an overtaking manoeuvre. Impressive. It's been said that most stolen Mercedes in Europe end up in Albania and judging by the number of them on the road it easy to understand where the theory comes from. It seems that here they are even a perfect replacement for a ute.

No ute? No problem!

Learning to drive in a stolen Mercedes so you can be confident in your own stolen Mercedes

Hot Hot Hot!

Hot in more ways than one

The paranoia of the previous Albanian dictator is shown to good effect by the mass of mini bunkers that litter the border areas. They were built in haste after Albania turned it's back on Russia in 1961, leaving it with no friends in the world (apart from China apparently), having severed relations with the west a long time ago. In order to ensure that these bunkers were going to work, they strength tested them by placing the architect inside one and shelling it with tank fire! The poor shell shocked fellow emerged alive and the Soviet tanks of the day didn't try to roll over the border so maybe the deterrent worked after all.

The hills are alive with the view of bunkers

With no friends in the world you need all the defense that you need eh

The backyard edition. Sure would look cute in Titirangi

At one point the road narrowed to single lane, headed into the hills and then took the most peculiar route across a mountain range, quite literally following the ridge line across! Great views but with sheer drops of several hundered metres on either side with little or no side barriers left Sharon as white as a ghost. Fortunately the oncoming traffic was surprisingly courteous as there was often little room to pass and sometimes they even stopped to let us through.

There must have been good reason for the road and it dropped us in the middle of Tirane with not much indication on where to go next. And what an interesting place Tirane is! For a long time a very dull and grey looking city full of Communist style housing blocks, now repainted in all sorts of garish colour schemes - brights, pastels, circles and stripes. It's amazing what a lick of paint can do.

Blue blocks

...and yellow blocks

Hope they got a good deal with Dulux

Somehow despite the heat of the day (heading into the high 30's) and rush hour we managed to get through unscathed heading in the general direction of Montenegro. The real scare came on the way out of Tirane by means of a giant maintenance hatch that had lost its manhole cover, thus leaving a huge gaping hole in the road which miraculously passed between our wheels and not under them, but apart from that our exit from the capital appeared pretty straight forward ;)

Making use of a road to nowhere

And so we emerged at the other end of Albania 5 hours later and all in one piece in Montenegro.

5 km to the border... woohoo!

EH

Lake Ohrid

After a short while fantasising about white sand beaches on Corfu, we got back to reality and steered our compass north west to the Macedonian border. It appeared that the news reports of the state of emergency we were reading were at least a day old, and if there was to be any trouble at the border we could always divert at the last moment. Fortunately that moment never appeared as we drove over the border with ease, and following a tentative query as to the state of the fires ("no problem, no problem!"), the handing over of E50 to purchase additional insurance and a slightly dodgy Euro for Dinar dealing, we were treated to a broad smile and a very genuine "Welcome to Macedonia!" from the border guard.

Smoke in the hills

We were headed to Bitola, and along the way we could see the tell tale signs of smoke billowing from the hillsides, but as we approached the town evidence of anything more serious had all be cleared up and the citizens of Bitola were going about their regular early evening activities. The camping ground we were heading for never materialised, and with daylight still on our side we decided to push on through to our main Macedonian highlight, Lake Ohrid.

On the shores of Lake Ohrid

At 294m, Lake Ohrid is the deepest lake in the Balkans, and also the oldest in Europe. You can see that it is also a very beautiful place indeed, with calm, crystalline waters stretching out along the Byzantian church strewn south eastern Macedonian shores and down to Albania. Although, it would have been even more beautiful minus the absolute hordes of holidaymakers escaping the heat. Add to this traffic jams, 10 year old techno music blaring from the numerous "beach bars", overcrowding of the rather primitive camping grounds and you may begin to get a clearer picture of its beauty in the heat of July.

It was quite an assault to the senses after the last few days lazing in the likewise calm and crystalline waters of a semi deserted beach in Paradise. Still very beautiful Lake Ohrid remains. We did manage to squeeze in some moments of calm amongst the chaos, but were nevertheless really pleased to see so many Macedonians out there enjoying themselves in the beauty of their own country.

Hmmm, that'd be a right then

You have been warned!

