Nesfe Jahan, pt 16

Thessaloniki. So crowded and noisy I can barely hear myself talk. Expensive, and about 200 km west of where I was yesterday. Yes, I’m cursing myself for having come here. If you want to visit Greece, make sure you go to an island for the majority of your time.

Tomorrow, the road to Istanbul. Greek hitchhiking is very bad, apparently worse than Spanish. I haven’t been very lucky the last 2 weeks. The only thing I have going for me is abundant time, and an infinite supply of stubbornness.

Nesfe Jahan, pt 15

Memories of Lake Ochrid, FYROM.

Nesfe Jahan, pt 14

Xanthi city festival. A great opener on the main stage, we crawl onto a fence and enjoy an eclectic mix of traditional and contemporary Greek music. A white bell tower on the background, and even further some houses build on an impossibly steep hill.  Random gusts of wind help blow away the sweat and dust. An hour later we’re listening to juvenile rock provided by “the Skooligans”. They’re playing Skape, and a bunch of other styles I missed due to the blues. At first, my friend Panos and me feel out of place, but in about 5 minutes we’re dancing like lunatics. Life is always better when you don’t give a shit about how you look.

Travelling can be quite random, you just have to take whatever comes to you and make the best of it. But in the end, it’s just one damn thing after another.

Bonus points if you know where I lifted that quote from.

Nesfe Jahan, pt 13

Xanthi, after Thessaloniki, after Skopje. Many things to tell, but not right now due to sheer exhaustion. And culture shock. I think going from FYROM to Greece is a much larger difference than going from Budapest to Belgrade, or Montenegro to Albania. Anyway, I can write this much clearer and better tomorrow. Today, all that is left to do is blissful sleep.

Out of style

but just a straight link to a very well written opinion on the Muslim centre in downtown NYC.

Nesfe Jahan, pt 12

I’m in Skopje right now, after some bad hitchhiking from Ochrid. I’m even further from my destination, Xanthi, now, but I imagine more traffic passes this way and at least I got somewhere. Since it’s extraordinarily difficult for Macedonians to get a vise for Greece, the border could be a problem. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. It’s more or less 500 kilometers, so that’s ok. But Montenegro-Macedonia was the same, and that took 2 days. We’ll see. This is becoming more and more the less interesting part.

The interesting part was that I spend 4 days in a national park with 12ish other hitchhikers. But, unfortunately, I will wait to write about this until I have a decent opportunity to edit my pictures, and to cook some food for thought.

Nesfe Jahan, pt 11

• The long road to Ohrid ** Macedonia Easy hitch from Bigova to the main road (I’m very hesitant to call it a highway). After that, an extremely gentle Montenegrin truck driver. The road is extremely twisty and steep (well, “black mountain”), no shoulder. But Zlatko stops now and then to let me take pictures in ease, and he even stops halfway for a beer! Great closer, because when he drops me off in the general area of the border, it’s the start of a new episode.