Sveti Naum monastery near the Albanian border

Checking out those Albanians

It's a funny place Macedonia. Home of Alexander the Great, with an equally impressive ancient history, but alas a rather murky more recent one. Being in turns occupied and then carved up all over the place by its more powerful neighbours, then being snaffled up into the post war creation that was Yugoslavia ('Slavs of the South' apparently), it was 1992 before it was able to negotiate (the only fully peaceful) separation from that bind and become fully independent. What has since ensued is a running argument with Greece over it's right to use the name Macedonia, a name which Greece uses itself to name its northern province. This pressure forced it to use the name Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia, or FYROM, and Greece instigating all sorts of trade embargos, but I think those Greeks are just going to have to stop being so childish and grow up. Who wants to be known as the Former Yugoslav Republic of anywhere??

Exactly!

Back to the lake then. Despite all the crowds, it is truly beautiful. The highlight of our visit was a sunset boat trip out along the shores of the old town of Ohrid to catch a glimpse of the iconic Sveti Jovan, a 13th century church perched right on the cliff edge. The water was so clear that even at this distance from the shore you could gaze over the side of the boat and peer right down into its depths. It was just so great to see so many people out on the water enjoying such beautiful surrounds.

Escaping the heat

Eric with Sveti Jovan

Sveti Jovan at sunset

SJ

A red hot dilemma

It wasn't until we'd had as much heat as we could handle and had to leave Paradise that we eventually got onto the internet to discover that what we had foolishly assumed to be typical July conditions in this part of the world was actually a heat wave.

We had managed four days on the beach, either submerged in the Ionian Sea or cowering under our awning (superb purchase that!). Sleeping wasn't much fun either with the mercury barely dropping below 31 throughout the wee small hours. So we decided to push on and into Macedonia. In preparation for this next mission into the unknown there we were online, reading about how while Britain was experiencing torrential rain and heavy flooding, a heatwave was scorching south Eastern Europe, causing many heat related deaths and triggering massive forest fires. Most shocking for us was to read that the government had declared a state of emergency in Macedonia as fires were totally encircling the southern town of Bitola - our supposed destination for that very night! With expected temperatures of high 30s to early 40s predicted for the week ahead and the Macedonian army out in force it didn't sound like the picture was going to get any better.

We sat and debated our options. We had just under 2 weeks to reach Brindisi to meet up with our great friend Natalie, who is flying all the way out from NZ to join us for the Southern Italy leg. That meant we could either stick with our plan, ride out the heat and push on through Macedonia, Albania and on to the ferry from Montenegro, or head due west to Corfu and spend the rest of the time on the beach before ferrying direct to Brindisi. What were we to do?


SJ

Sithonia

The heat was getting to us. That and having being sated on all things cultural in Turkey we fancied a bit of a rest, a little holiday before our Balkan assault. Our travelling friends Kim & James had suggested a wonderful spot on the Greek peninsular of Sithonia - the geographic middle finger if you will - and we were well keen to go and investigate...

Wow, what a beach huh?

How clear do you like your water?

Hanging out in the Ionian

The spot was as close to paradise as you can get - as we free camped between two ancient, gnarled olive trees, right on a beach with the clearest, warmest water imaginable. Three days of sheer and utter bliss - reading, swimming and drinking what must have been absolute gallons of water!

This is how we like to camp!

When it's too hot to read on the sand...

...there must always be a better way!

Room with a view

Time for a spot of travel planning

Some friendly villagers

SJ

Gallipoli

We left Istanbul a little late as we just couldn't keep ourselves away from the city;) Keeping on heading east would have been great but the insurance just would have been crippling (£1500 as some fellow travellers had paid). So this was to be the start of our return back West. A turning point in our travels you could say. For one it now meant that we'd be driving into the setting sun, something that hadn't really occurred to us until now, which would mean having the sun beating down onto us at the wheel at 30 degree plus temperatures. Oh oh, not being morning people this could be tricky...

Road to Gallipoli looking out to the Marmara Sea

From Istanbul we headed further south west into "European Turkey" so we could make the great Antipodean pilgrimage to our most sacred overseas memorial, the Gallipoli Peninsula. This narrow strip of land forms the northern coast of the Dardanelles, the narrow mouth to the Marmaris Sea, which leads up to the Bosphorous at Istanbul and then into the Black Sea. At an early stage of the Great War (WW1) it was decided that it would be a priority to control these straits. If this could be controlled, then it would force Turkey out of the war, allow the Allies to ensure a direct shipping route into Russia, and in theory save many (Allied?) lives.

Model of british landing force, with the bay in the background

The campaign commenced with a British naval attack which was fought off by the barrage of guns emplaced high on the hill overlooking the narrow straits, sinking many Allied ships including an Australian submarine (we weren't even aware Australia had any during WW1, let alone that they were able to get this to Turkey).