** Albania

I’m going to try and stop belly laughing for long enough to type this one up. My Albanian adventures begins in a town 5 kilometers from the border. I try thumbing it, but there are hardly any rides with Albanian plates, and I’m quickly getting nowhere. The spontaneous taxi/minibus touts lurk and skulk, and give occasional jabs and shout “he’s a lousy bum” at everyone who slows down. But after a half hourish, an congenial old couple does stop. The man shouts to me “no money, no problem!” and returns my thumb gesture. I get in the backseat, and the suspension reacts accordingly and comfortably. They agree to bring to Skoder, first big town after the border. They feed me fresh figs. They feed me fresh grapes. They pay the baksheeshto enter Albania, 200 lek / 1.5 euros. They pay the baksheesh to leave Montenegro, 5 cans of beer. They are wonderful people. They leave me off at the minibus plaza. As I get out of the car, and get my pack, I immediately cause something of a commotion amongst the commuters. A minibus tout comes up to me, and in perfect English. I explain him the setup, and he says I’m nuts and he’ll pay the ticket to Tirana for me. And I barely have a minute to get settled in before it leaves. As my mind settles in the van, realization hits me. You pay the bus when you get out. I don’t have any leks with me. Why did he not seem interested to talk to me, or even look at the van to wave as it drove off? Is this some kind of elaborate tourist trap scam? I occupy myself with the best way to get out of it. With my backpack, and without the loss of the scant cash I have left. I hide the big bills in my wallet, and prepare to get 5 euro’s,  98 Dinars,  135 Forinths and 33 Koruna’s lights (~= 10 euros). But the bus stops at the terminal, and I’m let out without a hassle. I try hitching out of the centre, but I go nowhere fast, and hassled all the time my taxi’s (spontaneous or not) and minivans. After an hour I amend my sign with “no taxi”, and now I’m laughing, because everyone is reacting and giving me amused looks. But no one is stopping. I quit after 7, as I don’t feel like spending the night on the dusty road, even though at this point I can’t get dirties. I go to a hostel, and manage to haggle them down to 6 euro’s. I’m in a good position, as there are no more beds and I’m just pitching my tent. But right now, it feels like a pittance to pay for a hot shower and laundry. Tomorrow I go to Lake Ohrid for a hitchhiking meeting, camping on the beach. So it’s a last chance for those under-appreciated luxuries. The interesting part underlying all this is why I choose to try and thumb it again today. The alternative would be to pay a staggering 10 euros to get to within 5 kilometers of my friends, easy walking distance. It’s not about the fact that I don’t want to pay to go to the meeting, I’m confident this unknown crowd would forgive me. I do feel uncomfortable with the fact that I could interpret that  I’m being a miserly bastard in one of the poorest countries I visit.  Or that I’m a stubborn asshole and can’t relax. But it’s more complicated. Watch this space. The interesting part underlying all this is why I choose to try and thumb it again today. The alternative would be to pay a staggering 10 euros to get to within 5 kilometers of my friends, easy walking distance. It’s not about the fact that I don’t want to pay to go to the meeting, I’m confident this unknown crowd would forgive me. I do feel uncomfortable with the fact that I could interpret that  I’m being a miserly bastard in one of the poorest countries I visit.  Or that I’m a stubborn asshole and can’t relax. But it’s more complicated. Watch this space.

Nesfe Jahan, pt 10

Today, on the road to somewhere on Lake Ochrid, FYROM.

3 days ago, trying to hitch Tivat to Bigovo, Montengro. A native picks me up. We have no shared language. Once in the car, I feel  my pants, and realize I can’t feel my wallet. I cry “STOP!”. He nods sagely, and calmly continues on his way. I shout “STOP!!!!”. I shout “Arrete, merde”. I shout another 10 things that all come down to the same basic things. He notices my panic, and stops the car. I get up, and realize my wallet has shifted in my pants, and became wedged between my ass and the seat. I pantomime my brain, my wallet, back there (“benzjinika”) and thums up (ok, “dobra”). I’m trying to say it’s ok, everything fine. He nods, sagely, and starts to drive back to the gas station. I slap my forehead, and try to at least pretend he’s helping me out. As soon as we arrive, I run into the toilet, I pull out my cellphone from the pocket of my pants. I run back to the car, smiling big, pretending that was what I forgot. He’s very happy to have done me this favor.

The great things about hitchhiking, it that the assholes never take you. (or almost never).

Nesfe Jahan, pt 9

Ain’t got no time to take the fast train.

I arrive to Tivat at four in the morning. I made the classical mistake of thinking I could catch some sleep on the bus. And then I push myself hard to arrive to my destination around 10 o’clock. I’m figuring out that I’m not that strong, but stubborn as hell. This place has no highways, but no sidewalks either. But these are not the important things.

The important things is that I’m now staying in Bigova, or, more precisely, the bay of Bigova, about 10 minutes of rowing. Don’t try and look up Bigova on Wikipedia or Goole maps, it’s too small to register on the radar. Find it here.

The rich life, in every meaning of the word. I’m hosted by Elena and Eddie, and joined by their cat “Bedbug”. A short swim to wake up from a rocking sleep. A cigarette. Then a coffee. A cigarette again. Some contemplation of going to shore for the afternoon, 10 minutes by rowboat. No internet. No electricity, as the engine is broken. Only a little bit of leaking. I’d read, but I read my book, and all the others are in Russian.

Today a quick trip to Kotor, tiny fortified town build vertical beyond belief. Tomorrow, the long, slow road to the country that some may call Macedonia, and other call the home of name-thieving bastards.

Lonely planet, Eurotrip edition

I’m thinking of making a proposal for a new Lonely Planet: Europe, the North American/Oceanic way. Everyone is invited to participate. Mainly, we try to affirm all the cliche’s. Prague as an excellent way to have a stop in Eastern Europe. Amsterdam covering 80 percent of the surface of the Netherlands. Bruges as the capital of Belgium. Overuse the term “run down charm”.  Barcelona as a nice way to sample Spanish culture. You get the idea.