What it was all about, the Dardanelles

Shortly afterwards the ANZACs landed further up the peninsula and many more British forces further north. What was expected to be a quick battle went from bad to worse after the ANZACs (Australian and New Zealand Armed Corps) were mistakenly directed to land at the wrong point. Instead of embarking at a nice flat beach, this meant they arrived in the black of pre dawn beneath a heavily defended cliff and into direct enemy fire, whilst being ordered to fight their way up a near vertical incline to claim the intended position. We read some very tragic stories of soldiers who were found dead at daybreak, clinging to their landing craft, having been shot before they could even get ashore.

ANZAC cove, where it all began and ended for so many

ANZAC cove, nice place for a swim not a war

Yet despite many setbacks the forces were ordered to push on, commanders instructed to ignore the early mistakes. Bloody, close and futile trench warfare thus ensued and both sides fought with incredible valour, neither side willing to concede - only a couple of kilometres of territory, firstly won by the ANZACs and then regained by the Turks, were ever traded during the entire campaign. Numerous other strategic failures later, the death toll was over 200,000 in the span of just over 8 months.

Monument with Ataturk leading the charge

Such was the resolve of the Turks not to lose this strategic headland that at one point an entire battalion was lost. It was here that a certain young Turkish officer, Mustafa Kamel turned to face his 57th battalion, who had been completely taken by surprise, and uttered the famous words 'I do not order you to fight, I order you to die'. During the ensuing fray, Mustafa himself was spared death by his pocketwatch that caught a piece of shrapnel directly in front of his heart. Mustafa Kemal then went on to become none other than Ataturk (Father of the Turks) - still revered reformer of the Turkish Empire. The 57th Batallion however was completely wiped out. To this day the Turkish army does not have a 57th batallion as a sign of respect to those lost their lives at Gallipoli.

Memorial to the 57th Batallion

Reading the sobering stories and accounts at the central museum

The peninsula today is calm and quiet, with pine forest regenerating over what once were bloody trenches and battlefields. There are a number of memorials linked by a one way circular route you can follow that commemorate strategic events during the campaign. What was most compelling for us was the number of Turks who were visiting to pay their respects to their own valiant soliders. At times we forget it isn't just about the ANZAC's, foremost this is a Turkish memorial to their own lost fathers and sons. It was the Turks who lost more than half the total casualties, over 100,000 Turkish soldiers lost their lives defending their homeland. In fact during our two days on the peninsula we only encountered one small minibus of backpacking "ANZACs", whilst we were journeying behind numerous Turkish plated cars.

Turkish soldier helping an ANZAC soldier

One of the most memorable stories you will hear on the pensinsula however is that of the humanity of the Turkish solider. History has it that the Turks were one of, if not the most gentlemanly of all soldiers, being famous for their compassion shown to the enemy soldier. There are numerous accounts of Turkish soliders physically carrying and attending to wounded ANZACs during ceasefires in the campaign. For us this was most eloquently summed up by the below quote from the head of the ANZAC troops...


EH/SJ

Istanbul, Constantinople

Our eastern most point of our journey was quickly appearing before us as the sunset behind us. We'd managed to get here without hardly any trouble having expected all kind of delays at the Bulgarian/Turkish border. But they weren't to be and we even met some Polish travellers who were also heading our way. En route we discovered that they were also heading to the same campground on the edge of Istanbul.

Istanbul's approaching suburbs

Now that we were arriving the traffic had quickly built up and we found that we were not the only ones heading this way for the holidays. At times the motorway came to an abrupt standstill, without any apparent reason, quickly followed by the appearance of icecream salesmen! It seems that they'd stalled the traffic in order to get extra sales in, bizarre!

Traffic jams? No just a dedicated team of icecream salesmen on the Motorway!

Many other European plated cars were also headed this way. On closer inspection it was clear that they were merely returning to their homeland for the holidays. Turkey may not yet be part of the EU but looking at the variety of plates, Austrian, Swiss, plenty of Dutch and German too, they have already won the freedom of travel and judging by the quality of the cars doing pretty well for themselves too!

Luckily our sat nav TomTom appeared to have a map of Istanbul so we were able to pinpoint where the camping was and focus on the mad hat driving rather than worrying about directions too. Or so we thought! The traffic was thick but TomTom never missed a beat and we weaved our way through a spaghetti of on and off ramps on to various ring motorways. We'd compared notes on Istanbul with our Polish travelling companions and there was some debate as to how many people lived here, our guide said 16 million theirs 12, in actual fact we discovered that it's actually nearing 20 million people!

Before we knew it we'd landed in the middle of downtown Istanbul, I was adamant TomTom was right but when the next turn off would have taken us accross the Bosphorous then something must be wrong, we should have been on the other side of Istanbul, plus the insurance only covers us in 'European' Turkey. After nearly driving past the Blue Mosque, we made our way to where the camping should have been. Unfortunately on arrival we found an abandonded camping ground and gas station. Luckily a few other campervans were there and the gas station was selling its parking services. It seems that the government had closed down and bulldozed every campground in Istanbul due to 'problems' they had had. No one could quite explain what the problems were but many of the other places closed earlier in the year were teahouses built illegaly along the water front. It all had happened quite recently so one would have to speculate that this may have something to do with the forthcoming election who's banners we'd seen all through town.

The last time I'd vistited Istanbul was more than 10 years ago on a foray into the Middle East with my sister Julia and friend Tane. Tane and I hadn't seen each other for a while so spent much our time here in the Orient hostel bar drinking 'wodka' and orange. Much to Julia's dismay we spent the next days well hungover not seeing as much as we should. Tane and I were backpacking but Juila was only here for a week.

The cooling spray of water fountains outside the Aya Sofya

I could vaguely recognise the layout of the city but it had certainly moved on in leaps and bounds. The boulevards were all well kept, trams very modern and efficient and as always the Turkish people were welcoming and friendly. One evening we even went backto the Orient hostel below the Aya Sofya. This area had changed beyond recognition, the sleepy little back alley was now bustling with flashy resuraunts and the hostels had become more like hotels. One thing that was still there was the dilligent baker who sold bread till the wee hours of the night at around 10 cents a substantial loaf.

The Blue Mosque was wonderful to see and the central square between it and the Aya Sofya, a favorite spot for the classic postcard pictures of them both. as below ;)

The famous blue mosque

Surprisingly, the Mosque doesn't seem blue, but closer inspection reveals that the interior upper terrace is covered in blue tilings, which is where it got it's name from.

Northern entrance to the Blue Mosque

It's a great place to hide from the heat, especially when it's been pushing beyond 30 degrees, and also to contemplate the history of Istanbul, which really does define the term 'east meets west' so well.

Appropriately dressed for the occasion

Amazing interior designs

Sun setting on the spires of the Blue Mosque

No one can deny that back in the 1600s when Sultan Ahmet ordered a mosque to be built that would rival the Aya Sofya in terms of beauty and grandeur, that he really did succeed. But given that the Agia Sofia was built 1000 years prior, back around 500ad when the Roman Empire had recently split in two, it's a very impressive building and remained the largest Christian church in the world for over 1000 years.

The Aya Sofya wasn't quite as calming as the Blue Mosque, with it being over run by tourists in a way that mosques never would allow. Mustafa Kemal Ataturk,the much revered reformer of the Turkish republic, turned this once church, then mosque into a museum as part of his secularisation of Turkey in the 1930's. This, along with the banning of the Fez and of the Turkish script alphabet (in favour of a latinised version) were all steps that were intended to bring the whole of Turkey closer to the west.

Modern art inside the Aya Sofya

The grand entrance to the Sofya

A window to the West looking out at the Blue Mosque

We wandered around the city for several days taking in all the sights and sounds, getting a long overdue shave, and down to the riverside for lunch at the local snack bars. We cleverly left the grand bazaar to the end of each day, knowing that we would not be leaving empty handed.

Inside the cooling shade of the Grand Bazaar

I give you special price!

The experience of haggling with the stall holders is always a laugh and we met some real characters, many were very interested to hear our opinons on Turkey after discovering this was our fourth trip to Turkey. After one intense discussion with an interested local, I even managed to seal his voting decision for the coming weekend.

Not quite sold on the hat, after all aren't they illegal?

After several nights risking the 'camping that wasn't' we drove in to spend a morning in the city, only to find ourselves ushered into a carpark directly beneath the Blue Mosque. We'd been in that area for a few days now and a local had recognised us, and introduced us to the lady who owned the parking, who in turn allowed us to stay over night and even offered the use of her shower too! Very typical Turkish hospitality - at its best! It turned out to be the best camping yet and with an abundance of Turkish baths in town what more would we need?

Serious game of Tavli on the Bosphoros water front

In all the stay was fabulous, Istanbul firmly became Sharon's favourite city ever, and it was sad to say goodbye to both the city and our local 'neighbourhood'. Luckily we weren't leaving Turkey just yet!

EH